#ghil'danan for oc tagging

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Carry my heart (and hold it gently in your arms)

Another Emmrook piece! I just feel like this old man is too smooth, and needed early pre-relationship old man flustering. Ghil can be a poetic flirt, as a treat.

Feat. My Ingellvar Ghil'danan, and the bone daddy himself, Emmrich Volkarin.

-----------------

Strong arms wrapped around him, sliding under his knees and around his shoulders. There was something about the scent that soothed him, kept him from startling even as he blinked awake.

Something floral, like the soap Ghil used.

Dazed, Emmrich looked up, his eyes adjusting to the weak light. White hair turned to pale gold in the candlelight, spilling over a broad chest and draping across Emmrich’s lap.

“Rook?” He asked sleepily, before the full reality of the situation hit him. “R-Rook!” He flailed uselessly, locked firmly in place by Ghil’s embrace.

“Shh. You fell asleep, professor.” The warrior’s low tone was melodic and even as he climbed the stairs.

“You could have just woken me up!” Emmrich protested.

Ghil snorted. “We tried. Dozing off at dinner…should I take you on less missions?”

Emmrich glared, smacking Ghil’s chest. His ears were hot with embarrassment. “I'm not an invalid!” He scolded sharply. “You requested an expert on the Fade, which requires me to-”

A rumbling chuckle cut him off, the vibrating sensation warm and deep against his side. “I know,” Ghil said, almost affectionately. “I'm just teasing.” He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing down at the professor. “Would you like me to set you down now?”

No.

“Yes,” Emmrich lied. How mortifying it was to feel the longing rise up in his chest, a sweet ache he could not deny. “I'm perfectly able to walk to my own quarters. Where is Manfred, anyway?”

Ghil gently set him on his feet, and again the professor was struck with how startingly tall the elf was. Nearly his own height.

“In your room,” Ghil replied. “I asked Manfred if he’d prep your bed for you, just in case you didn't wake.”

Emmrich truly blushed at that. “You would have taken me all the way to my bed?”

The warrior opened his mouth, snapping it shut as if closing off a sudden thought. He coughed shyly. “Of course.” Whatever had run through his mind had caused a bloom of pink across his skin, flustering Ghil nearly as much as Emmrich. “Wherever…” his voice lowered, grew softer and more intimate. “Wherever you need me to carry you, I'll always be more than happy to.”

Something about those words caught Emmrich's attention. The lingering insinuation, perhaps of something…?

No. It couldn't be. Rook couldn't be interested in…

Fidgeting, Emmrich straightened his clothes. “Well,” he said weakly. “I appreciate the offer. And…thank you for carrying me.”

Ghil's lids lowered, heavy and inviting. “Anytime, professor.”

“You know what I prefer to be called,” Emmrich croaked out. If only anyone else was here. If only the low lights didn't lend an intimate, private touch to their conversation, as if they were the only two people in the entirety of the Lighthouse.

If only he were younger, braver.

The warrior stepped closer, reaching out, making Emmrich’s breath catch.

He plucked a long white hair off the professor's shoulder, smiling softly.

“Sorry. It's the worst part about having long hair,” he commented, pulling away.

Emmrich nodded. “Of course. Thank you, dear Rook.”

“Professor. Say my name.” The command was soft, but everything in Emmrich’s mind leapt to obey.

“Ghil’danan,” he whispered hoarsely.

The look he was rewarded with practically turned his insides to jelly, filling him with heat. He was far too old for stomach butterflies, for the yearning of a new infatuation.

And yet.

Ghil took his hand, lifting it up and examining the rings there absentmindedly.

“If the sound of my name on your lips is the last thing I hear, I don't think I'd mind,” he commented casually.

By all that was good, this man was sent to kill him personally. Nevermind Lucanis, the true assassin was right here.

His cheeks flared with heat as Ghil leaned down to kiss his knuckles, that lilac gaze flicking up to pin the professor in place.

“Goodnight…Emmrich,” he murmured, before stepping away.

Emmrich found himself at a loss for words. Those lips had been so soft against his skin, the sensation lingering like veilfire long after Ghil had vanished from sight.

Letting out a shaky breath, Emmrich slumped against the wall.

A snicker caught his attention.

Taash leaned in the hallway to their room, just barely in sight.

“Get it, professor,” they said, smirking before slinking back into their quarters.

Emmrich just covered his face and wished he could sink into the floorboards.

[roro-the-sleepy-monster]

Thinking abt my Rooks Lana and Ghil'danan again...

About how living in the Denerim Alienage as a child made Ghil completely leave his Ferelden heritage behind and commit fully to Nevarran culture and fashion, forcing his Ferelden accent away as fast as possible.

And how Lana is so so fiercely proud of their heritage, even though they no longer live under the Qun, even though they're no longer in Seheron, that as soon as it was safe enough for them to wear their Dar-Saam again they incorporated it into every Crow outfit they could.

Anyway. Fashion as a sense of self and a reminder of heritage and a way to leave your past behind.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Morning Intimacy

This was originally something I just wrote for me, but I adore it so much that I wanted to share it on here. It's all fluff.

Feat. My Ingellvar Ghil'danan (or Meathead, as my friends and I call him) and Emmrich Volkarin, the bone daddy himself.

------------------------

Emmrich was loathe to leave his bed.

He always cherished the beginnings of a new relationship, but he had to admit, this was his favorite part.

Sharing a bed overnight.

He was delighted to learn Ghil wore a braid to bed, sleeping in nothing but an oversized shirt.

Honestly, it was impressive that the man had an oversized shirt, considering his relative height and musculature. When Emmrich had stared last night, causing the elf to blush, he'd shyly muttered something about it becoming too small with all the extra muscle he'd put on.

Such a tragedy. Emmrich was secretly looking forward to when it fit snugly.

Here, in the strange dawn of the Lighthouse, that shirt bared a pale shoulder. Seeing Ghil without his body paint was always startling, of course. It practically seemed like a part of his anatomy.

The way he curled around Emmrich protectively, a constant bulwark of heat against any early morning chill, left the professor's heart stuttering a little bit. He couldn't see Ghil’s expression from here, but the slow breath against his hair assured him that his lover was still sleeping.

What a novelty to feel small.

Safe.

Ghil’s fingers twitched against his chest. Slowly, he felt signs of life return to his lover, a stuttering to the steady breaths and a quiet grumble of reluctance.

“Good morning, darling,” Emmrich said softly.

The breath caught, then evened out.

“Good morning, Vhenan.”

Emmrich felt a shiver go down his spine at the rich, husky baritone, heavy with sleep. Ghil’s hand slipped down his body to curl around the jut of his hip.

Ghil’s palm felt hot, like a brand Emmrich wanted to wear forever.

Lips grazed his ear. “Want to stay in bed a while longer?”

Startled, Emmrich looked up into lilac eyes, crinkled around the edges with the beginnings of crow’s feet. “Darling, I don't think our friends will let us sleep in. We have too much work to do today, and-”

A slow, wicked grin cut him off neatly, sharp canines glinting in the morning light.

“That's not what I meant.”

The man was going to send Emmrich to an early grave.

“Well…I suppose we could spare a moment or two.”

Laughter filled his ears as he was tugged back into Ghil’s embrace, and the morning carried on without them.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Codex Entry: Lilies and Lilacs

A look at a post-game letter that my Mourn Watch Rook, Ghil'danan, would send to Emmrich. Bioware give us epilogue or DLC🔪. Some of this is spoilers, some of this is just vague headcanons and fun ideas of post-game stuff.

-----------------

[A letter, wrinkled and stained from the length that it's traveled, with a doodle of flowers on the front. Addressed to Emmrich Volkarin and family.]

Vhenan-

I'm fine, I promise. Your last letter was five pages long, don't think I can't read between the lines.

Bellara and I are well. We're keeping relatively warm and fed, considering the state of the Anderfels. It's recovering faster than I expected from the blight, something that seems to bring Antoine and Evka endless joy.

Personally, I think Evka’s just grateful her husband's stopped hearing so many whispers.

Bellara and I unearthed more strange artifacts, including a golemn with a particularly strong loathing for birds. I'm not sure you'd get along, but I find them fucking hilarious.

No sign of Harding yet. Wherever she's gone, only Kal’Sharok knows. I've yet to write to Taash to tell them the news.

Never been good with delivering bad tidings.

Please inform Pavus that I'll have to cancel. I refuse to call him Archon, not because I don't think he doesn't deserve it, but because thinking about knowing someone with that much political influence makes me nauseous.

You remember how I was when I met the Inquisitor.

Regardless -

Please give Manfred and Ellanora my love. I woke half the camp with my laughter when I heard about his new “tattoos”. Ellie is so artistic, and I know it takes forever to clean ink from bone, but I'm endlessly proud of her. Remember that this is a good sign of her development, and breathe.

And also.

I love you. My heart is yours, your breath is my breath, my blood your blood. Our love is etched in my bones - or will be, because I intend to have our wedding vows inscribed into my ribcage posthumously.

I'll be home before you know it.

Ar lath ma, Vhenan.

-Ghil

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

My thorn-laden heart (it's yours, it's yours, it's yours)

A companion piece to Carry my heart (and hold it gently in your arms). From Ghil's POV! Yes there's a Hanahaki reference in here. Tender and bittersweet, and absolutely delightful to write how differently Ghil and Emmrich view each other.

Feat. My Ingellvar, Ghil'danan, and the bone daddy himself, Emmrich Volkarin.

---------------------

Nobody could wake him.

To be fair, nobody wanted to. Emmrich had been uncharacteristically quiet on the way back, exhaustion seemingly making him drag his feet.

It had been a rough day to begin with. Antaam, Ventatori, and a mad dash to get rid of a bunch of magically charged poison had left its mark, sprinting from one end of Treviso to the other.

“Why don't you carry him, Rook?” Neve said teasingly. “You know he's going to be hurting tomorrow if we leave him sleeping here.”

Fuck. She was right. As much as he knew she was actively tormenting him, Neve did bring up a good point.

Ghil sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “If he kills me, make him bring me back,” he groaned.

Neve smiled in that wickedly mysterious way of hers. “Perhaps. Good luck.” She trotted out of the room, leaving him alone.

Emmrich looked so young. The gentle touch of sleep drew the lines away from his face, reminding Ghil of how he'd looked fourteen years ago.

Bittersweet memories. The professor didn't even remember him from before he transitioned, and Ghil didn't know whether that was a blessing or a curse.

He walked over, sliding a hand under Emmrich's knees, and the other around his shoulders.

The necromancer was much lighter than he expected. All legs and bone, gangly in a way that often came off as grace.

It was a miracle Ghil managed to keep his eyes on the battlefield on any given day.

Emmrich barely stirred. It was as if he recognized the person who held him would never do him any harm.

Maker. Cradled in his arms was the manifestation of his bleeding, beating heart, ruby-slick and beating with the spark of life this man had installed years ago.

Every time Ghil got into his head about it, he reminded himself Emmrich was only human. It would be unfair to put him on a pedestal.

Still, as his feet carried him towards the main building of the Lighthouse, he couldn't help the relentless flood of affection. Time spent together actually learning who Emmrich was only made a longtime crush bloom into a deep, unshakeable love.

Like brambles, rooting deep into his heart where they could never be dug out.

He would choke on those blackberry blossoms before ever trying to get rid of them.

A questioning hiss drew him from his thoughts. Manfred’s eyes glowed in the dark, reminding him of a cat.

“Manfred,” he whispered. “Would you set up what Emmrich needs for bed?”

The skeleton nodded, a chipperness to his steps as he scuttled up the stairs that wound up to everyone's separate quarters.

As he followed, he felt the professor stir in his arms.

“Rook?” Emmrich said sleepily. Maker’s breath, that fucking nickname. It drove Ghil mad some days.

Coming to full consciousness, the professor flailed, and Ghil was forced to tighten his hold, lest the man brain himself on the stone railing. “R-Rook!”

“Shh,” Ghil hushed. “You fell asleep, professor.”

Emmrich looked at him, aghast. “You could have just woken me up!”

He couldn't help but snort. This man was too cute for his own good. “We tried. Dozing off at dinner…should I take you on less missions?”

The glare he received made him grin, followed by a scolding smack. “I'm not an invalid! You requested an expert on the Fade, which requires me to-”

Laughter came bubbling out of Ghil’s chest, cutting the professor off. “I know,” he said, unable to control the wealth of affection spilling from him. “I'm just teasing.” Emmrich’s disapproving face only made him smile more, even as he stopped at the top of the stairs. “Would you like me to set you down now?”

“Yes,” Emmrich retorted. “I'm perfectly able to walk to my own quarters. Where is Manfred, anyway?”

Ghil glanced up. The skeleton was already gone from view. “In your room,” he replied, setting Emmrich on his feet. “I asked Manfred if he'd prep your bed for you, just in case you didn't wake.”

An odd look crossed the professor’s face, something that Ghil couldn't read. “You would have taken me all the way to my bed?”

I'd take you to mine, if you'd let me.

Ghil swallowed the inappropriate response, mentally smacking himself up the back of the head. He coughed instead. “Of course.” Ghil could feel the stark blush spreading, hating how easily it would show on his skin. “Wherever…” he faltered. What a chicken. What a coward. Alone in the Lighthouse with the one person he'd ever wanted, and he still was weak.

Ghil wanted to be someone who could be relied on. Not necessarily a hero, fuck that, but a bulwark against the endless storm of their lives.

That required courage.

He forced the words out, quieter than intended. “Wherever you need me to carry you, I'll always be more than happy to.”

Emmrich’s lips parted, his eyes wide like he'd come to some sort of revelation.

Whatever it was, he kept it to himself, looking away as he brushed invisible wrinkles from his clothes. “Well,” he replied quietly. “I appreciate the offer. And…thank you for carrying me.”

Ghil’s chest felt warm. He gazed at Emmrich tenderly. “Anytime, professor.”

Emmrich stared down at him disapprovingly. “You know what I prefer to be called.”

In the low candlelight, a single strand of white hair stuck to Emmrich's clothes. It was odd, something that didn't belong with the professor’s seamless image.

Ghil was reminded of the way Emmrich looked in the early morning, his moustache askew and his clothes rumpled.

He smiled. Not so seamless after all. Another imperfection, to be loved as it was.

Before he knew it, he'd reached forward, plucking it from the professor’s clothes. “Sorry,” he said absentmindedly. “It's the worst part about having long hair.”

Emmrich nodded. “Of course. Thank you, dear Rook.”

The nickname scratched at him, a reminder of his leadership. His title. His crown, snug around his throat and drawing tighter every day.

“Professor,” he said, before he could help himself. “Say my name.”

Internally he cringed. It came out as a command instead of a request.

-’danan,” came the whispered reply. It shocked Ghil back out of his head, sending his heart stuttering.

Holy shit. Holy shit. He was going to die, right here on the floor. Emmrich was looking at him in a way he'd never seen before, and it filled him with an impulsive confidence he rarely felt.

Taking the professor's hand in his own, he absentmindedly noted the callouses there. Years of magework had worn into Emmrich, a tapestry of skill written across his skin.

“If the sound of my name on your lips is the last thing I hear, I don't think I'd mind.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he leaned down, intent on hiding the blush that was definitely coming.

Instead, he kissed the back of Emmrich's hand, silently grateful for the way they'd healed him again and again.

Ghil glanced up, meeting Emmrich’s eyes. Kind eyes, wide with pupils blown.

He had to go. He had to run away, before he ruined this moment by doing something stupid and impulsive.

“Goodnight…Emmrich.” Quickly, Ghil turned on his heel, fleeing to his room.

He hoped he hadn't scared the man off.

He hoped tomorrow, Emmrich would still grace him with his presence.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Dragon Age OCs

This will be an extensive post so obviously I'm going to put it under a read more and also tag it with spoilers... because not everyone has finished Veilguard!

That being said, I've put everything in order of most recent game to the earliest, that way if you're only interested in what weird shit I'm cooking for Veilguard, it'll be right there at the top.

EDIT: this got long. This post is Veilguard only. I'll put Origins and Dragon Age 2 in a different one.

This is mostly for my own personal reference as I continue to write banter and fanfiction, but I like posting it where people can see it if they get curious. This is all subject to change, as OCs can (and should) change as their writers do. That's progress and growth, babey.

Maybe someday I'll even include screenshots of my OCs. Dragon Age Origins my crusty beloved.

Don't care about this post but you're curious about the OC template I made? Just scroll to the bottom of the post!

Anyways, onto OC rambling!

Veilguard

Lanalath De Riva (he/they)

My currently canon playthrough. Not my current playthrough, just my canon Rook atm. This might change with time.

🐦‍⬛Stats🐦‍⬛

Age: 29

Race: Elf, non-Dalish

Faction: Antivan Crows my beloved

Class: Sword and Orb mage.

Specialization: Spellblade, lightning and fire focused. This was nuts to run, and I did it by accident.

Romance: Lucanis the disaster that you are

Birthplace: Seheron

Brief backstory:

Ngl this one was a hassle to work out. Originally Lana was a Lords of Fortune named Monarch, only I did a full playthrough and then realized Lana fit the Crows far better. And then I changed their entire backstory bc it no longer fit 😭

So Lana is, as you read, from Seheron originally. This is partially due to The Iron Bull's influence, I hyperfixated pretty hard during Inquisition.

Lana's one of many in that shitshow of a war-torn nation, probably made exceptionally worse now that the Antaam's separated from the Qun. Bioware give us more world politics and lore.

Their story is pretty straight to the point, and very DA2 and DAO inspired. In the endless war between Tevinter and the Qunari, some magister decided that a feral elf child from Seheron would make an excellent gift, and kidnapped them. Lana (a la Anders vibes) stubbornly refused to give their birthname, and was renamed by another elven slave aboard the ship.

This slaver ship got sunk before it could make it to port, and Lana was one of the ones that survived.

Through sheer luck, they made it to Antiva, and barely scraping by, made it to sixteen years of age.

And then a young Viago fell out of a window directly on top of them trying to escape someone inevitably trying to kill him, and a friendship was formed.

Lana stayed glued to his side since then, being his loyal shadow, until the Crows gave up trying to separate the two and just recruited Lana instead.

Viago's "canonically" (via datamined information) 32ish, so there's only a three year difference, making them have an incredibly strong rapport.

As a result of their childhood, Lana speaks fluent Qunlat and Antivan, and a handful of Tevene. This means the Crows send them to deal with the Antaam when needs must.

What happens if Lana doesn't become Rook/doesn't romance Lucanis:

It takes an incredibly long time, but Teia and Viago eventually get Lana into their bed (and into their hearts). Lana remains Viago's shadow, and helps Taash guide those who choose to split from the Antaam into better lives. Also helps deal with the sudden influx of Tal-Vashoth in Antiva. Even after the Antaam, you know population statistics are going to drastically change.

Other OCs Lana knows: Kaarash-Taar (later documented), Ghil'danan (later documented), Wren (later documented), and Riesel (later documented).

Ghil'danan Ingellvar (he/him, ftm)

My favorite punching bag. Idk why I love traumatizing him specifically so much, but I do. I've written considerably more for him than I have my other OCs, and I'm almost done with my playthrough of him. And by almost I mean like. Post the two dragon fight.

🪲Stats🪲

Age: 32

Race: Elf, alienage

Faction: Mourn Watch! My favorite goths.

Class: Warrior, sword and shield

Specialization: Reaper. It made sense for Mourn Watch. Surprisingly, not my favorite, though the death tornado is cool.

Romance: Emmrich, my beloved. I keep wanting to spell it "Emmerich". Old classy goth x Grungepunk goth energy. Sorry, dad.

Birthplace: Denerim! *Rubs hands together evilly*

Backstory:

I'll...try and keep this one short. I've been hyperfixating on him lately so his stuff's gotten out of control.

Ghil was born in the Denerim alienage, pre-blight. Raised briefly by his mother, he wasn't born Ghil'danan, it was the name he took later on.

Ghil's father was out of the picture from the start. His mother shared stories of his father growing up, so he's aware neither of them wanted to part, but there was a lot of baggage and kids learn young not to press on things that make their parents cry later.

Fast forward to the events of DA:O.

Ghil is more or less raised with Shanni as a sort of sister figure. Events begin steamrolling, his mother is one of the elves sold to Tevinter by Loghain (when I catch you Loghain Loghain when I catch you), and he's witness to all the horror of The Wedding. Those of you who played City Elf origin know what I'm talking about.

Ghil develops a hatred of Shems (he gets better, but those scars run deep, and I don't blame him), and things get dicey with Shanni. I'm tiptoeing around it because origins was very direct with Shanni's alcoholism.

The blight hits, the Alienage gets overrun, and Ghil flees. He loses Shanni in the chaos, and gets temporarily picked up and thrown into a tree by the overhead Archdemon, therefore cementing his fear of dragons and heights.

He obviously survives the fall, and runs past a human girl pinned in place by an ogre that was killed by a piece of fallen rubble.

He hesitates. Remembers that his mother would have wanted him to be kind to those in need, and with a LOT of effort, saves the girl.

They flee the city together. He learns her name is Wren, an orphan. Ghil is twelve as of the fall of Denerim. Wren is seven.

I'm not gonna get into the more mary sue aspects of Ghil's personality, but needless to say, it turns out Wren has the blight, Ghil willingly makes a deal with a spirit to transfer his brand spanking new magic to her to postpone her blighted condition, and they make it into Nevarra by sneaking through the Orlesian border. This is not easy, but they're children so it's easy...er. Easier.

Mourn Watch goes "hey that's some interesting magic you've got there" and takes Wren in who's like "hey fuck you take my brother too" and they're like "these two are definitely not related but okay"

And then they attend schooling together, until a few years later when Wren's condition begins to worsen again, because it's the BLIGHT, and she gets recruited into the Wardens.

This is where Wren and Ghil's paths split. More later on Wren. For now, my punching bag.

With Ghil's genius, fierce sister out of the way, he gets bullied RELENTLESSLY. Ghil's a smart cookie, but his grades begin to drop and he fully introverts.

Then, Hezenkoss takes him in as her student. Sort of. He's technically her student, but moreso she wanted a henchman to narrate at, and he got stuck doing a lot of manual labor.

Hezenkoss gets him trained up as a Reaper, especially as he shoots up like a weed and becomes The Second Tallest Elf Ever (I'm looking at you, Halsin Baldurs Gate 3), and transitions. Hezenkoss doesn't notice. He's not her Archnemesis Emmrich, so she doesn't care.

She also doesn't notice when he anonymously tips off the Mourn Watch that she's up to shit. Someone had to be the whistleblower, that's all I'm saying.

And from there, he graduates into a proper member of the Mourn Watch.

After a chance encounter with Professor Volkarin in the Memorial Gardens (with the tissue box, a la Clue), Volkarin comforts a grieving eighteen year old who has incredibly complicated feelings about the death of Shanni and being completely alone in the Mourn Watch.

Volkarin is unaware that this not only revives passion in the Mourn Watch in the Youth (this is actually pre-transition, oops), but plants the seeds of a budding affection.

Ghil then spends the next fourteen years trying to forget his first crush, fails miserably, wrecks several relationships in the process, and changes completely by getting tattoos and pretty much only ever hanging out with the dead.

And Myrna and Vorgoth.

Then the events of the game happen, and oh no! Guess there are Still Feelings for Volkarin, and now Ghil is helpless to fall head over heels in a proper, adult love.

What happens if Ghil isn't Rook/doesn't romance Emmrich?:

Let's be honest. Ghil would always romance Emmrich. But in the course of "never became Rook and Emmrich old man yaoi'd with Strife", it's...hm. A bit sad.

Wren dies in the end (unless she's Rook). So Ghil fully closes off to the living, and spends the rest of his life with the dead. He still has a living friend in Lana, of course (to be explained in Wren's backstory), but that's the most of it. I'd like to hope that Ghil falls in love with someone else. Do I, the writer, think he will? No. Ghil has been spending fourteen years trying to fight his own heart. He's one of those people who wants to move on but just can't. It's the inherent tragedy of his life.

Where the hell is Ghil's dad in all this?:

He's one of the Greater Dead. Literally cannot leave the Necropolis, got the love of his life pregnant and kicked it. Ghil has no idea, and Etheldredd also has no idea that his child is a part of the Mourn Watch.

The Necropolis is vast. Maybe they'll find each other posthumously.

Other OCs Ghil knows:

Lana, Wren (to be documented, but also duh), Riesel (to be documented). Very vaguely Din, a HoF OC, because she was at The Wedding and lived in the same alienage.

Wren (she/they)

She's baby and I love her. Too bad I'm addicted to the inherent tragedy of the plot. I'm not goth for nothing.

🦅Stats🦅

Age: 27

Race: Human!

Faction: Grey Wardens, my favorite narrative punching bag. Or Bioware's, besides the elves.

Class: Mage, whackin' stick staff.

Specialization: Death Caller! I haven't played it yet but I plan to for her playthrough. Seemed appropriate.

Romance: Undecided. Maybe Bellara, because Neve's already planned for someone else and I managed to make Harding disapprove of me A LOT in the beginning of my Wren Run.

Taash is also definitely on the table. As I said, undecided.

Birthplace: Denerim! Same as Ghil.

Backstory:

The majority of Wren's early childhood can be referenced in Ghil's long-winded backstory. So this'll hopefully be shorter.

Wren was the illicit bastard of a Chantry sister and a Templar. Thus, she got dropped off on the orphanage's steps and summarily forgotten.

Despite this, Wren had a pretty happy childhood! Sure there was the occasional haunting and blood magic and slew of murders in Denerim, but that's pretty normal.

...right?

She knows who her father is, simply because his conscience is more guilty than her mother's. Her father stopped by to check up on the orphanage regularly on his circuit, and she often got cheap gifts from a father who was rarely there.

Still, she dreamed of being a Templar when she grew up.

Flash forward, Denerim, the Blight, everyone dies, and she finds a brother in Ghil'danan.

For a while, Wren remains one of the top students in the Mourn Watch. She grows up, attends lectures by Volkarin who becomes a mentor figure to her, and perfects her magecraft.

And then, her blight symptoms get worse.

Wren collapses on her way to class, and is found by a Grey Warden, who offers to recruit her and stay the Blight's hand a while longer.

She agrees. (This is where her particular backstory gets a fuckton of content warnings, so I'm going to keep it light. To be blunt, my OCs are often a dumping ground for trauma, and Wren got a lot of the heavier ones. Trigger warning for grooming and abuse. There'll be red text like this when trigger warnings are over.)

Wren is trained specifically by one Warden, the one who saved her. He's an older Weisshaupt veteran who's well-respected, and encourages her as she grows.

And when she turns eighteen, he tells her that due to her young age, it could reflect poorly on him that he made her do the Joining so young. He tells her that if she wants to remain a Grey Warden she'll marry him, and she owes him for it because he saves her life.

And for a few years, this works. She endures a very abusive relationship.

And then, Ghil finds out.

Because of her Warden husband's venerated status, he's hard to bring to justice, so Ghil just takes the swifter path.

He hires a Crow, a young one named Lana De Riva, and although they're reluctant when they find out it's a Warden that's the target, context for the hit makes them agree.

And together, they make it seem like an accident.

Wren's highly conflicted at first, but over time, settles into her new, freed role. She becomes a Warden librarian, for lack of a better term, and finds herself. She still keeps a low profile in the worries that someone will find out what her brother did, but remains relatively at peace even as her Calling slowly creeps closer.

What happens if Wren isn't Rook/doesn't romance anyone?:

Well, Wren's a strong independent nonbinary who don't need no man, but she's also got the constitution of wet paper in a typhoon. So when she's not Rook, she participates in Weisshaupt. While she survives, the aftereffects of adding more blight to her system is what eventually does her in, much to Ghil's grief.

I like to think she becomes a spirit of Kindness or Joy. Or good ol' fashioned Wisdom.

Did the Templar father make it?:

If he did I'd make him kick it at Therinfal Redoubt. But no he doesn't. Wren still has his Templar cloak that he gave her, once. She's got mixed feelings on her father.

OCs that Wren knows: Ghil (duh), and Lana.

In the circumstances where she dies, Lana and Ghil pull a favor with Riesel to get her HoF father to accompany Wren to the Deep Roads, as he's her idol and an uncorrupted part of the Wardens. So technically, she meets Lithe Surana, my DA:O OC and canon HoF.

Kaarash-Taar (he/him)

Finally, a bulwark of maturity and a breath of fresh air in the Trauma Squad. I'm very excited to play Kaarash in a later playthrough. Because I've been focused on the Traumatized Three, I haven't given too much thought to him yet. Just basic sketches of ideas.

🐍Stats🐍

Age: 31

Race: Qunari, Vashoth

Faction: Shadow Dragons

Class: Warrior, two-handed

Specialization: Slayer, I think! Give me back Reaver, Bioware.

Romance: Neve. Honestly bc I'm a gay transman I almost never go for the female LIs, but Neve... she's cool as hell. I wanna see what she's like. Incidentally when I made Kaarash I forgot Neve belonged to the Shadow Dragons factions LMAO

Birthplace: he doesn't know! Most of his young life was spent at sea.

Backstory:

Kaarash-Taar is an orphan, picked up by an old Tal-Vashoth sailor nicknamed Beres.

Beres, who grew up under the Qun, did what any ex-beresaad would do - drag the kid onto his Captain's ship and teach him the ways of the world and the Qun.

Ironically, this happened to be Isabela's ship.

Beres was a part of Isabela's old crew, pre DA2 events. He heavily respected his captain, and expected the same of his adoptive son.

When Isabela's ship was wrecked in the reefs, Beres and his young son survived, being taken aboard a ship while adrift at sea.

This was seen as a miracle, until they learned it was a slaver's ship, and the two were supposed to be cargo.

That didn't go to plan. Years of work as Beresaad and then with Isabela made Beres a wickedly sharp warrior, and Kaarash was much the same way. They managed to corral the slaves, enact a plan to overthrow the slavers, and successfully executed it, taking over the ship.

For the first time, Beres was a captain, and for nearly ten years Kaarash stayed by his father's side.

Later, when it turned out Isabela was alive, Beres joined his crew to hers and went back under her captaincy. But by this point, Kaarash was a young adult and hotblooded, feeling the energy of the revolutions happening around him.

Around this time he separated from them, drifting from place to place, helping refugees and freeing slaves. Around this time, he met Riesel, a young elven woman with an impressive family legacy, and decided to travel together in search of like-minded people.

Eventually, they found it in the Shadow Dragons.

While Beres doesn't necessarily agree with his son's revolutionary actions (he thinks it'll get Kaarash killed), he reluctantly supports his son nonetheless. After all, Kaarash has proven time and time again to be a tactical leader, and as time passed on, cool-headed under pressure.

What if Kaarash doesn't become Rook/doesn't romance anyone?:

He's still fighting with the Shadow Dragons. Maybe he'll romance Hal or something, that guy's fried fish does seem like it's worth being a little gay for.

OCs he knows: Riesel, Lana. Technically he knows Ghil, but like. Distantly. They don't talk, really, but they get along well enough.

Riesel (she/they/doesn't care)

Riesel's actually the oldest in terms of how long she's been in my brain for! I made her back in 2018, when I played Dragon Age Origins for the first time. She was baby then. Now, like many of us who did the math and realized our Wardens' children are grown adults in Veilguard, she's a fully fleshed out OC.

She's also probably the only one I'm not going to do a playthrough for, because....well, maybe. Idk. We'll see.

🐍Stats🐍

Age: 28ish

Race: Elf (non-Dalish)

Faction: Shadow Dragons

Class: Rogue, stabby

Specialization: Duelist! It looks incredibly fun and fits her backstory.

Romance: If she absolutely had to romance someone from the party, it would be Davrin, I think. He's got his shit mostly....together.....and Emmrich's too old for her tastes.

Otherwise she'd romance, idk, the Viper or something. Or Tarquin AND the Viper, which would drive her father to an early Calling.

Birthplace: Amaranthine City. For those of you who played Dragon Age: Awakening, you know where this is going. Probably.

Backstory:

*cracks knuckles excitedly*

Riesel was born to two loving, wonderful elven parents doing their best in an arling that hates elves. Like most of Ferelden. And the rest of Thedas, unless you're Bioware and suddenly pretend that the racism from your last three games doesn't exist.

And then, her parents died in the assault on Amaranthine city.

She was left wandering the rubble, crying loudly and dragging along a stuffed nug, until some tall man in shiny armor came and picked her up and tried to help her locate her family.

And he did, but they were in less than stellar condition, so he said "I guess you're mine now" and swept her away.

His husband, the ex-Crow, was exasperated but too smitten with his new spouse to tell his darling Warden "no".

(but really, Zevran did actually want to take care of her as much as Lithe Surana did.)

And so the pair raised their little girl lovingly. Riesel grew up fluent in Orlesian and Antivan, learned to throw knives, and sneak around so that her fathers didn't know what she was getting into.

(They did, but only interrupted when it was actually dangerous.)

Over time she learned a few rules.

1. Never be a Crow, Marry a Crow, or Hire a Crow. Fuck them Crows.

2. No joining the Grey Wardens. There are no griffons, and it'll make your uncle Alistair really sad.

These truths were ingrained in Riesel, and eventually she grew up to be a relatively responsible and level-headed adult. Who wanted to be a Grey Warden, but wasn't allowed to, so she settled for the next best thing.

The Friends of Red Jenny. This is who she was with before she met her best friend Kaarash-Taar.

Together, they traveled together to try and help people while her dads were away trying to cure the Blight, and eventually the pair joined the Shadow Dragons together, remaining a bombastic dynamic duo.

What happens if she doesn't become Rook/doesn't romance anyone?:

Romance is dead, or will be shortly, if Zevran has anything to say about his precious baby's relationships. Also Riesel doesn't care. Regardless, she's off saving people with the Shadow Dragons and doing things that will definitely send her parents to an early grave.

OCs she knows: Lana, Kaarash-Taar, Ghil, and Wren if Wren goes through the Calling.

TEMPLATE IN CASE YOU WANNA WRITE YOUR OC SHENANIGANS

Name:

Age:

Race:

Faction:

Class:

Specialization:

Romance:

Birthplace:

Backstory:

What happens if [pronouns] doesn't become Rook/doesn't romance someone?:

Other OCs they have connections to:

-----------------

Anyway, that's it for this humongous OC dump! I hope you enjoyed, and if you use the template, feel free to tag me in it! I love hearing about people's OCs.

Have a good night, and happy Dragon Age!

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Party Banter: Calling

This takes place during the Siege of Weisshaupt, after briefly meeting Ghil'danan's sister.

Emmrich: "Your sister..."

Ghil'danan: "I know."

Emmrich: "How long does she...?"

Ghil'danan: "Impossible to say."

Davrin: "She's young to experience the Calling."

Ghil'danan: *Chuckles humourlessly* "She was blighted in Denerim. We were twelve. The Wardens took her in soon after that. Wren's always had a fragile constitution."

Emmrich: "You mentioned you didn't have any family left."

Ghil'danan: "I don't. Just her."

Emmrich: "What will you do when she...?"

Ghil'danan: "Accompany her to the Deep Roads. Say my goodbyes. She said if I found her remains when it was over, she'd like to be buried wherever I'll end up."

Davrin: "Hopefully we'll find a way to cure the blight before then."

Ghil'danan: *Scoffs* "Yeah. Sure."

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Braided Memories

A peek into Ghil's life throughout the stages, and his different relationships with people.

Tags: hurt/comfort, found family, grief, and trauma. Pre-transition language (ftm refers to himself as girl/sister before he's aware he's trans, as does family members). Full consent given to play with hair.

Trigger warnings: alcoholism (not from Ghil, but from family he once had), trauma, grief.

Despite the tags, this is very soft and warm. It was just mostly meant as feel good hurt/comfort and introspection.

Hope you enjoy, and if you did, please consider giving it a like or reblog! It lets me know people like my work, and encourages me to continue writing.

--------------------------

It happens while they're all talking in the dining hall. One of those group meetings that somehow happened around lunchtime, a casual affair that has Taash and Harding slinging grapes at each other.

Bellara is chatting at Emmrich, her hands wildly expressive, and she walks past Ghil’s chair to clean her plate.

Then, on her way back, Ghil feels hands sink into his hair.

He's not entirely surprised. He gave sleepy permission a while ago for her and Harding to fuss with it, the white tresses running loose and silky down his back.

It nearly reaches his waist these days.

He's half paying attention to the conversation, especially since the meeting aspect of lunch is over. Last night was rife with nightmares, and sleep didn't come easy.

Ghil wonders if Bellara used to have family members that would let her braid their hair.

Or maybe an ex-girlfriend.

Either way, it's relaxing.

Sound drowns out into white noise, a deft flick of her wrist securing another strand for her braid.

It's soothing. Safe. Even as her fingers comb through his scalp for another strand, running over gnarled scars hidden by the sheer volume, she doesn't comment on it.

It's a blessing, really. Sometimes Bellara is a little too invasive with her questioning. Ghil loves her, he does, but he's grateful she's learning to ask less about his personal life.

Laughter scatters throughout the table, and he sinks more into that touch.

Ghil wonders what it would have been like to have grown up Dalish, like Davrin and Bellara, to have lived among trees and nature instead of the choking grime of the alienage and the familiar mustiness of the necropolis.

It's a curious thought. One he mulls over in the evenings, on the rare occasion he has alone.

Another twist, another braid.

His eyes slip shut.

Giggling reaches his ears, and he smiles. This particular sound is familiar to him.

Hezenkoss is away on business, the workshop kept in pristine condition by his careful hand.

“What are you doing now?” He says exasperatedly. His voice is soft and lilting, the barest remnants of his Denerim accent clinging on.

“Nothing!” Wren replies. Her words say one thing, but her wicked tone says another.

Even post-Joining, his sister remains the same.

“Da’len,” he sighs. “Am I going to break a mirror if I look in it?”

If anything, that makes the giggling worse. “No!” Wren laughs. “You're just going to be the prettiest lady ever. All of Thedas will fall in love with you.” She leans forward, kissing his cheek.

He smiles and shakes his head fondly. “Maker, I've missed you,” he says. “The Necropolis is too quiet without you. Not to mention my studies are going slower without my genius sister to help me.”

Wren scoffs, finishing plaiting one braid. She flops it over his shoulder, the green and silver ribbons fishtailing out the end.

“You're a genius too, idiot,” she says, starting on the other braid. “Don't think I'm not aware Hezenkoss isn't teaching you. I don't see a single trace of your work here.”

He hums, shrugging nonchalantly. “It's honestly fun to piss her off. I play stupid, she yells at me, and then she's absolutely baffled when her experiments get updated and solved overnight. She never even notices when I study her notes.” His bored tone makes Wren snort, pulling on the braid she's weaving.

“Told you that you were smart. No one learns advanced alchemy and theoretical necromantic metaphysics out of sheer spite. Unless they're you.” She sighs.

This close, he can hear the rustle of her Warden uniform, taste the slight tang of the Blight-sickness that remains ever present around her. It's strong enough to change her scent, and that worries him more than she cares to admit.

“What's on your mind?” He asks in response to her sigh.

Wren sets the half-finished braid on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him. Her chin digs into the top of his head.

“I worry about you,” she mumbles. “You're so…isolated. I would've thought by now some cute Watcher would have swept you off your feet.”

He snorts. His hands slide up over her arms, doing his best to hug her back from his seated position. “No one's interested in a weird girl like me,” he replies simply. “I'm too tall for an elf, too muscular now that Hezenkoss has me taking sword lessons. She's not the one teaching me, mind you, she sends me elsewhere for those.”

Wren nods. “I figured. Still, you're lovely. Any man would be honored to have a woman like you.”

He hesitates. Wren notices.

“What is it?” She asks.

It takes a couple seconds for the words to come out. It's been on his mind for a while now.

“Wren,” he says, his voice small. “What if I'm not a girl at all? What if I want to be…to be a boy?”

There's a moment of pause.

Her arms squeeze tighter around him.

“Then any man would be lucky to have a man like you,” she replies.

He drifts. Faintly, he can still hear Bellara talking, and the dulcet tones of Emmrich replying. His companions are near.

He is here.

He is elsewhere.

A brush rakes through his hair, and he flinches.

The back of the wooden brush taps the top of his head scoldingly.

“Be still, ___.” Shanni’s voice is sharp and reprimanding, her breath reeking of booze.

He tries not to provoke her. Occasionally the big sister he knew is still in there.

Usually, she's not.

“Sorry, Shanni,” he apologizes quickly.

“Beauty is pain,” she lectures, dragging the brush through his hair. It's still choppy, only to his shoulders. One of the shem children threw something at him and it got stuck. Shanni had to cut a fair bit off. “If you want to attract a husband, you should…should…”

He tenses. “Shanni?”

When he tentatively peeks over his shoulder, her stare is glassy-eyed, off into the middle distance.

Reliving a horror that he cannot begin to comprehend.

He stays absolutely still. There are two ways this will go. Either Shanni will return to normal, or she'll have one of her screaming fits, drink more, and then he'll have to find a spot under someone's house to hide in until she's calm again.

Shanni is all he has left. Their mothers were friends, and now their mothers are gone.

Hers from illness, and his from…

He tries not to think about the strange men who stole his mother away. Tries not to think about the floorboards creaking as he hid under them, hearing the strange language of the men going back and forth as they dragged her away.

Shanni resumes her brushing.

She drags it through the snarls a few more times before giving up and pulling him into her lap.

Wraps her arms around him, as if she can protect this child from the world.

“Shanni?” He asks quietly.

She shakes her head.

“Whatever you do,” she whispers. “Don't ever get married. Don't ever fall in love. Don't give those shems anything to take away from you, because they'll take everything.”

She's trembling violently, and he'd forgotten about the third option.

Quickly, he turns in her hold, hugging her back.

“It'll be okay, Shanni,” he replies, in that awkward way that children do. “I promise. I won't ever get married. We'll live together forever, okay? I'll be your little sister, and I'll never leave you.”

She falls apart, body wracked with sobs as she hyperventilates.

That promise will never be fulfilled.

“-think you put him to sleep,” Davrin says teasingly.

“I've never seen him this peaceful,” Harding replies.

Bellara laughs. “Well, maybe that's for the best. This braid looks absolutely *awful. I don't know how people can braid other people's hair. I usually just throw mine in a bun and go.”

“Oh!” Harding’s feet make a thud on the floor. “I can show you. Here, let me. I'm sure Ghil won't mind.”

A second set of hands gently undoes the braid that Bellara made, and she steadily explains the process.

“So as you know, you take these three strands…”

A hum surrounds him.

It's an old Dalish lullaby, he thinks. Cold hands weave his hair with deft ease, practiced with time.

“Hold still for Mommy, da’len,” a voice murmurs. It's his voice.

It's her voice.

Higher pitched, softer, far more lilting than his ever will be. It's the sing-songy accent of the Dalish, a constant rhythm and quick consonants.

“Are we done soon?” He hears himself ask excitedly. “Do I get ribbons?”

She hums in affirmation. “Miss Mira bought them for you,” she replies. “Remember to thank her next time we stop at the bakery.”

“Okay, Mommy.” He tries his hardest not to bounce in place. It's almost noon, and the laundresses always have an extra sweet or two for the children who help carry the wash.

The top of his head is kissed.

“There's my good girl,” his mother says lovingly. “Your father would be so proud of how well-behaved you are.”

He gives her a gap-toothed grin. One of his baby teeth has fallen out recently, and it sits on the windowsill now to ward off spirits.

“Will you tell me about Daddy again at bedtime?” He asks eagerly. “I wanna hear another story.”

His mother sighs. It's fondness and exasperation and…something else.

Sorrow. Grief. Pain.

“Of course, da’len. But first, we have to finish your braids.”

“Rook?”

Emmrich’s voice wakes him up, and he opens his eyes. It's just them in the dining hall, now, the embers low in the fireplace.

His scalp feels a little sore.

“I fell asleep, didn't I?” He says, his voice gravelly and low. Ghil doesn't miss the way Emmrich’s eyes flash briefly with hunger.

His professor. Always so buttoned up and proper.

Ghil’s learned to love the little glimpses he gets of the man beneath the necromancy.

“You did,” Emmrich replies. “I'm quite surprised, to be honest. Bellara and Lace were tugging at your hair quite a lot, until Taash stepped in and fixed it.”

With a laugh, Ghil slowly gets up. His body’s screaming at him for sleeping in a chair, but he's gotten used to it.

“I've had worse, trust me.”

Emmrich beckons him forward, brushing something off the top of his head. “A speck of something,” he clarifies.

“Thanks, Vhenan,” Ghil says softly. He can feel the thick braid setting between his shoulder blades, discordant and slightly askew. One large braid, with two smaller ones woven in.

One of the smaller braids is significantly more neat than the other.

Emmrich smiles at him lovingly. He kisses the top of Ghil’s head, one of the few people tall enough anymore to do so.

“One of these days you'll tell me what that means,” he murmurs.

Ghil gives him a fond look. “Perhaps I will.”

Hand in hand, they walk out of the dining hall together.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Party Banter: Various Wren and Ghil'danan

(This is a fake circumstance in which Ghil'danan, my Mourn Watch Rook, recruits his sister, Wren, a Grey Warden, to join the party.)

----

Wren: I can't believe you're sleeping with my professor.

Ghil: Hmmph. As if you didn't know I've pined over him for years.

Neve: I'm sorry, your professor?

Wren: Oh! Yes! Professor Volkarin was my mentor for a time, before I was recruited to the Wardens.

Ghil: Yeah. She was considered a 'promising student' in the Mourn Watch.

Wren: As if you weren't. I'm just glad the professor finally took notice.

Neve: He sure does. He walked into one of those wolf statues the other day because he was too busy watching Ghil swing a sword around shirtless.

Ghil: I- that's- *sputtering*

Wren: *Giggles*

---------

Wren: *coughing*

Ghil: Da'len? Do we need to...?

Wren: I'll be fine. The wetlands are just murder on my lungs.

----------

Davrin: You've been a little distracted lately, Thorne.

Wren: Oh. It happens from time to time. The blight sings loudly to me. I suspect it's much the same for Antoine.

Ghil: *quietly* Is it?

--------

Taash: Hey.

Wren: Yes, dear?

Taash: I-

Ghil: Dear?

Wren: I know where you sleep, Ghil'danan. I will de-organize all of your embroidery thread.

Ghil: Now that's just cruel.

--------

Taash: I was going to say something last time, before Meathead interrupted.

Ghil: Hey!

Wren: Ignore him. What did you need?

Taash: Shathann makes me this honey drink when I mess up my throat. You want some? It helps with breathing.

Wren: Oh...thank you, Taash. I'd love some. I don't think it'll do much, but it's worth a shot.

--------

Davrin: Wren.

Wren: Davrin.

Davrin: It's getting worse, isn't it.

Wren: My dreams are certainly getting more interesting.

Davrin: I can hear you coughing sometimes, when you think people can't hear you. Even Lucanis has started leaving honey out.

Wren: Damn it! I knew it was a little weird. He never leaves things out.

Ghil: Da'len...

Wren: I know! I know. I just don't like being fussed over.

Ghil: You don't like worrying me.

Wren: ...I hate it when you call me out. Yes, it's worse. But it's the blight. The only thing I can do is keep fighting.

Davrin: A good warden knows their limits.

Ghil: Or at least takes a break every once in a while. You want me to draw you a hot bath when we're back?

Wren: I'm not a child anymore! I don't need people fussing over me!

Ghil: So you don't want the bath?

Wren: I didn't say that.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Codex Entry: Body Paint

Taash-

You asked recently why - if it wasn't vitaar - that I wore these markings.

Honestly I had to take some time to think about it.

First of all, of course it isn't vitaar. Yes, it's very funny that I work with the dead, but I'm not one of them! Vitaar would definitely poison me. And I quite like living, thank you.

But...to be honest, the reason I wear all this is simple.

It's dehumanizing.

An awful word, to be sure, but it's what it is. We've talked about gender many times, you and I, and this is another side of it.

Truth be told, even after transitioning, my face still bothers me. I still feel too feminine. Wren likes to tease me that my long hair doesn't help matters, but to me, my hair does not affect my gender representation.

I already wear body paint for my job. As a Mourn Watcher, those of us without magic must find other ways to communicate with the dead. Thus why I blackened the whites of my eyes, and paint a skeleton onto my skin.

It helps them feel more at home, and it settles me into my body. If I do not look like something that could have gender to begin with, then there is nothing to compare to. There is no masculine or feminine. I simply become one of the dead, one of thousands in the Necropolis.

It is dehumanizing. In the literal sense of the word, for all that I am elven and not human. It makes me into something else.

That is why I paint my skin.

And also, for the next time you "borrow" it to make yourself more dragon-like - the paint is made with dead beetles and bone ash.

You're welcome.

Signed,

Ghil'danan Ingellvar.