#ferelden frost

[danaduchy]

Snow continued to fall in heavy flakes, blanketing the village in a thick, icy cover. The storm had made travel impossible, stranding Aedan Cousland and Daylen Amell in a tiny, forgotten village without an inn to shelter them. They had been lucky to find an abandoned house to call home for the night. The roof didn’t leak, and with a bit of effort, they had managed to make it livable for a few days, though it was far from luxurious.

Daylen lay on the makeshift bed of furs and straw, looking relaxed and content, his grey eyes half-lidded like a lazy cat basking in the warmth of the fire. Aedan sat beside the fire, a book open in his lap. It was his turn to read, part of the little routine they’d developed to pass the time during their travels. Books were one of the few luxuries they allowed themselves, something to keep them entertained when long days on the road turned into quiet evenings. And now, with the snowstorm trapping them in the village, there was little else to do.

Aedan’s voice echoed softly in the room as he read aloud, though his mind occasionally wandered. It had been Daylen’s idea to seek a cure for the Calling, a quest that had driven them from village to village, through ancient ruins and forgotten libraries, in search of an answer that remained frustratingly elusive. When Daylen had first suggested it, Aedan hadn’t hesitated to agree. Alistair had settled into his role as king, his rule steady enough that he no longer needed Aedan’s guidance as often. With no family waiting for him back in Denerim, no commitments, Aedan had found the idea of adventure appealing again.

But more than the quest itself, it was Daylen that had made the journey worthwhile.

Aedan glanced up from the book, his eyes drawn to the mage lounging on the bed. Daylen had his arms behind his head, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched Aedan with amusement. They had grown close over the course of their travels—closer than Aedan had anticipated. At first, it had been the familiar bond of friendship, the kind that had formed with his other companions during the Blight. But this… this had become something deeper, something that had quietly slipped into Aedan’s heart without him fully realizing it.

Daylen, for his part, had always been different. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, teasing Aedan just the same as he always had, refusing to treat him as “the Hero of Ferelden” like everyone else did. Around Daylen, Aedan was simply Aedan, not the legend people whispered about. That had been a relief, a breath of fresh air that had drawn him to the mage’s side more and more. And now, after countless nights spent in each other’s company, it was impossible to deny the connection they shared.

Aedan set the book down and stretched, his muscles stiff from sitting by the fire for so long. He looked over at Daylen, who gave him a lazy smile in return.

“Tired of reading, are we?” Daylen teased, his voice light.

Aedan chuckled, shaking his head. “Just giving you a break from the story. Besides, I think we’ve read this one three times already.”

Daylen hummed, stretching languidly on the bed, his robes slipping slightly off his shoulder. “If you’re that bored, I could always entertain you in other ways.”

Aedan raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a grin. “I’m sure you could. What do you have in mind this time? More magic tricks?”

Daylen’s eyes sparkled mischievously. He raised his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, tiny, translucent butterflies of light and frost began to dance in the air around him. They shimmered in the glow of the firelight, delicate and ethereal as they flitted about the room.

Aedan had seen this before, but it never failed to captivate him. He leaned closer, watching as the butterflies glowed softly, their wings casting faint shadows on the walls. Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers brushing the cold, tingling magic that surrounded them. It was strange, how comfortable he had become with magic in Daylen’s presence. He had always been curious about it, but there had also been a quiet fear that lingered beneath the surface—an unease that most non-mages carried with them.

But not with Daylen. With him, magic felt… safe. It was an extension of who he was, something as natural as breathing.

“You’re mesmerized again,” Daylen murmured, his voice teasing but soft. “It’s like you’ve never seen a spell before.”

Aedan smiled, letting the butterfly dance on his fingertips for a moment longer before turning his gaze to Daylen. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. You make it look so… effortless.”

Daylen’s smirk softened into something more genuine, and he rolled over on the bed to face Aedan, propping his head up on his hand. “It’s not all effortless, but thank you. You don’t seem afraid of it, though. Most people are.”

Aedan shrugged, leaning back against the wooden wall. “I trust you.”

Those three words seemed to carry more weight than either of them had expected. Daylen’s expression shifted, something unspoken passing between them. The fire crackled softly in the silence that followed, the only sound in the small room.

Daylen broke the quiet first, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “You’re different, you know that? Most people flinch when they hear the word ‘magic,’ but you… you’re curious. You ask questions, and you don’t treat me like a ticking bomb.”

Aedan smiled, his gaze warm as he met Daylen’s eyes. “That’s because I know you. You’re more than just a mage.”

Daylen’s grey eyes held his for a long moment, and then he chuckled, the tension breaking as his usual smirk returned. “Well, that’s good to hear. I’d hate to be just another walking fireball.”

Aedan laughed, the sound filling the small space. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Daylen’s arm, where the scent of frost and ozone clung to him—a smell that reminded him of thunderstorms and winter winds.

“You smell like a storm,” Aedan said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Daylen raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I suppose that’s a compliment?”

Aedan smiled, his thumb tracing a small circle on Daylen’s skin. “It is. I like it.”

Daylen’s gaze softened again, and for a brief moment, the two of them sat there, the firelight flickering over their faces, casting warm shadows on the walls. The storm raged on outside, but in here, it was calm—safe.

And in that moment, Aedan knew that no matter how long this quest lasted, no matter how many more villages and ruins they would visit in their search for a cure, he was exactly where he needed to be.

[quillscales]

"Vishante Kaffas!" Dorian cursed under his breath as he felt more snow seep into his boots.

The Emprise du Lion was at the top of his list of least favourite places in the South, nearly edging out the Fallow Mire, which only surpassed it due to its horrendous stench.

The deep freezing temperatures were perhaps the most foreign thing to Dorian in the South, and he would take most things, including the lingering scent of wet dog everywhere in Ferelden, over them.

Trudging through the deep snow was frustrating enough; he was lingering a little too far back because of it, but the worst of it all was the concerned glances The Iron Bull kept throwing back his way. It was as if he thought Dorian was a child who needed minding so they didn't get lost.

He was shivering, but he had too much pride to wrap his arms around himself to huddle for more warmth, nor did he blow on his fingers the way the Inquisitor kept doing. Normally, he would have no trouble voicing his complaints loudly, but the way Iron Bull kept looking at him made him defiant.

"You doin' alright back there?" The Iron Bull called back to him, his head tipping to look at Dorian. He could see the curve of his lips, and it made Dorian tempted to set him on fire. "I think I can see a little frost on your mustache there." Alright, very tempted.

Dorian's eyes narrowed. "Better frost than the icicles I see forming under your nose." He retorted.

Bull threw his head back and let out a loud laugh. "Ha!"

[lairofdragonagelore]

Dragon Age Iconic Patterns: The single spike

The single spike or horn has been a constant pattern throughout all games of Dragon Age in general and in DAI in particular. There are several things that may be linked to it, from Mythal and Andraste to Dragons. In this post we explore how many of these objects present such pattern and how this may be related in an integral way.

This post contains the following statues:

Andraste

Wyvern

Mythal

The red lyrium idol

Tevinter or Venatori outfits

Tevinter Dragon

Tevinter golems

Tevinter Colossus

Andrastian Free Marches warriors

[This post belongs to the series “Analysis and speculation of Statues”]

Andraste

The main figure we see with a single-spiked helm in DAI is Andraste, who is depicted in numerous pieces of art along the game and books. Although she doesn’t wear this single-spiked helm in all of them, it’s an iconic representation of her [to the point that some followers are depicted with similar tiaras/helms such as Meredith]

In DAO we only have one unequivocally representation of Andraste, which is the statue we see at the end of the Temple of Andraste where her ashes are supposed to rest. In this case, the helm has the shape of a “moon” or similar. This form will be changed since DA2, and it will turn out to be the iconic single spike. We can attribute this inconsistency to the many difficulties in resources and environmental telling that DAO had.

Most of the time, Andrastian art represents Andraste with this single spiked helm/tiara [more details in Andrastian Statues].

In the illustrations found in the Chant of Light we can suspect that such a single spike is related to the shape of one single sun ray.

Wyvern

These animal statues appear all over Ferelden and in some parts of Orlais and in the Frost Back Mountains. In the tag Ferelden Wyvern we can track their presence along DAI. That they appear in Ferelden is not surprising, but the fact that they are inside ancient Pre-Blight Tevinter ruins [check Western Approach: The Still Ruins, Main Chamber and Hall of Silence and Western Approach: The Still Ruins, Viridis Walk and Inner Sanctum] is very disconcerting, specially taking into account how central it is in The Still Ruins, which appears even in the loadscreen of the zone. One could suspect this may have been product of the Dragon fascination that Tevinter culture had/has. Still, it seems odd to honour a lesser creature such as a Wyvern when they usually worshipped the true Dragons.

This statue appears in the Fade as well, but it has a clear design choice: the game shows us a wyvern in front of a head of Andraste, pushing us to ask why such an irrelevant statue would be in front of something so important as it is Andraste. The answer is solved later in the book World of Thedas, where we find that there is a Ferelden Tale which related wyverns with Andraste:

Now, this Tale is quite curious. If we always keep in consideration that this piece of lore is highly unreliable since it’s a tale spread in a population via oral narration, and subjected to changes over ages without records, we can highlight several details:

Andraste goes to the Mountain to “reach the Maker”. In the Chant of Light, we know that she speaks with the Maker, who is described Mountain-like. This reinforces the idea that Maker=related to Mountains. I assume this is a cultural remnant of the alamarri/avvar origin of Andraste, who had a deeper relationship with Korth, the Father-Mountain.

Andraste sang, and with this song, a “wyvern” appeared. This may potentially bring some relationship with the Dragons and the original song I talked about in posts like The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak, and Until We Sleep. We can even suspect that maybe instead of a Wyvern, the original event that inspired this Tale may have related a true Dragon. After all, we know that this single spike in the wyverns may, potentially, have some relationship with the dragon shape of Mythal. We also know that Tyrdda had an elf lover who sent a dragon to help her people, so I wonder to what extent the Alamarri and Avvar had also some level of relationship with mountain dragons.

It’s still a big question to understand how this wyvern statue, so related to Ferelden culture, appeared in pre-blight Tevinter buildings, when Ferelden did not exist as it is now. This is what reinforces my question: are these wyverns potentially creatures related to the Great Dragons? So far, we have no answers.

Mythal

Mythal, in all her representations and shapes, also wears an iconic single spiked helm. Even in the Concept Art, where we can see wavy sided horns that did not make it into the game, we cannot mistake the single centred spike. In dragon shape or in her humanoid form, this spike is constantly present.

It is unclear how this design choice may potentially speak to the player to relate Mythal to Andraste. One can speculate that, maybe, a fragment of Mythal appeared to Andraste. Maybe the Maker that Andraste claims to hear was, in fact, Mythal’s fragment. It would have been very convenient for Myhtal to instruct Andraste to make her Exalted March on Tevinter if we keep in mind that Flemeth [another fragment of Mythal] has been altering History to push it into a direction she has been planning for ages. 

Flemeth’s Tiara

Flemeth’s tiara also has a structure that shows a single central spike in a very prominent way. The relationship is obvious: Flemeth is Mythal. Or at least, a surviving fragment of her.

Her dragon shape is different in DAO than in DA2. In DAO it’s the model of a general high dragon [as usual, DAO didn’t have the most variety of visual resources so we can’t read too much in it], while in DA2, Flemeth has a clear dragon shape with a single spike in its horns that can be related to that tiara.

The red lyrium idol

The Red Lyrium Idol also shows a prominent central spike in the head. It’s a constant symbol that allows us to do some speculations: in the post Attempt to rebuild Ancient Elvhenan History  I speculated that Mythal's assassination may have inspired this idol, and therefore, this single spike seen in the idol is what relates it to Mythal herself.

It’s curious that even when Meredith turned into a piece of Red Lyrium, she also displayed a single spike in her head. This may have been just a consequence of the helm she was wearing in that last battle, which was clearly a helm trying to emulate Andraste’s.

From a design point of view, I think it’s clear that the game is telling us that this idol is related to Mythal/Flemeth, even though we are still blind about the “how”.

Tevinter or Venatori outfits

I already spoke about this in the section “outfits” in Patterns and Styles: Tevinter. We know that Tevinter has a long history of dragon cults, and until the moment the nation turned into the Andrastian Faith, the Old Gods Cult was its strongest religion. The fact that a dragon [Mythal] has a single spike horn, and Andraste also has this icon in her art, makes us hard to understand the origin of the symbol in Tevinter Design. It could have been due to the Dragons, but also, as a design choice once they were converted into the Andrastian Faith. Let's remember that Dorian tells us that Tevinter thinks that Andraste was a mage, so more reasons to have her icons among the Tevinter Warriors since they have mage-inspired armours.

I also explained that it's hard to differentiate the Venatori from non-Venatori Tevinter design simply because the Venatori are nationalist, so they will always use the most iconic symbols of their nation.

There is a strange link between this design and the one I called “The Free Marches Andrastian Warriors”, which display a strong Tevinter-like style, but remaining Andrastian. These statues may keep that single-spiked helm as a representation of Andraste, but also as a remmant of Tevinter design [more details in Andrastian Statues].

Tevinter Dragon

For completion’s sake, I add this detail: these typical Tevinter dragons display a single horn. At some point one wonders if these statues are related somehow to the design of the Wyverns or are a development of worshipping Mythal-dragon.

Tevinter golems

These Tevinter golems trigger the codex the Gate Guardians . They are metallic statues that, we are told, were powered at some point by bars of lyrium.

They also display a single spiked helm, that, due to the general looking of the golem, looks like a Tevinter representation of Andraste herself.

The golem in general has resemblance to some pieces of the armour of the Humanoid Mythal.

Let’s remember that Golems were developed by Dwarves during the First Blight, and due to their trade relationship with Tevinter, they sold some [Golem and Legend of the Juggernaut] that were displayed on the entrance of Miranthous, inactive. So it seems that, historically speaking, makes sense that these golems may have been developed into resembling Andraste since Tevinter embraced the Andrastian Faith after the beginnig of the First Blight [check all this in the integral post The Chantry and the Mythology of the Chant of Light]

Tevinter Colossus

Among the Tevinter sculptures, we find one of the most mysterious one: the colossus. They are found closer to the structures that belonged to Tevinter in pre-blight times.

In game there are three different Colossus, found in Western Approach: Coracavus;  Front Corridor and South Entrance, in the open of Hissing Wastes: scattered objects and ruins, which was being co-opted by Orlesians to make it into a sculture of an Orlais Emperor, and inside the Frozen Gates in Frostback Basin [DLC]: Frozen Gate.  

The book World of Thedas gives us more concept art about these structures, which seem to be related to “guiders” and, maybe, to astronomy too.

The fact that we can see one of these in a concept art, showing up a certain star over its hand, makes me suspect these statues belonged to the ancient Dreamer times, that the codex Astrariums claims that Tevinter was under before the Magisterium was the mandatory political system.

The heads of these colossus are not exactly single spiked heads, but one of them [The Coracavus' one] has one single spike that fuses with the bridge of its nose, while the other two, have "horns" backwards. Maybe we can suspect some dragon inspiration in them? I find their profile very similar to the Qunari ones’.

Andrastian Free Marches warriors

These were seen for the first time in DA2, and they decorated The Chantry of Kirkwall. They look similar to the Tevinter Warriors thanks to this spiked helm and pointy shapes, but this may be attributed to the fact that Free Marches have a strong Tevinter influence.

However, these statues have an unmistakable robe identified with the ones worn by the Chantry priests in DA2.

This single spike in their helms may be related to Andraste herself and her own helm/tiara, but also having some inspiration from Tevinter.

Conclusions

I think it’s fair to say that the “Single Spike” is an unequivocally symbol of Andraste that may have an inspiration or a relationship with dragons in general, or with Mythal in particular. By extension, and due to Mythal’s dragon nature, this Single Spike also appears in Tevinter culture, even in elements that are suspected to be pre-Blight, and therefore, impossible to be inspired in Andraste herself. So, as it happens with DA lore, and assuming what we did in the post Attempt to rebuild Ancient Elvhenan History, everything comes to primordial dragons that may have inspired this icon in Tevinter Culture and later, in the human tribes, from where the Andrastian Myth and her religion raised. 

[gwah--ren]

i am the forest — i am ancient. i treasure the stag, i treasure the deer. i shelter you from storm, i shelter you from snow. i resist the frost, i keep the source. i nurse the earth — i am always there.

#GWAHREN, private & selective blog for elethea cousland ii, hero of ferelden, teyrna of gwaren, champion of redcliffe, lady of highever.

[herearedragons]

WIP (actually) Wednesday

I did say I wanted to share some snippets from The Breach! And I really like the opening part of Evelyn's first entry, so that's what I'm sharing.

(The Breach is the gaslamp fantasy/horror AU DA:I fic I'm writing)

Letter from Evelyn Trevelyan, written in cipher. Dear Mother and Father, When I woke up this morning, my blankets and sheets were all frozen together, as rigid as wood, and I heard a choir singing just outside my door. My room is perfectly warm, the door and window both securely locked, and I can barely feel a draft from outside; it goes without saying that there is no choir traveling with me aboard the Ferelden Express, either. I can no longer deny that the oddities that have pursued me across ocean and country are caused by nothing other than myself. The voices which appear in my dreams and carry over into my day-to-day; the strange sparks that appear sometimes when I touch a metal surface ungloved; the frost that covers over every window I sit by, denying me even a fraction of the view; they are all manifestation of the deeper evil within me. I am touched by the Fade, and therefore, I know what must be done. 

Tagging: @ndostairlyrium @curiouslavellan @dungeons-and-dragon-age @solas-backpack-mug and whoever else has wips to share!

[fiberpunk027]

Writing Process Updates

I don't know that I will ever go back to not prewriting a story ever again. This has been a really lovely experience. While I'm grateful that writing Eat Your Young got me back into writing, this next fic when it's done I think will be a much higher quality because I've taken my time to connect the dots before even thinking about posting. It will probably be difficult to return to posting in a more serialized style with my BG3 fic, but I think I've learned a lot taking this time to follow where my summer brain rot has led me.

That being said enjoy a tiny sneak peek below the break.

The weather was just beginning to turn cold when another Landsmeet assembled in Denerim. The Arls, Banns, Teryns, and their entourages arrived in the early afternoon, as the frost-covered ground of morning was now long forgotten in the sun's rays. Landsmeets could be tedious multi-day affairs especially if agreements could not be made, which had been the case as of late. The reconstruction of the Circle’s Tower, Kinloch Hold, was the major concern at this meeting. Temporary repairs made during the Blight had begun to degrade and a more permanent solution was needed soon. He knew many of the nobles would disagree with wasting any of their rebuilding efforts on the Circle of Mages, considering it a matter for the Chantry and their templars. On the contrary, there were enough in the group who counted Mages within their bloodline that would care about the circle’s safety and comfort. It was bound to be a hotly debated topic. 

As he greeted each guest warmly. One thing he was confident in was his ability to play host. He may not have been raised to become a King like Cailan had, but that was something that set him apart from his half-brother. He was not bound by an ingrained decorum and often stepped outside of the strict boundaries that others tried to set for him. Just because he was King Alistair didn’t mean he would cease being Alistair altogether. 

And it didn’t stop him from watching expectantly to see if a familiar face would show themselves. Not that he expected to see the Arlessa of Amaranthine. So far she had sent her Seneschal to each Landsmeet that had been called. Still, news would always trickle in during these gatherings from gossiping nobles, their lips loosened by company and too much wine too early in the day. He could not resist eavesdropping. 

“Did you hear of the Darkspawn attack on Vigil’s Keep?” 

“All of the Orlesian Wardens were killed in the fighting.” 

“Served them right for stepping into Ferelden unwelcome.” 

“The Hero of Ferelden showed the Darkspawn what's what she did.” 

“I heard she had to conscript poor Arl Howe’s son. What a way to learn about your father’s legacy.” 

“She’s got an apostate with her too, a handsome fella, but still completely dangerous, Warden or not. I can’t believe they would trust Mages in their ranks.”

“It doesn’t seem safe, you never know when they’ll think enough's enough and turn to blood magic or worse demons!”

“It’s not any different from the elves. You can’t tell from lookin’ which ones have at least been civilized in an Alienage and which are still wild beasts.”

“Never thought I would live to see a ‘knife ears’ running Amaranthine, it does seem almost fitting after what Howe did to the Alienage.”

“I didn’t even know women could be Wardens, let alone elven women.”

“Such a pretty little thing. Too bad she never joins these meets. Could use something nice to look at.”

“Do Wardens take vows of chastity?”

“I sure hope not! T’would be a waste of a good body.”

When the conversations became too inappropriate a loud clearing of his throat was all that was needed to remind the present company that he was within earshot. He couldn’t control the thoughts of men as much as he couldn’t control his own at times, but it was better not to hear such unnecessary slander about someone he was once close to. There was a part of him that wished she could overhear, and present the offending parties with the gleaming edge of her daggers. 

The afternoon dragged on and the flood of arriving nobles seemed to have slowed to a mere trickle. He was just about to call it quits and return to his quarters for a quick break when there was the announcement of another arrival. 

“Presenting the company of the Arlessa of Amaranthine!” the caller shouted. 

“Ahh Seneschal Varel, I nearly missed you. You’re not typically running this late,” he said, greeting the man warmly. 

“Your Majesty, we had a slight delay upon leaving, but you trouble yourself too much with these pleasantries,” he replied, shaking the King’s outstretched hand.

“We? Have you finally decided to bring your lovely wife along with you?”

Varel cleared his throat, “May I announce to you the Arlessa of Amaranthine, Warden Commander Tabris.”

As Varel stepped to the side allowing her to greet him he could feel his stomach drop to his feet. 

Her head was bowed, hands clasped tightly behind her back. The ashy brown hair that had once danced along the edge of her chin had grown long in the many months since he’d last seen her, now grazing past her shoulders. The pointed tips of her ears sticking out between elaborate braids in the traditional Ferelden style. Shockingly, instead of her usual leather armor she was dressed in a simple but elegant blue and gray gown, emblazoned with the crest of the Wardens. He was certain he’d never seen her dressed so much like a normal woman as long as he had known her. Despite the circumstance, she looked calm and serene, not as if the whole of Thedas had come to a complete halt around them. 

The first time they met he’d been surprised by her lithe frame. She looked so small and frail in the ill-fitting leather armor she’d been issued, clearly built for a much larger woman. But the steely resolve in her bright hazel eyes had been clear from the moment they first locked eyes. 

Even so, Alistair couldn’t remember the last time Warden Tabris had actually looked him in the eye. Sure she had addressed him cordially, given him a tight-lipped smile on occasion, and even smiled politely at the odd terrible joke he’d cracked in her presence. But her gaze was always shifted ever so slightly from his own, her eyes never managing to reach his, always sliding away to his chin or his hairline.

“Seneschal, you say that as if the Warden Commander and I hadn’t slayed the Archdemon and ended the Blight together,” he laughed trying to hide the nervous crack in his voice. 

The Seneschal chuckled as did another man he hadn’t noticed standing slightly behind her. He wore the tell tale blues and grays of the wardens, his long sandy hair partially tied back from his face and loosely framing the comfortable smile on his face. Even without carrying a staff, it was clear to Alistair this man was a mage. He could practically smell the magic that crackled within him, one small thing he was grateful to know from his Templar training. As if suddenly realizing he was in the presence of the King of his country the man quickly bowed alongside the Warden Commander and mumbled his apologies. 

“This is Anders,” she said, straightening back up, her face the very picture of stoicism. He wondered how she could appear so calm when inside he was burning alive. “I believe you met briefly during your last visit to Vigil’s Keep?”

He squinted at the man before him trying to place him.

“I suspected there would be a lack of perspective from inside the circle. I’ve brought Anders along to ensure we had adequate representation,” she continued.

“I tried to convince her not to,” Varel added quickly, his eyes darting back and forth between the Warden and the King. 

“I believe it was at your suggestion that I be conscripted, Your Majesty.” Anders gave a lopsided smile as the pieces fell into place. 

“Please tell me you did not just bring an Apostate mage into a Landsmeet, Zukal?” he hissed, looking around to ensure he wasn’t overheard. A throbbing pressure was beginning to build just behind his right eye. He pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if she brought this man along specifically to pain him. 

“Warden Commander is my title, Your Majesty,” she quickly corrected him, her eyes narrowing. The men beside her looked at each other nervously seeing how brusquely she corrected their King.

He took a slow breath to steady himself. When was the last time anyone had spoken to him so harshly? “Apologies, Warden Commander,” he said, giving her a small bow of his own. He knew better than to be so familiar with her, but her faint glimmer of anger gave him a perverse sense of pride. Making her angry meant he had some sort of affect on her, positive or not.  “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to address you as anything, let alone your given title. Old habits and whatnot.”

“Should I have forgotten to address you by your title I would be promptly thrown into Fort Drakon,” she said coldly, “Regardless of our history, Your Majesty.” Her eyes bored into his forehead, but he was grateful for once to not have to take the full intensity of her stare. Much like the daggers she was fond of wielding her words and gaze cut into him, wounding his pride, but more importantly fanning the flames of his anger. 

“It won’t happen again,” he promised, offering her a calm smile and a clenched jaw, “I’m sure the Seneschal has been able to explain to you both the process here. Please feel free to join the others in the main hall once you’re settled.” He quickly turned on his heel and made his escape. It wasn’t lost on him how much this felt like a retreat from battle, instead of a graceful exit. But it didn’t matter, he needed to leave and clear his head before he said anything else she could hold against him. 

“Your Majesty?” she called after him, bringing him to a halt and cocking his ear toward her. 

“Anders is a Grey Warden, conscripted to the same noble calling we both took on willingly. I would appreciate it if his former status as an Apostate were not mentioned, less it ruins any chance we have of being heard without bias,” she said.

“Of course,” he answered, continuing to walk away, “I look forward to learning from him over the course of this Landsmeet. I’m sure there will be much anticipation to hear from one of Kinloch’s own.” He turned down the hall and out of their sight. 

“Next time you should just ask him outright to arrest us for treason,” he heard the mage sarcastically comment as he left. 

“If he expects respect then he needs to provide it as well,” she replied as casually as if talking about the weather. 

The kindling in his stomach she’d ignited burned a little brighter at those words. He wanted to turn back around and remind her he hadn’t wanted this respect, this role, or this life. If he had still been just a Bastard and a Warden he would have, but if he remained either of those things she would have been able to look him in the eye wouldn’t she? Neither of them would be in this awful mess in the first place. 

He did his best not to stomp his way to his quarters, his refuge since he’d become King. He threw himself into a massive wingback chair propped up near his favorite window and brooded. How dare she treat him like one of her wet behind-the-ear recruits when she couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye. Of course, maybe that was preferable knowing their history. It had been quite some time since they traveled across Ferelden urging their countrymen to honor the Warden’s treaties and prepare for the oncoming Blight. Shouldn’t time have made this easier for her?

Then again, time clearly hadn’t made it any easier on him. It wasn’t often he found himself in her presence. Vigil’s Keep was far enough away from Denerim that they rarely crossed paths and the burdens of running a kingdom didn’t exactly leave him time to travel aimlessly. But in the idle hours when he was finally alone with his thoughts, they always drifted to the past. Back to the dark days when all of Ferelden seemed to be against them and the single bright spot in his life was her gaze searching for him after every battle. 

This Landsmeet won’t last forever, he thought to himself as he stared out the window into the gardens below, maybe the discussions would be brief and the gathered nobles would be back on their way by tomorrow evening. Maybe the leaders of Ferelden would come together and unite in their unequivocal support of restoring Kinloch Hold to a more livable state. Or more likely they would band together against the mages expecting them to live in squalor or worse turn them over to the Templars entirely. But this was his time, he could fantasize about whatever unrealistic reality he wished. And right now he wished to think about a reality where he didn’t have to face Warden Tabris again so soon.

[breadedsinner]

Mark of the Red Death

A sebhawke Necromancer AU for @persephoneggsy. Happy birthday!

-

“Do you know what the most powerful force in the universe is?” Hawke’s mentor once asked her. She shook her head in uncertainty. “Love,” he said. She still did not understand, at the time.

*

By the time Hawke entered the castle, blood had become part of the walls, oozing from the cracks. Red handprints smeared across the castle walls, crisscrossing over one another until they became a single beast, clawing for release that never came. Banners and carpets torn, tossed in every direction. A few abandoned weapons were strewn about. Anyone could see this was a struggle, brutal and very recent, but to someone like Hawke, a mage so in touch with death, standing in the middle of it was like being in the belly of an animal, and feeling it die all around her. The clangs of steel still echoed in the halls, shadows of victims running to an escape they would never reach danced in the shadows. Their final heartbeats still hung in the air.

As foul as it was, the gore was not especially notable for Hawke. Every known nation in Thedas worshipped death in some way or another, and mages such as her were its disciples. Of course, some feared what she could do, some outright reviled, and yet she found herself highly sought after. Everything from mixing potions to communing with the dead; if it involved magic, Hawke could do it. It was the only way a simple Ferelden farmgirl could ever mingle with Tevinter Magisters and Orlesian Chevaliers. It was the only reason she was here, in this gutted Starkhaven palace.

It was not the blood that disturbed her this day, but whose blood it belonged to.

She proceeded down another hall, torn carpet under his feet, sunlight refracted through broken glass. As the chamber door appeared, she hurried, an anxious lump in her throat. She knew what she would find, but still hoped it was not so.

She threw the chamber door open and found her student, Dorian, standing over caskets. He loomed over her, she being a petite woman, but he looked upon her with reverence. He was of high Tevinter lineage, but even with all his expensive education, his own dabbles in Necromancy never came to more than raising a few long-dead corpses to stumble for a few moments. There was a reason his former mentor sent him to her.

As she walked, she looked at all the caskets, lined up in a row. Some of them were very small. All of them were closed, though Dorian was peeking inside the one at the far end.

“Is that him?” she said, her usually blunt voice cracked.

“Yes,” he said with remorse. "He is the only one in decent condition."

Dorian open the casket and they both studied the person inside. A young man--could not have been much older than either of them--lay still, with eyes closed. They could see the bronze sheen of his skin still leaving his body, the luster of his slicked brown hair coming undone. Plush lips formed a faint, serene smile, but the color was fading by the moment, cracks forming.

Hawke ran a finger along the slope of the prince’s slender cheekbone. "This is him, the youngest of the three Starkhaven princes. Did you examine the body? What did you find?”

“I did,” said Dorian, his voice solemn but with a tinge of eagerness, wanting to perform well for his renowned mentor. “He was lucky, in a way. Got an arrow in the chest while trying to lead others to a secret exit. He was so close, too. Another second and he might have made it."

Her finger ghost down the outline of his face, lingered on his chin, then she made a fist. A purple light, wafting and warbling the air, illuminated her fingernails and surged through her skin.

"You're going to bring him back?" said Dorian, trying to suppress to excitement in his voice.

"For a moment," said Hawke, her icy blue eyes turning like frosted amethyst. "long enough to ask him what happened here."

Hawke opened her palm and pressed it against the prince's chest. Purple light washed over her body and passed through him, as though she were transfusing her own energy into him. Dorian tensed, looking for color to return to the corpse, betraying his logical mind, knowing that's not how Necromancy worked. At least not any form that he or any journeyman mage was aware of, though there were tales of spells that could keep resurrected corpses near perfectly alive again, at a great cost to both caster and corpse. But not even an esteemed sorceress like Hawke could perform such a feat.

Hawke pushed harder, a bead of sweat against her pale brow. Her fingers clenched against the prince's blood-stained tunic when his eyes popped open. Dorian and the prince gasped at the same time, both shocked at the spell's success.

“Ah…” the prince’s cloudy blue eyes looked about; his body twitched as if waking from a long slumber. When his eyes cleared and found focus, they immediately locked onto Hawke, a wide, elated smile followed. “Marian!” he cried; his arms opened for her.

“You know the Prince of Starkhaven?” asked Dorian.

“He courted me briefly,” Hawke said, voice casual and flat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, Marian,” the prince’s voice was deep and sorrowful, his eyes pouring over Hawke. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian, but there’s no time,” said Hawke, still steady. “Do you know what happened?”

His smile immediately faded. “I … I do.”

“If we’re going to get any justice for you and your family, you need to tell me everything you know. And hurry, I can’t keep up the spell forever.”

“Those … people who stormed the castle. They had no flag, but I heard their whispers, as I tried to escape. Lady Johane Harimann hired them. If you search them, I’m sure you will find further proof.”

“That’s a good start. Walk me through your last hours.”

The prince only seemed to move his upper body, his hands clearly aching to reach for Hawke. His eyes still foggy with death, yet they almost glimmered at the sight of her, like stars glittering through clouds of night.

As he finished, Hawke placed her hand over his. The purple light around her slowly dimmed, she sighed, and the prince began to fall back.

"Dorian," said Hawke, the last of her magic faded. "Start examining the mercenary bodies. Take account of all that are in decent shape."

"Are you going to 'interview' them, too?"

"I might, though I'll need to restrain them first. But let's see what we can find on them, first."

"Very well," he took a few steps out the chamber. "And... for what's it's worth, I'm sorry about..."

"Please go, Dorian," she said, her words blunt as stone. "I need to think."

"Of course," and he hurried out.

Hawke sighed as she heard the door clack, and the footsteps faded. She tried to collect herself with deep, slow breaths. She had walked battlefields and massacres, bloody accidents and cruel forces of nature. The sight of blood stirred no emotion after a time, yet the smell of death, the force that hung like heavy fog, still became overwhelming if she lingered too long. All the worse, that it was someone she knew. Someone she loved.

One more steadying breath. She has already made her decision when she first heard the news, and she was never one to go back on a decision once she made it.

She brought her hand to the prince's chest again, this time with a crackling red light. When she touched his skin, he shuddered and buzzed, like streaks of lightning consuming his heart. Blood rose in his face, spreading color throughout. Crackles of red light crisscrossed against the arrow wound; it did not heal to become normal skin again, but the blood and the gash were gone, replaced with a jagged crimson patch. A memory of death.

He groaned, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Marian sighed in relief but was immediately stricken by a sharp pain in her chest; the magic taking its due, boiling a patch of her skin, parallel to the prince’s.

"Marian," he said softly, less a jolting rise, and more a gentle awakening, as if stirred slowly late in the morning by a lover's touch.

"Oh, my sweet Sebastian," she said, her voice cracking. "I never should have left your side. If only I had..."

"Shh, it's all right, my love," he leaned into her palm and kissed the inside. "I know you'll make this right."

"I will," she said, and she leaned into the casket to kiss him. She felt the magic as it worked, re-threading muscles, erasing the cracks. A healthy dark olive hue poured over his face, spilling into his neck, then his chest. If anything, his kiss was even more tender than she remembered. “Listen, dearest one. I can’t bring anyone else back. I have given half my life to fuel yours. You feel pain, I feel pain. You die, I die.”

“I always wanted for us to share in everything,” he said, his voice as slow and sweet as honey, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

"I'll make sure everyone even remotely responsible pays dearly for what happened here. We shall wreak this vengeance together, and I will never leave your side again."

The prince looked upon her with clear, piercing blue eyes. "Never."

*

Hawke did not understand her mentor’s words about love in her youth. Even now, she was not certain if it was meant to be encouragement or warning. But on this day, she chose her own meaning for it.

[pinayelf]

He loves her eyes.

He tells her all the time he's wanted her from the moment he saw her - and he could tell she doesn't quite believe it. But it was true.

Despite the fact that he'd been consumed in a tunnel vision of revenge when he stepped foot in Ferelden, catching her eyes when she walked into that holding cell shook him. The anger bubbled still, but he was immediately disarmed by the dark brown eyes of the woman who killed his father.

Then it turned out his father deserved it. Those brown eyes became a comfort, a friend to help him push through Delilah's revelation.

Those brown eyes continued to make his heart flutter. It ignited a fire when they gazed at his lips as they spoke. The fire was stoked when those eyes locked with his while she was in the throes of ecstasy.

Nathaniel never had a favorite color. Many told him blue suited him, so he wore it often. But he was rather indifferent to it.

Until he found himself holding Amihan in his arms as snow fell in the nightfall.

Snowflakes coated her eyelashes, her eyes still vibrant beneath the moonlight. He told her he loved her, and she looked at him at first in disbelief.

Then she said, "I love you too."

The frost was bitter and sharp, but somehow her eyes encapsulated him in warmth and a feeling he had not felt in a long time. Home.

Nathaniel's favorite color is brown.

[flowerpetalprincess]

Whump Of May || Day 18 - Nightmares

Whumper had long ago set eyes on Whumpee. Even more so now that they had spited him. Whumpee in turn, had done their best to fight against his influence. Not very successfully, but she tried all the same.

Unfortunately, as much as Whumpee tried to resist... she had to sleep eventually.

And when she did, the nightmares would start. The song of the Archdemon ringing in her ears as she felt the corruption taking over. Her skin rotting away, her fingers becoming claws... Her body shifting and changing... her humanity falling away.

It wasn't the end of Whumper's plans, of course not. But it was one of many steps to break Whumpee down into a willing slave.

-

Figured I'd go back to my roots with this one and do a redraw! (2015/2023)

Wolve originated as my canon Grey Warden, and during a crossover roleplay with Rise of the Guardians (ROTG).

Due to her relationship with Jack Frost, and her place as a Hero of Ferelden, Pitch took a special interest in her. He planned to torment her, break her down, until she gave in and became a willing victim to his plans.

Despite past failures within the book series (Guardians of Childhood), Pitch's ideal goal with Wolve was to make Wolve his Darkling Princess.

His own loyal servant.

On top of being a loyal servant, she would also serve as a trophy. A being the Guardians couldn't save. The ultimate victory in Pitch's eyes.

List I'm using.

-

Wolve belongs to me, inspired by Dragon Age Origins, Bioware

Pitch Black and Jack Frost belong to Rise of the Guardians, Dreamworks.

Do not steal, repost, or alter my art in any way.

[tozettastone]

I say "I am determined to write stuff over the break!" and then I write stuff but none of it is anything I want to have written.

I have made 6000 words of a modern character in thedas story, but it's just about running away to milk goats outside redcliffe for a decade..?

it's the precarious and very occasionally charmed lifestyle of a ferelden goatherd... wondering when the last frost will be, the tension of dwindling supplies in early spring, killing darkspawn stragglers (and a few from valammar, i guess), the breeding and lactation cycles of goats which cannot be rushed, the low diversity of edible plants for the garden, making cheese, dreams of spirits and demons in the Fade, spinning goat hair into fine fine yarn (finer and finer as the skill improves), burying occasional murdered neighbours beneath the crystal grace and embrium and alyssum, selling three- or four-month kids at the local market because you're a soft bitch and you don't want to eat them after you've made friends...

cottagecore but with darkspawn. at least until the plot catches up.

soothing to write about, but probably pretty boring to read

[highwayphantoms]

Yayayayaya it's Friday!!! Would LOVE to see some Briar/Fenris (maybe + Emmy?) for ❛ for you, i’ll risk it all. ❜ - from the short sentence starters?

why yes, here is some Briar/Fenris and Emmy, ty :D for @dadrunkwriting

Words: 540 Warnings: nah

-

In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. Magic did run in families after all, and she and Fenris both had a mage sibling. Still, being woken up before dawn by a panicked nine-year-old was not something that Briar generally expected. Despite Emmy’s tearful explanation—which she had only half listened to—in the end Briar concluded that the worst that had happened was that her daughter had spooked herself and tripped over her own feet. Despite a healthy layer of frost covering every surface of Emmy’s room, nothing looked to be actually damaged, aside from a few bumps and bruises on Emmy herself.

The earliest rays of dawn were starting to creep through the windows by the time Briar calmed her down. Only then, as Emmy drifted off to sleep practically in her lap, did she give any proper thought to what do we do now.

The Circles had been re-established, she knew, though both Bethany and Anders had opted instead to follow the Inquisition’s allied mages to their new, independent College of Enchanters. Briar was… reluctant to take either option. One way or the other, she would have to send Emmy away, and that was not something she was ready to do.

Still, Kirkwall was a dangerous place to be a mage. If anything, it was more dangerous now than it was a decade earlier. The Kirkwall Circle was one of the few that had not been re-established, for a handful of reasons that mostly boiled down to it is full of red lyrium and we haven’t figured out how to get rid of it. The Gallows had been abandoned years ago, and the city had plenty of other places where money could be put to better use.

She was still turning over the options in her head when Fenris found them both on a divan in the sitting room. “Did something happen?” he asked quietly.

Briar lifted a shoulder in a weary shrug, careful not to disturb Emmy. “Not yet.” She sighed, then said, “She’s a mage.”

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Then Fenris nodded and said, “Your sister could train her.”

She shook her head. “Bethy’s still in Ferelden. It would take weeks to get her here.”

“And you can’t leave.”

“Not while Varric’s away.” And Maker only knew where he’d gone this time.

“Then I’ll take her south,” he said, like it was such an easy thing to escort a mage child across such a distance without being discovered.

As much as she hated the idea of living in the estate alone, again, Briar quietly asked, “Would you stay with her? It’s not that I don’t trust my sister, but…”

“The Chantry may still intend on bringing them back into the Circle,” Fenris said, and nodded. “Of course I’ll stay with her. I’d risk anything for you. Both of you.”

“I wish…” She sighed again. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I want the world Anders dreamed of. The one where mages don’t have to hide.”

“Someday, perhaps.”

“Someday,” she echoed, idly tucking Emmy’s hair back behind her ear. “The moment Varric comes back, I’m coming to join you. Kirkwall can do without me for a year or two.”

[contreparry]

happy Friday Ann! For DADWC, perhaps "Mythical species, thought extinct, re-emerging in the present" speaks to you? :3

Here’s one for Vivienne and my Inquisitor Trevelyan for @dadrunkwriting !

“The hoof prints are all wrong,” Enchanter Trevelyan declared.

Standing ankle deep in mud in the freezing winter rain in the backwoods of Ferelden was not Madame de Fer’s idea of a good time, or even a tolerable one, but one made the best of their current circumstances. Vivienne cast a shield over their party, thanked the Maker that she had the good sense to have her tailor sew in some inner pockets into her robes so she could slip heat charms in them, and hoped that the oncoming night would convince the young enchanter that it was time to turn back towards camp. Seeker Pentaghast was already looking antsy, and the infamous Varric Tethras rather resembled a half-drowned rat. The less said about the state of her own robes, the better. The mud might never come out, which was a pity. Good silk was hard to come by.

There was little chance that they would move anytime soon. Vivienne was familiar with Ostwick mages and their insatiable curiosity, and Enchanter Trevelyan was a True Ostwick Mage. They may very well be stuck to this spot for days as she conducted all manners of tests and formulated a half-dozen theories over bloody hoof prints in the mud! Enough was enough. Vivienne cleared her throat.

“I do believe it is time to turn in,” she announced. Enchanter Trevelyan nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on the hoof prints.

“Cloven hooves,” Trevelyan murmured. “Definitely not a horse. But the gait is… bizarre. Almost as if the creature was… prancing?” She knelt down by the footprints (in the mud, the mud, dear Maker the woman was going to be soaked in the stuff)!

“If not a horse, perhaps a goat?” Seeker Pentaghast suggested, and Vivienne tried not to scream. Just what they needed, another theory to discuss in the pouring rain!

“Enormous fucking goat,” Messere Tethras muttered. “The Madame has a good point, mud’s up to my damn knees.” He shifted his weight, pulling out one of his legs from the muck with a loud, definite -schlorp-.

“… if it weren’t impossible I’d say these tracks belong to a… but that’s nonsense,” Trevelyan mumbled, even as Pentaghast caught her up by the elbow and dragged her upright. “But perhaps if I could make a casting…”

“In this weather? Nonsense,” Vivienne interrupted. No more of this, or else they’d drown where they stood in this damned rain! She spread out her hand and let the frost and ice settle over the strange cloven prints, until they gleamed a silvery-white in the gloom.

“That should hold until morning, I think. Now, back to camp before one of us slips and breaks a leg,” Vivienne declared. As if rising from a dream, Trevelyan shook her head and stirred. She rose to her feet, blinked her dark eyes, and seemed to finally realize that yes, it was raining and yes, night was fast approaching.

“Where did the time go?” she murmured as they began to walk down the muddy trail back to camp. Vivienne resisted the urge to say they spent a good portion of their time studying hoof prints and gathering weeds. She knew as well as any decent potion maker and alchemist that those plants were useful in medicinal draughts, and the hoof prints were (though it pained her to admit it) strange. Some new sort of demon, perhaps? Though four cloven hooves made Vivienne think of certain fairytales and stories that bordered on the fantastical, the impossible.

Vivienne thought, for a brief moment during the march back to camp, that she heard the faintest high whiney of a horse over the storm. She thought she saw, from the corner of her eye, the shimmer of a coat that seemed to have been formed from starlight and moonbeams. She thought she might have beheld a great horn formed of a twisted sort of pearl or seashell jut out of the head of the strange creature that darted through the forest at a canter on impossibly slender, delicate legs. It seemed to have been formed from the ice and magic she mastered so easily, disappearing and reappearing between the towering trees as they walked, but no one else seemed to have noticed it. And Vivienne… Vivienne shook her head and returned her attention to the task at hand: returning to her tent without injuring herself in the process.

But afterwards, when she was curled up in her bedroll and finally warm and dry, Vivienne lay on her back and carefully considered what she saw. Might have seen. It was all nonsense, of course. Unicorns only made themselves known to young maidens, not grown women!

But still. Whenever she shut her eyes she remembered the sight of that misty creature darting between the trees, prancing away on cloven hooves, the white spire of its horn cutting through the gloomy rain as it joyfully ran wild, away from all mortal understanding.

Some creatures, Vivienne thought with a small smile, should remain outside of scholarly understanding.

[exhausted-archivist]

Prepared Ingredients

Updated: 2023/12

As of now this list is updated with everything found in media released as of Oct 2023.

Like the original, this contains all prepared ingredients; butters, cheese, chocolate, dough, flour, jams, ect. If known to a specific region it is marked next to the item in parentheses, if it is not, it is either unknown or universally consumed.

For Other Food Posts

Dishes, Sauces, and Sides

Drinks

Raw Ingredients

Canonically Possible Foods and Drinks

Food and Drink Master Post

Disclaimer

Though real life plants may be listed here as edible, it is for fictional use only. This is not intended to be used as a reference nor guide for what plants are edible or safe to eat. Please do not use it as such.

Basic Ingredients

Alcohol

Brandy

Cinnamon-infused whiskey

Dark Llomerryn Rum

Hirol’s Lava Burst

Prophet’s Laurel Gin

Red Wine

Watered Down Ale

Whiskey

White Seleney Wine

Broth

Deepstalker Broth

Fish Broth

Butters - Non-dairy butters

Peanut Butter

Caramel

Cocoa Products

Chocolate (Orlais, Tevint)

Chocolate Bitters

Cocoa Butter - used to make white chocolate (Orlais)

Cocoa Powder - difficult to procure

White Chocolate (Orlais)

Compote - Fresh or dried fruit that is cut into chunks and stewed in a syrup of sugar and other flavours.

Red Grape Compote (Orlais)

Croutons

Custard

Dough

Pie Dough

Puff Pastry Dough (Orlais)

Extract

Mint Extract

Orange Extract

Vanilla Extract

Flour

Ryott Flour (Chasind, Ferelden)

Semolina Flour (Rivain)

Wheat Flour

Whole Grain Flour

Frosting

Buttercream

Chocolate Cream

White Frosting

Gold

Edible Gold Leaf

Gold Dust

Jam

Plum Jam

Raspberry Jam

Mulled Fruit

Mulled Raspberry

Oil

Cod Liver Oil

Orange Essence

Pasta

Antivan Pasta

Couscous (Rivain)

Gnocchi (Antiva)

Grain-based Noodle

Noodle

Pound Cake

Stock

Brown Stock

Sugar

Brown Sugar

Molasses

Powdered Sugar

Sugar-cream Icing

Sugar Flowers

Sugared Rose Petals

Syrup

Sugar Syrup

Tea Biscuit

Toffee

Wafer

Vinegar

Apple Cider Vinegar

Herbed Wine Vinegar

Dairy and Eggs

Butter

Cow Butter

Goat Butter

Halla Butter

Herbed Butter

Nug Butter

Cheese

Antivan Smoked Cheese

Blue-veined Cheese (Orlais)

Brie Cheese

Brined Goat Cheese

“Dalish” Cheese - An ill described item as it is unclear if it is actually cheese. One thing is for sure it isn’t Dalish.

Dry Cheese - Unspecified cheese used in cacio e pepe(Antiva)

Feisty Cheese (Orlais)

Goat Cheese

Halla Cheese (Dalish)

Ram Cheese (Ferelden)

Cream

Spiced Cream

Thickened Cream

Whipped Cream

Egg

Hard Boiled Egg

Yogurt

Dried and Cured Foods

Dried Fruits, Vegetables, and Fungi

Dried Apple

Dried Apricot

Dried Beans

Dried Cherry

Dried Cranberry

Dried Currant

Dried Mushroom

Dried Peas

Prunes

Pitted Prunes

Raisin

Cured Meats

Bacon

Nug Bacon

Smoked Bacon

Cold Cuts

Dried Meats

Dried Mackerel

Lutefisk

Jerky

Spiced jerky

Salted Meat

Dried Salt Pork

Salt Pork

Salted Beef

Salted Dragon Meat

Salted Fish

Salted Goat Meat

Sausage

Blood Sausage

Smoked Sausage

Spiced and Salted Sausage

Smoked

Smoked Beef

Smoked Fish

Smoked Goat Meat

Pickled Foods

Pickled Apples

The Pickled Apples of Arlathan - Apples said to be from the time of Arlathan. The taste is described to be one of fresh apples, with the same crispness.

Pickled Fish

Pickled Lamprey

Pickled Nug

Pickled Ox Tongue

Pickled Vegetables

Pickles

Prepared Animal Products

Gelatine

Grease

Ground Meat

Ground Beef

Ground Nug

Lard

Spiced Meat

Miscellaneous

Lyrium

Soup Bone

Wyvern Venom - There are 47 ways to distill wyvern venom to be safe for consumption.

Sources:

(If you want to find the direct links or page numbers, check out the Wiki's Food and Ingredients page.)

Primary Sources:

Dragon Age: Origins (Base and DLCs) Dragon Age: Awakening Dragon Age 2 (Base and DLCs) Dragon Age: The Last Court Dragon Age: Inquisition (DLCs + Multiplayer)

Books:

Dragon Age Tabletop RPG Core Rulebook Dragon Age Tabletop RPG: Blood in Ferelden Dragon Age Tabletop RPG: Game Master’s Kit: Buried Past World of Thedas Vol. 1 World of Thedas Vol. 2 Dragon Age Official Cookbook: Tastes of Thedas Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne Dragon Age: The Calling Dragon Age: The Masked Empire Dragon Age: Last Flight Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

Short Stories:

Short Story: Paper and Steel Short Story: Paying the Ferryman Short Story: As We Fly

DA:O

Codex Entry: The History of Soldier’s Peak: Chapter 3

Codex Entry: A Tattered Shopping List

Item: Sugar Cake

DA II

Codex Entry: Wyvern

DA:I

Codex Entry: Plant vs. Corpses

Codex Entry: Waterlogged Diary

Note: The Gilded Horn’s Drink List

Note: Knight-Captain’s Orders

The Last Court

Flames of Freedom

The Next Course

Thieves

The Wyvern is Cornered

Wanna support this blog? You can check out my ko-fi.

[thedarklingprincess]

Would You Prefer I Wait Till You Were Gone? || Ferelden Frost

Couldn’t find this on any of my blogs, so reposting here.

“Jade…?” He whispers quietly.

She doesn’t answer; the grip on him tightens instead, hanging on for a dear moment before going slack.

Pitch’s smile turns into a wicked grin and he catches her arm as she goes limp, supporting her easily.

“WOLVE!”

Pitch looks over his shoulder as Jack runs towards the fallen Commander. “Ah, Frost.” His lip twitches up.

“What did you do to her?!” Jack shouts, raising his staff.

“Do?” Pitch asks, amused. “Why, Jack. I made her better.”

The spirit stared.

Pitch rolled his eyes. “She embraced what you didn’t. She has taken the invitation you threw so carelessly away.”

“Jack!” Another voice, the Antivan lilt giving away who it is. “Jack--” Zevran stumbles to a stop just behind Jack and stares. “…no.” He whispers, shaking his head.

“Ah, Zevran.” Pitch smiles. “Do you like her new look?”

Something inside the Antivan snaps, and without a second thought he charges the Nightmare King with a furious roar.

“Jade.” Pitch calls.

The girl stirs, blinking up at Pitch before noticing the charging Antivan. Her eyes widen slightly and she hastily slips between the two. “No!”

Zevran barely stops in time, the blade that had appeared in his hand left quivering in the air.

“Wolve…?” He starts quietly.

Pitch tuts. “Sorry, Arainai. “Wolve” is gone. This is Jade, my princess.”

Jack raises his staff but glances at Wolve and lowers it.

She glances at Pitch, then at the others, and draws closer to the King.

“Wolve—it’s me.” Zevran starts, lowering his blades. “It’s Zevran, your husband!”

She blinks at him, silent.

He takes a step forward and she startles, but remains firm where she stands, Zevran’s eyes search for an answer, for some way to make things better, Wolve would know, Wolve could fix things easily… but Wolve… she wasn’t here, was she?

What he finds is not what he wants to find, the necklace he had been searching for less than an hour ago, abandoned on the floor.

“Wolve…” He shakes his head. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“It’s a bit late for that.” Pitch says.

“Fix it.” Jack says flatly. “Undo it.”

“No.”

Zevran drops his blades, they land with a clatter on the floor and he stares up at Pitch, trying not to stare at his beloved. “I beg of you.” He whispers. “Please, give her back to me.”

Pitch looks at him. “Would you have preferred I wait until you were in Antiva?”

Zevran hesitates, hand quivering. He wants to reach out, he wants to snatch her back and hold her and never let her go, he shouldn’t have let her go. It’s painful because it’s Rinna all over again, he lost her, he threw her away and he lost her after he promised not to screw up.

But the self-hatred is quickly replaced by another blinding rage. “You told her.” He hisses. “You took the necklace and the note and you told her.”

“I was honest with her.” Pitch says evenly. “You weren’t.”

Another flicker of hesitance, “you are not an honest man, you manipulate and screw with her head—Wolve would have understood—what did you say to her? How much did you fuck with her head Pitch?!” He growls, taking a step forward.

The girl practically hisses and he stops dead.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zevran scowls, a feral bearing of teeth. “You…” He grinds out. “Just… give her back, I will give you anything… name it, but give her back.”

Pitch rests a hand on the girls shoulder. “You have nothing I desire.”

She glances up at him again, a soft smile.

The Antivan, on the other hand, seems to break, he had tried so hard to stay tall and proud and fight for his beloved, but here she was against him, here she was and he was responsible, he had done this.

He could do nothing.

He wobbles for a moment before falling to his knees, staring blankly at the girl who did not know him, not anymore. “Mi amor, mi único, por favour…” He murmured rapidly, holding out his hands for her.

She drew back into Pitch’s hand, confusion evident on her face.

“Undo this, Pitch! Bring her back!” Jack yells again.

Pitch rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Mi amor!” Zevran wails, reaching out for her. “Te… Te amo!”

The girl blinks before looking up at Pitch again. “Can we leave?” She asks.

“No.” Zevran says, drawing closer, she looks at him with a frown. “Don’t, please.”

“Yes, my dear. We can.” Pitch smiles at her, pulling her closer to him and away from Zevran. “Oh, and Jack? Sending Nightlight? Not your best decision.”

“Why?”

His smile turns sinister. “He was the only one who could’ve stopped me.”

“Wolve!” Zevran cries, struggling to stand, to reach her. “Please… don’t do this, I’m sorry!”

She doesn’t even look at him.

“Goodbye boys. Come, Jade.” Pitch says at the pair of them vanish.

[endlessshower]

Ferelden Frost Back~

art (c) @endless801

[ripflemeth]

Wines of Thedas

Wines are often named after the place where they originate. As a result, many terms that we use for wines would be anachronistic in Thedas... so I dreamed up some wines that you can use in your writing and worldbuilding! In a couple places, I also came up with in-world explanations for where these wines could have derived their names.

In parentheses, I included the Real World wine the Thedas head canon was inspired by, when applicable.

Enjoy!

ICE WINES OF THEDAS

These are head canons I have for wines that are made from grapes that grow in humid continental climates where the first frost brings out the sugars in the grapes before they are harvested. While the climate of continental Ferelden would be the right temperature, any wines made there are kept locally and are not part of the greater Orlesian wine trade, which is dominated by wineries from the Frostbacks to the Minanter.

Cabernet Orles (Cabernet Franc) - The primary wine in Orlais made from black grapes. There are many varieties, named after local wineries.

Merlot - The name for this wine is derived from the Orlesian word merle, or blackbird. It is another common variety throughout the vineyards of Orlais, a dark-blue colored grape variety.

Dalish Wine (Gewürztraminer) - This is an aromatic wine grape and is often called "Spiced Dalish" for its bouquet. These grapes are grown exclusively on the western slopes of the Frostback Mountains. The name is a bit of a misnomer, having nothing to do with actual Dalish clans, instead coming from the region of the Dales where the wineries are located.  The human nobles who run the collection of wineries have tried to rebrand their wines, but despite many efforts to get another name to circulate, the term "Dalish Wine" still persists.

Cœurling (Riesling) - A white grape variety that originates in the Orlesian heartlands. It typically has notes of apple and tree fruit. Varieties that are grown along the Minanter tend to develop more citrus and peach notes.

Veltlin Verde (Grüner Veltliner) - Hailing from the Green Dales in the northern Minanter river basin, this sweet and citrus wine is named after the Antivan village Veltlin (not a canon location) where it was first fermented centuries ago.

Chenin Blanc - A white wine grape variety from the Chenin river valley in Central Orlais, on the coast of the Waking Sea. It is highly acidic and is used in the production of sparkling and dessert wines.

Armitage Blanc - A recent wine that was created by Jean Louis Armitage, who hails from Verchiel. He was trying to craft a new grape for the production of brandy and ended up with this winter-hardy variety instead. It is very popular for its high sugar levels and hardiness and has a fruity taste, a trendy wine du jour.

OTHER WINES

Cloudwater - In the wetlands of the Minanter River Delta, rice grows as a staple. The Dalish in the vicinity, including Clan Lavellan, use the rice to ferment this liquor that appears cloudy in color due to the unfermented rice solids that remain suspended in the alcohol. The Dalish use this cloudwater as a key ingredient in many tonics and syrup, and you can often find bottles of it for trade that have been infused with seasonal fruits such as wild strawberries, blackberries and cassis.

Seleny (Champagne) -  This sparkling wine originated in the Seleny river basin of western Antiva. It is renown for its secondary fermentation that causes the wine in the bottle to produce carbonation.

Seleny became associated with royalty in the Black Age, when Asha Campana became the Queen of Antiva. As a favorite wine of the queen, she sent bottles of it as a gift to celebrate each new wedding she arranged for her children and grandchildren across Thedas. The tradition was adopted to pop a cork of Seleny in celebration at wedding ceremonies, and the wine is often affectionately nicknamed “campane”--or the Orlesian bastardization “champagne”--for this reason.

Note from the author:

If you’d like to use these wines in your fanfic writing or DA roleplay, feel free to do so. You don’t have to credit me, but if you want to, you can tag me bc I’d really get a kick out of seeing them in action!

I have lots of friends and fellow fans to thank for brainstorming these with me or giving me prompts that led to these creations. I’m always a sucker for creating fictional culinary delights for Thedas, so if you wanna chat foods or world building (especially for Antiva), hit me up!

Xoxo Kitty