#he's SO OVER Nevarran politics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nerdanel01 · 6 months ago

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Another great day to practice necromancy 💀. How do you do? 💚

So, we know that Emmrich, as an esteemed member of Mortalitasi, is expected to attend the gatherings of the Nevarran nobles from time to time or visit them in their estates. Has Emmrich ever met Lord Halkias then, I mean Agnes's father? Was Agnes present? If not, did he tell her about it afterwards?

Or maybe they've met during or after the events of The Veilguard? How would such a meeting play out, I wonder?

in short: badly! 3.5k+ below the cut

9:51 Dragon

Emmrich had been told the extravagant excess of Tevinter’s Altus class made the indulgence of the Nevarran nobility look quaint by comparison—but truthfully, it tested the bounds of his creativity to imagine exactly how that could be the case.

At the Dietrich estate, the nobility glittered like a swarm of beetles, jewels dripping from fingers and ears and necks, women swanning in crystal-crusted dresses that gleamed from a distance like the most brilliant carapace. Two quintents had been booked, instead of the customary one, so that the music would continue ceaselessly when the first group of musicians took their rest. The wine flowed freely from two golden fountains at either side of the wide hall—both red and white. Flanking the walls were banquet tables piled high with food that looked almost too good to eat: butter and ice and sugar carved into elaborate shapes (the Necropolis; the Nevarran palace; the face of a revered Dietrich ancestor); pyramids of glacé fruit preserved at the peak of its freshness; flaky finger foods arrayed on plated towers. Indeed, it appeared that hardly anyone had touched it, preferring (if the general atmosphere of the room was any indication) to indulge in libations instead.

Emmrich himself had avoided the wine. He had never been a wistful drunk, not really… but over the past year or so he had learned that even the slightest taste of alcohol was likely to turn him morose.

And Johanna had dragged him here to be the opposite. It was a precarious time in Nevarra, with King Markus in such ill health, and still no clear heir to replace him. Already there were political machinations, assassinations and deals being cut to determine whom among the Nevarran nobility would be left sitting on that throne once King Markus passed, and who would wield the most influence over the country’s new regent. Worse, in recent years, the accusations that the Mortalitasi ruling by proxy through the weakened King had reached a fever pitch… not whispered as they used to be, but speculated out loud in the open. For his part, Emmrich could not say whether or not those rumors were true. That was the business of the priest-mages, not the Mourn Watch; and anyway, Emmrich had never been keen on politics.

But, “You are charming,” Johanna had implored him, though Emmrich thought that was not quite accurate—he had, perhaps, been charming once upon a time, but he felt himself growing more and more into a bitter, withdrawn old man with each passing month. “The nobles adore you,” Johanna had continued—that, maybe, was still true. He had spent much of the past year in seclusion, and had not yet burned the bridges of amicability and influence he had so carefully built during his time as part of the Mourn Watch. Finally, the coup de grace, her plea: “Please do not make me attend Lady Dietrich’s party by myself.”

Emmrich wanted nothing to do with parties—it was difficult to imagine he would ever be light hearted and mirthful enough to enjoy the gaiety of such gatherings ever again—but he did love Johanna with a strong, brotherly affection that was difficult to deny. She had been patient with him, this past year, as he had crumbled into a shadow of his former self. For as long as she could, Johanna had shielded him from the social responsibilities of his role, giving him time to grieve Agnes’ absence and the smothering guilt he carried for having caused it. More than once in the past year, he had behaved in such a way that Johanna could have dismissed him from the Mourn Watch—it would have been entirely right of her to do so—but she had not. She had protected him. And it was so small a thing: one evening, swanning among the nobility, eating fine food and pretending to laugh at bad jokes. It would not be pleasant, certainly, but it would not be terrible.

Or so Emmrich had thought.

Lady Dietrich had cornered him; literally, had backed him into the corner of the room and now stood in front of him, gesturing in such a way that it was difficult to get past her. Her efforts to bed him, never particularly subtle to begin with, had become more overt and outlandish in the year since her husband had passed. Regrettably, by now, Emmrich was quite used to her flirtations; he knew how to make her feel heard without really listening, when to nod his head or smile for emphasis, when and how demure in the face of her more lascivious suggestions without offending her. He occupied her thusly now as his eyes scanned the room, wondering how Johanna was fairing.

His eyes locked first, however, on a man he had never seen before. That was odd. Emmrich had been part of Nevarran society by blood before he had ever become Mortalitasi; there was scarcely a family in the noble class with whom he had not been acquainted since childhood. And yet there he was, this old man standing beside the nearest fountain and filling a wide goblet to the brim with more wine, his wrinkled face ruddy with drink, cheeks looking all the more splotched and red in contrast with his white beard.

Strangest of all was that—although Emmrich was quite sure he had never met the man before—there was something painfully familiar about him.

“Forgive me, Lady Dietrich,” he interjected, interrupting her as she was telling him (rather too pointedly) that the extravagant decorations she had imported from Minrathous for the party extended even to the estate’s bedrooms, “That gentleman over there, beside the fountain. I do not think I have had the pleasure of meeting him before. Who is he?”

Lady Dietrich blinked in surprise—Emmrich rarely interrupted her, and when he did, it was often with far more grace (or “charm,” he supposed, to use Johanna’s words)—then turned to follow his gaze. When she saw the old man, her lips curled back in distaste.

“That is Lord Halkias,” she answered disdainfully. “His estate is out west, you know. Far west, in the borderlands. Practically Orlais,” she intimated, her sense of superiority dripping from every word.

Emmrich had not drank a sip of wine yet that evening; suddenly, he dearly wished he had. Now that he had the man’s name, the resemblance between Halkias and his daughter was undeniable: the arch of his nose, the v-shaped peak of his hairline over his brow. The deep, sensual bow of his upper lip. It was not in fact Lord Halkias who had been painfully familiar to him; it had been the ghost of Agnes, staring out of her father’s face.

“His wife just passed,” Lady Dietrich continued, rattling off gossip; Emmrich barely heard her. “He accompanied her body to its final resting place in the Necropolis last week. Did you not know?”

He had not. He did not think for a minute that it was a coincidence. Johanna would have done everything in her power, no doubt, to prevent Emmrich from having anything to do with Lady Halkias’ last rites.

Emmrich tried and failed to keep the bite from his voice when he replied: “He does not appear to be grieving the loss of his wife too terribly.”

Lady Dietrich shot him a glance, surprised at the uncharacteristic venom in his tone. She leaned closer, whispered to him conspiratorially, not bothering to hide her distaste: “He has extended his visit to the city. There is great speculation he has done so in order to hunt for a prospective bride—although he is kidding himself if he thinks to accomplish that aim in this household. None of these self-respecting families would marry a daughter into a family such as his.”

Emmrich was staring. He knew he was staring. He could not pull his eyes away. Could not help but think how much it must have pained Agnes, to grow up and see the resemblance to her father marked so plainly on her face—her father who had abused her mother, her father who had been anything but fatherly to Agnes herself. Who had made every effort, for his own personal gain, to see Agnes forced into a marriage that would ultimately serve him. That Lord Halkias had failed spectacularly in his aim to sell off his daughter like a common whore did not make it any less despicable.

“Are you alright, dear? You’re looking rather pale.”

Lady Dietrich was looking up at him again, her watery blue eyes filled with uncharacteristic concern. Were Emmrich not so consumed by this feeling building inside of him (unnameable; ichorous; dark) he might have been touched. Instead, he made a hasty retreat.

“Yes, Lady Dietrich, I'm alright—just feeling a bit peckish—if you’ll excuse me…”

And he slipped past her, making his way towards one of the banquet tables. But he had no interest in eating. His heart was racing, his pulse thundering in his ears. He held his fingertips to his temples, rubbing them gently, trying to slow his breathing. But it was impossible. The food, the drink, the luxury, the excess—and the memory, seared into his skull, of how Agnes’ father had reacted to her desertion.

…because of course, though Emmrich had told Johanna emphatically and repeatedly that Agnes would prefer to die in the gutters of Nevarra City rather than return to her father’s estate, Johanna had sent guards to check it nevertheless. ‘Due diligence,’ Johanna had called it.

Lord Halkias had called it a ‘grave insult.’

Among the many gems of hard, crystallized hatred that had made up the missive he sent back with the soldiers, Emmrich would never forget how he had concluded the message:

‘If that ill-conceived, misbegotten issue of mine had dared to come back here, I would have beaten her bloody and senseless for the disgrace she has brought upon our family and my own good name. Whatever was left of her afterwards I would have returned without delay to the Mortalitasi, happy to be rid of her and happy for whatever additional punishment you sought to bring to bear upon her for her betrayal and her cowardice. When you do find her, be harsh with her. Tranquility is too mild a punishment for that thankless slut.’

At the memory alone, Emmrich was clenching his fists so hard his nails threatened to draw blood.

Food was not going to help him. Drink was likely not going to help him either, but at this point he was going to take his chances. Morose was not good company, but it was still preferable to murderous. Spinning on his heel, he let his feet carry him to the far fountain, opposite the fountain flowing with red wine that Lord Halkias was still lurking beside. Emmrich did not prefer white wine, but he also did not trust himself to secure a cup of red while fully resisting the urge to grab Lord Halkias by his white hair and hold him beneath the fountain’s surface, drowning him in the drink he was so besotted with.

But as he stood with his back against the wall, taking polite sips from his goblet (resisting the urge to down the glass in one long swallow) Emmrich did not feel his mood mellowing. On the contrary. As usual, the drink summoned visions and phantoms, memories. How Agnes would side-step any questions he used to ask her about her childhood; the cursory answers she would give about her family, her step-siblings. The upheaval that followed her mother’s death; the trauma of learning exactly who and what her father really was; the fear and injustice and lovelessness of being kept under his roof. Her obsession with neatness, with cleanliness, with cleverness; the remnants of the impossible standards she had been held to in Halkias’ household, never good enough, never as good as her legitimately born siblings. The last argument they had before Agnes had left: “you are not my father,” the words spat with more hatred and vitriol than Agnes had ever used with him before.

‘Indeed, I am nothing like her father,’ Emmrich thought to himself darkly, brooding over the rim of his goblet. ‘Unlike him, I loved her.’

And he should have told her that, then. Should never have tried to keep his love secret from Agnes, who had lived so much of her life starved of the love that her family should have given her, who had spent so many of her years feeling alone and was now alone again, for all Emmrich knew.

Perhaps if she had a father who loved her, Emmrich would not have felt obligated in some way to step into that role himself. To guide her. To protect her, to watch out for her in a way that no one else ever had. To protect her even from himself, when Emmrich’s desires and feelings for her became anything but fatherly. Perhaps he could have been honest with her, then; perhaps she would not have had to leave. Perhaps she would still pass her days in the Necropolis, safe and loved and cherished by him. Perhaps….

But ‘perhaps’ meant nothing now. Agnes was gone, and more likely than not, Emmrich would never see her again. His fault. More than a year had passed since her departure, but time had not blunted the ache of her absence one bit.

The ring Agnes had gifted him—the one he could not bear to wear on his fingers, that he could not endure the sight of any more than he could discard it—felt twice as heavy on the chain it hung on around his neck, resting beneath his shirt, close to his heart.

…and here was her father. Drunken, merry, undisturbed in the least by her disappearance. Worse than that, maybe. Gleeful that she was gone at last, that his bastard child, his eldest, his firstborn, had removed themselves from the picture and would never darken his doorway again.

“You are charming,” Johanna had said, “the nobles adore you.” But over the past year, Emmrich had discovered he was much more than that. Capable of a darkness he had never quite acknowledged before he sank into it. He had been charming, upbeat, optimistic, inquisitive. Now, he knew he was also spiteful, prone to isolating himself from others—and, occasionally—inclined toward acts of great cruelty.

The wine had loosened him up just enough that he no longer felt any inclination to resist those darker impulses.

Emmrich tucked his right hand behind the small of his back, near to the wall where no one else could see it. Affecting a calm and collected demeanor, he sipped politely from his goblet as behind him, his fingers curled, wrist revolving, spinning the magic out of the Fade into the waking, shaping it into horrors. It had been so long since he had cast magic without the foci of a staff. The danger and thrill of it was exhilarating.

No one else witnessed him, nor the curse, as it curled around the party-goers’ feet, slithering like an adder across the room towards Lord Halkias. Into it Emmrich poured all self-hatred, all his rage and his loneliness, all of his regret. Let Lord Halkias take a wife, if he so desired. She would never know a night of peace while she shared a bed with her husband.

Johanna grabbed him by the shoulder so tightly and abruptly he nearly spilled the rest of his wine over the front of her gown.

“What,” she hissed, low enough so that she would not be overheard, “do you think you are doing?”

“Nothing!” Emmrich answered, a little too loudly and perhaps too quickly. “I’m not doing anything.”

Emmrich could see her fighting to keep her face pleasant, just in case any of the other guests should look in their direction. But her nostrils were flaring, and the fixed grin on her face looked more like a grimace by the second. As a servant passed by them, Johanna plucked Emmrich’s wine goblet out of his hand and set it down upon the serving tray, the wine sloshing over the rim with the force of the impact. Then, with just as much authority and force, she steered him out of the main banquet hall, guiding him down the hallways of Lady Dietrich’s estate until she was satisfied they had found a corner where they would not be overheard.

Then she turned on him. And Johanna may have been a full head shorter than Emmrich, and he may have loved her like she was his sister, but she was still utterly terrifying to him when she was furious.

“I would not call hexing Lord Halkias nothing,” she said, her eyes shining with indignant rage. “Maker’s breath, Emmrich—the rumors about the Mortalitasi are bad enough already. Do you have to make it worse by putting a curse on one of the nobles in public? At a party?”

Emmrich folded his arms defensively over his chest. “It was a very light curse,” he lied through his teeth. This much, at least, was the truth: “He would not have even noticed it—not until he laid himself down to sleep tonight.” With a self-satisfied smirk, Emmrich could not help but add, “Or, well, until he tried to sleep. The night terrors would have kept him from true, restful sleep until the end of his days.”

Perhaps he should not have been so bold in public, that much was true. But Maker preserve him, he had been so close to succeeding, and it had felt so good.

And he had expected Johanna—all command and spitfire—to argue back at him. Instead she just stared at him, stunned.

Somehow, that was worse.

“And do you think that is appropriate behavior from one of the most senior ranking Mortalitasi of the Mourn Watch Guard?”

Probably not. But sometimes, exceptions needed to be made. “I think it is entirely appropriate, given what a brute he is. You are aware, are you not, of how he violates his servants?”

Or at least, that he had violated one. Forced her into submission more than once under the hot countryside sun—

“Emmrich…” Johanna began, entirely too much pity in her voice. She closed her eyes and sighed. “This is my fault. I should have known he would be here, after his wife’s final rites earlier this week—”

“—strange,” Emmrich interjected, “since as a senior ranking member of the Mourn Watch, I’d have thought I would have known about any recent interments—”

“Not strange, but calculated,” Johanna countered, the heat returning to her voice. “Brilliant, to keep it from you. Fucking prophetic of me, really, because I just knew you would not be able to act professionally about it, to get through it without pulling some shit like this.” She bared her clenched teeth, sucking an unsteady breath in to try and calm herself.

“It is my fault,” Johanna repeated, at last. “I should not have asked you to come. So now I will correct my mistake. Emmrich, go home.”

“What?”

The night was yet young. He had not yet had a chance to greet each of the nobles properly, as was custom. If he left now, his absence would be noticed… not least of all by their host, Lady Dietrich herself—

“I said go home, Emmrich!” Johanna was not shouting—she would not raise her voice loud enough to be overheard—but she was close to it. “I’ll make an excuse for you.”

“I don’t need you to—!”

“Agnes is gone.” Johanna articulated each word carefully, brought them down in him like a hammer in an anvil. “You are not defending her from anyone. You are not protecting her from anyone. And as I suspect she is not likely to return, you are unlikely to have the chance to regale or impress her by recounting your clever ‘little’ curse in the future. Your judgment is compromised; I am, quite frankly, embarrassed for you. Go home,” Johanna repeated, turning him around and shoving him in the direction of the estate’s entrance, back towards the street and the city. “I will not repeat myself again. And you will not enjoy the consequences if I am forced to escort you.”

On the carriage ride back to the Necropolis (the city streets at night were too haunted with memory for him to walk) Emmrich found himself replaying the argument with Johanna in his head over and over again, incensed. She was wrong, he was certain of that much, no matter how well she thought she knew him. Emmrich was not a fool. He knew Lord Halkias posed no further danger to Agnes—that cursing him, as Emmrich had intended to do, was not something he had done to defend or impress her.

But that left him with the nagging question of why he had done it. Because he did know better, or should have, had he not still been deep in the throes of his grief. With Agnes gone, his position in the Mourn Watch mattered more to him than ever. The work was the only reliable distraction, the only thing that kept his head above the waters of despair. What had possessed him, to make him risk it with so little thought?

The answer, as it turned out, was worse than anything Johanna had accused him of. It was guilt.

Guilt that he had driven Agnes away. Guilt that he had not seen her love for what it was and returned it with every breath, with every beat of his heart. Guilt that there was no amount of self-hatred or debasement or shame that would bring her back; guilt that he would never get the chance to tell her how sorry he was. Guilt for whatever it was she now suffered in the world, shut out from the shelter of the Mourn Watch that had been all she had known for over twenty years.

He could not punish himself enough for having caused her departure. And so he had tried to turn at least some of that pain and punishment upon her father.

…but what was the greater sin? To have never loved her, as a father ought to love a daughter? Or, as Emmrich had, to have loved her deeply—to have blindly spurned her love—and sent her to wander the wide and dangerous world, feeling rejected and unloved and alone?

Johanna was right, of course. No curse would ever fix that mistake.

Nothing would.

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cafiffle · 7 months ago

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ok it's time to be cringe on main (like I ever wasn't)

in honor of the new game finally maybe happening, here is a collection of the Dragon Age OCs I've developed over the last decade or so. only two of them were my actual video game protags and have evolved a lot from there, SEE IF YOU CAN GUESS WHO (or don't, I'm not your dad)

(L to R, top to bottom)

Sina, Keeper's First of Clan Dahlasanor and baby lesbian who had to leave her clan in search of healing for the anime wasting sickness that claimed her life in her early twenties. She was all about that good good Dalish nature magic and thought of it as a sort of healing. A gentle soul with strong convictions, she spent her last months securing the union of her (small, decimated) clan with a larger, thriving one by marrying their male First.

Cade Harimann of Starkhaven, the second son of a noble family who gave him to the Chantry at a young age. He endured Some Bullshit at the monastery, leaving him already somewhat unhinged before he served in Kirkwall prior to the Mage-Templar war. He was kicked out of the Templars "for his own good" due to his massive PTSD-induced emotional problems, and now lives in the woods with his chill elf gf who doms him when he needs it.

Teren von Skraedder*, from a po-dunk town on the border of Nevarra and Orlais, is every bit the Grey Warden stereotype: a liar, a convict, and just generally kind of an asshole. She was recruited in her early 40's as an alternative to being executed for treason against the Nevarran crown, and has settled into Wardening over the last twenty or so years. She loves her younger siblings-in-arms, even if she's mean to them, and she gets a little more deranged every time one of them gets their Calling or dies in combat while she continues to grow older.

Benedict Quintus Artemaeus is an Altus mage from Minrathous who preferred to spend his days getting high and fooling around with other rich boys, shirking his studies and the politics of his Magister mother, nearly into his twenties. He finally had to get serious when his tutor aligned with the Venatori and got them both captured by The Enemy (the canon good guys), leading to a rocky but gradual ascent from hedonistic fuckup to Sort of Competent Guy Who Cares Occasionally. he's been compared to Emperor Kuzco and that's not inaccurate ok

Josephine "Fifi" Mariette* is a regular ol elf from Val Royeaux who, after failing to make it in the city ballet/opera/ye olde whatever, made her way as a cabaret dancer and prostitute until her marriage to a human accountant, Jacques. His family never accepted her, so when he was drafted and killed in the War of the Lions, she left town to briefly join the Freemen of the Dales. Finding that she was as invisible there as anywhere else, she opted to put her status to use and become a spy for (and on) the Good Guys while working as their housekeeper.

Obeisance "Just Barrow Please" Barrow*, a farmer's son from Crestwood, went off to join the Templar Order as a means of finding adventure, leaving home, and making his extremely religious parents happy without having to take over the farm. He served in the Jainen Circle for many years without incident, but very casually deserted when the Mage-Templar war began (hit da bricks, just walk out etc). He spent some time afterward as a mercenary, and his MO is to bop around being helpful where he can while also absolutely never talking about what he used to do. it's none of your business

*if you think you know her/him from somewhere else: you do, I recycle these shitheads constantly

there have been a few more but they didn't Take in the same way, so just these for now. ok byyyeee

#dragon age #dragon age ocs #dalish elf #templar #grey warden #orlesian #tevinter imperium #bioware #fan bullshit

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cybershock24601 · 21 days ago

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Highlights of my Fancy Crow Party fic are as follows:

Lucanis in a fancy outfit looking so hot Rook forgets how to speak

Rook in a fancy outfit looking so hot Lucanis forgets how to speak

Exploring Crow politics (I have a lot of Thoughts on the matter)

Two Rooks meeting in the wild as Ingellvar and de Riva become besties

Viago all but having an aneurysm in the background as the Rooks become besties

Illario making a Scene

Exploring Illario and Rook's horrible in law relationship because Rook was the one who had him imprisoned due to the optics of the First Talon letting a traitor go without any punishment but also the one advising Lucanis on how to integrate his disgraced cousin back into the Crows because Lucanis wants to try and reconcile their relationship and Illario is really resentful towards Rook for both fucking him over and then trying to help him afterwards. Rook doesn't like him because he's an ass and hurt Lucanis. They both have to play nice because of Lucanis

Rook and Lucanis dancing together

Someone dying during the party because it inst a real Crow get together unless there are at least three attempted assassination attempts and sometimes they succeed. Lucanis' first thought is "ugh, I hope the blood doesn't stain the marble" before remembering Rook is there and immediately turning to check on her only to see her glowing with necrotic magic and muttering under her breath before the corpse gets back up, cleans up its own mess, and walks right out the room which causes so much more of a stir then the death itself because the Crows aren't used to the Nevarran response to "sudden assassination at a soiree"

Rook cementing her position as not only Lucanis' partner but as the First Talon's very scary necromancer lover that you should probably think twice before crossing (Rook's not even really trying to be intimidating, she just keeps letting her freak flag fly because turns out there's a surprising amount of crossover subjects between the work of an assassin and a mortician and while murder doesn't really bother the Crows, everything after death is a lot more disturbing especially when the person you're talking to just raised a corpse in the middle of the room not even half an hour ago)

Rook being upgraded from "tolerable annoyance on the path to great grandchildren" to "active threat" by Caterina as Rook who might prefer to act the clown, shows off that she's actually decently good at politicking because Rook is a mortalitasi and the ruthlessness of mortalitasi politics is not too dissimilar to the infighting between Crow Houses (not to mention me being able to explore my own headcanons about the factionalism within the Mourn Watch and Rook growing up dealing with the politics of both the living and the dead in the Necropolis because lets not forget Rook was kicked out of the Mourn Watch for stopping a civil war between undead nobility)

#rookanis #dragon age

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dendroaspis-viridis · 5 months ago

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The Hunt Ball

Katareth is the unfortunate recipient of an invitation to one of the Pentaghast’s famous hunt balls. Thankfully, a certain necromancer will also be in attendance.

Rating: T (Content warnings listed under the read more.)

Read it on AO3

Content warnings for unwanted physical contact (though nothing overtly sexual), depictions of overstimulation, consumption of alcohol, and a very brief blink-and-you-miss-it mention of losing a child.

9:42 Dragon

With the Mortalitasi’s autumn rites concluded and new initiates welcomed into the Mourn Watch, Harvestmere’s arrival was heralded by cold winds and the crunch of dead leaves underfoot.

Pulling her cloak tighter around broad shoulders, Katareth walked alongside Johanna to the little Antivan restaurant they frequented for dinner. It was within walking distance to the Necropolis, and they were always greeted by the delicious scent of spiced meats and a friendly ‘Hullo!’ from the owner as soon as they stepped through the door.

After ordering their food, they sat at their usual table by the window, sipping at warm glasses of cider to chase the chill away.

“What’s been going on in that head of yours, Kitty? I could practically hear you thinking on the way over here.”

“…Can you teach me to dance?” the qunari quickly whispered, glancing around to ensure none of the other customers overheard.

Johanna blinked a few times. Of all the things she expected Katareth to ever ask of her, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

When the older Watcher didn’t respond after a few moments, Katareth hastily explained, “I know you’ve been to several balls over the years and are much better acquainted with the more aristocratic side of Nevarran culture than I am-”

Johanna raised her hand, gently halting the reaper. “First: stop rambling. Second: of course I’ll teach you what I know. Third: why?”

She rubbed at the back of her neck. “So, you know how the Prelate invites all of the higher-ranking Mortalitasi to his family’s hunt ball every winter?” Johanna nodded disdainfully, rolling her eyes. “According to him, this one will be more of a celebration of the Inquisition’s victory, instead. He stopped by my quarters yesterday to tell me my attendance ‘will be expected at the gala to display both the Mortalitasi’s and Pentaghast’s support of the Inquisitor’s divine mission,’” she sneered.

It wasn’t that Katareth disliked Inquisitor Adaar—she'd never even met the poor kid. But she did dislike how some of the same humans who once glanced at her with wary contempt now fawned over her, viewing her as an extension of the Herald’s supposedly sacred origins simply due to the horns that rose from her skull.

Johanna sighed empathetically. “Yeah, that’s politics for ya: ‘You’re not worth my time until there’s something I want from you…’” She thought for a moment, tapping her chin as she scrutinized the reaper. “…But it shouldn’t be too hard to teach you; you’re a quick study, and it’s honestly not that different from combat footwork. We should have… what, six weeks before the ball? That’ll be plenty of time.”

-----

Six weeks came and went, stripping trees of their foliage and supplanting dormant gardens with heaping piles of snow. During that time, Johanna had resumed her place as Katareth’s mentor. Rather than imparting the qunari with the knowledge and expertise one needed to become a Mourn Watcher, she instead taught the younger woman the elegant art of ballroom dance during lessons that often ran into the wee hours of the morning. Johanna was far more patient with Kat than she’d been during their earlier days, but found that patience chipped thinner and thinner every time her feet were smashed underfoot.

Mercifully, that happened less frequently the more they practiced, and eventually Katareth was deemed a more or less proficient dancer. She was by no means perfect, but Johanna had teasingly assured her that most of the attendees would be too drunk after an hour or two to notice her crushing their toes.

“Just tie the sash around your belt once or twice… a bit tighter-too tight! Ugh, just let me do it, Kat.” The human had been helping her prepare for the ball, ironing out the finer details of the Watch’s formal grey-green dress uniform and tossing quick glances at the door every so often.

“Hm... Okay, give me a twirl,” Johanna requested as she perched herself on the edge of a table.

Katareth did as she was told, feeling very much like Thedas’ largest dress-up doll.

“Great… now do it again, but try to not look constipated this time.”

Muttering a curse under her breath, she once again turned, recalling the many many hours dedicated solely to pirouetting properly. Evidently, they paid off when the fine, crimson silk scarf that had been looped around her waist fluttered with her movements, mimicking a glittering arc of dragon’s blood. The little red ribbon that held her ivory hair in a low bun swayed as she stopped, tickling her nape.

“Oh, very good! Well done, Katareth!” Johanna praised, elated to see her teaching put to practice.

A wide grin spread across the qunari’s face. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be as miserable as she’d feared.

“And I believe with that you’re ready.” The older woman began herding her towards the door, offering advice as they went, “Remember: just grin and bear it. You shouldn’t need to be there for more than a few hours—just long enough for people to see and meet you. But there’s no shame in retreating to a terrace to get some fresh air if things get overwhelming, either.”

Opening the door and gesturing for the qunari to lean down, Johanna made some minor adjustments to the matching red silk cravat tied around her throat, plucking invisible pieces of lint from the fabric before smoothing down her waistcoat. “There should also be a few familiar faces. Most of the Pentaghast Mortalitasi will be there obviously, but I know a few other Watchers are attending for one reason or another…” She leaned to the side, looking past Katareth down the hall.

As if on cue, Emmrich appeared from around a corner at the far end of the corridor. His elegant fingers carded through greying hair as he approached, drawing Katareth’s attention to the rich maroon lacquer that adorned each manicured nail. Like herself, he was clad in their order’s formal attire, decorated with shimmering red silk that seemed to flutter and flow with his every move. In contrast to her more reserved placements, Emmrich chose a bold arrangement that accentuated his shoulders by fastening the sashes to his epaulets, letting the fabric billow behind him like wings.

“Good evening, ladies. Apologies for my tardiness; evidently I didn’t start preparing early enough,” the necromancer admitted.

Johanna’s eyes raked over his form as she appraised his work, “I’ll let it slide this time, Volkarin—but only because you clean up nicely.”

“You look wonderful, Emmrich.” Maybe it wasn’t her most elegant or articulate compliment, but an unexpectedly large portion of Katareth’s mind was now dedicated to taking in every aspect of his appearance.

He was beautiful. Not that he wasn’t attractive before, but it wasn’t something Katareth normally paid attention to, too focused on whatever trek or project or corpse they were working on at the time to pay any mind to how someone presented themselves. Suddenly struck by his visage, however, she scanned his features greedily. The carefully-applied kohl around his eyes made their umber depths seem deeper. More entrancing, somehow. His moustache was neat and tidy, sharpened to points so razor-thin the qunari could slice the pad of her thumb on one if she were ever brave enough to try, and… was that a dusting of rouge upon his cheeks?

“Thank you!” he beamed up at her. “I could say much the same about you. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in the Watch’s formal attire, but you wear it well. Red suits you.”

Before she could respond, Johanna interjected. “Yes, yes, you both look lovely. But ‘most everyone else has already left, and there’s a fine line between being fashionably late and just late that you two are tight walking.”

“Right you are. Katareth?” The necromancer gestured down the corridor in the opposite direction he came from, beckoning the pair’s departure. The two said their goodbyes to Johanna, including a quiet, “Thank you. For everything,” from the reaper.

Johanna waved her away. “Bah, get out of here! You can thank me by not embarrassing yourself tonight. Now go!”

-----

“I was roped into this by Prelate Pentaghast, but what brings you to the hunt ball, if you don’t mind my asking?” They made a quick detour to the stables, saddling their undead mounts with varying degrees of success. Katareth was an old pro, having worked with horses on and off at her adoptive parents’ ranch for the past two decades, but Emmrich found the near-endless buckles and straps needlessly convoluted and normally left anything involving them to their resident equestrian.

“My parents insist upon it…” he sighed. “Despite Philomena’s recent betrothal and even Ulrich’s wife giving birth to my third nephew, they still maintain that I—as the eldest child—find a suitable spouse, and all but force me to attend every high-profile event I can.” Emmrich twisted a tip of his moustache as he watched her secure the last few pieces of tack. “Some parties are better than others—and I admit the Pentaghasts do know how to celebrate—but they all still have the same insipid gentry who are far more interested in what you have to offer on parchment than what you have to offer as a person.”

“That sounds… exhausting.” Her hands hesitated as she slipped leather through metal. “…I apologize if it isn’t my place, but it’s not right that they place so much pressure on you. You shouldn’t have to tolerate that. After all, it’s not as if you could control being born first.”

Katareth had been spared from the reproductive stresses of succession simply by virtue of her heritage. Being Albrecht and Petra Naletski’s only surviving child (adopted or biological), however, meant that the more practical responsibilities related to the estate were slowly being handed over to her as she matured. That was nothing, though. She’d choose a few annual meetings to review finances over having someone constantly breathing down her neck to breed like some prized horse...

The necromancer’s fidgeting hand stilled as his eyes dropped to the stone floor, ruminating over her words. “I suppose you’re right…,” he went quiet for several seconds before stating in a lighter tone, “But I think we’ve bellyached enough about family for one night. Let’s attempt to make something fun of the evening, shall we?”

She stood, satisfied that everything was properly secured before offering a strong hand to help the other Watcher into his saddle. “I’d like that. After all, the party can’t be that awful, can it?”

-----

As a matter of fact, it could be.

Within minutes of handing their overcoats off to a servant, both Mourn Watchers were swarmed by party-goers vying for their attention, herding the two in opposite directions. The small crowd surrounding Emmrich seemed more or less familiar with him, if the way they pressed themselves against him and wantonly flirted was any indication.

The humans that corralled Katareth, on the other hand, kept at least a foot of distance. At first. With every successive question they asked and every clipped answer she gave, they inched closer and closer until she felt the uncomfortable squeeze of a hand on the muscles of her bicep.

Apparently, she’d been the center of some speculation ever since Albrecht first brought the then thirteen-year-old girl to Nevarra City, but as she’d never attended any of the social balls during her youth, they’d never had the chance to pry. The Watcher briefly explained how he discovered her working in one of Hossberg’s stables during the maladaptive sabbatical that followed the death of his only child while simultaneously trying (and failing) to subtly remove strange hands from her person. ‘Just grin and bear it,’ she reminded herself.

While the qunari’s towering height drew unwanted attention wherever she went, it did have a few advantages. One such boon was her ability to reach over the gathered gentry to pluck beverages from passing waitstaff. It didn’t matter what it was, so long as it was alcoholic. After tossing back a few drinks, she reached the pleasant state of intoxication where the sharp edges of the evening’s vexations were sanded, while still remaining more or less aware of her faculties.

After almost an hour of enduring questions that ranged from vapid to downright obscene, King Markus Pentaghast rose from his throne atop a black marble dais to give a short speech, thanking Andraste for sending the Herald and commending the Inquisition for its valiant efforts to protect Thedas. He also drew attention to a few key members of the Inquisition who were in attendance tonight, praising them before ending his speech with a warbled declaration to enjoy the night’s festivities.

As he returned to his throne, the large orchestra started up again, prompting couples to take to the spacious dance floor. Katareth turned upon hearing someone clear their throat behind her, greeted by the outstretched hand of an older Pentaghast man clad in dazzling armor. The alcohol in her veins muddied his given name, though she was able to recall that he was one of the handful of Pentaghasts competing for the throne that actually stood a chance at claiming it.

“It’s not often such a beautiful, enigmatic Watcher crosses my path, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t invite her to dance. Would you do me the honor, my lady?”

‘I’d sooner flay myself and roll around in natron,’ she bit back. Maybe if Katareth was a young blushing maiden waiting to be swept off her feet, or enjoyed any of the tawdry romance books Myrna tried to get her to read, she’d be swooning at the thought of dancing with one of Nevarra’s elites. Instead, she wanted to recoil from his insincere compliments and melt into the floor.

“I believe the honor would be mine, Lord Pentaghast.” Eugh.

The dancing itself wasn’t bad, per se, but… everything else was. For someone happiest in the dimly-lit repose of the Grand Necropolis, the bright chandeliers, intense cacophony from the orchestra, and searing touch of Lord Pentaghast’s wandering hands had the reaper wanting to crawl out of her own skin. Just grin and bear it.

When the song finally came to a close, Katareth thought that would be the end of it, and she could slink to some far corner to recuperate for the rest of the evening while still technically remaining present.

Before she could even turn to leave, her hands were grabbed by another human. This one was a cocky young man who loved both alcohol and the sound of his own voice, according to his incessant, slurred chattering.

Each arrangement subjected the reaper to a new face and new grievances until a gentle hand tapped her elbow during a lull. A tall, svelte human about Katareth’s age with dark hair and oddly-familiar features grinned up at her.

“Everyone looked like they were having such a wonderful time dancing with you that I had to see what all the fuss was about,” the woman laughed good-naturedly.

Katareth gave a quiet acknowledgement, dutifully twirling and dipping and spinning her partner when the orchestra picked back up again. About two-thirds of the way through the arrangement, the sudden off-key shriek of a violin’s bow across catgut was the final nail in the qunari’s mental coffin. The cacophonous floodgate of stimuli that’d been held back by a handful of drinks gave way, overwhelming the reaper.

The clanking of armor, the boisterous laughter of people who were somehow enjoying themselves, the blinding dazzle of crystals dripping from chandeliers, it was all just too much. Even the woman’s feather-light touch upon the small of Katareth’s back might as well have been a dagger attempting to carve out her kidneys.

By some great miracle she managed to finish out the dance, but knew she had a narrow window of time before the band would pick back up, trapping her in a snare of social conventions that she knew she'd be unable to manage graciously. Wide, yellow eyes darted, scanning for the path of least resistance to somewhere—anywhere that wasn’t here. Johanna’s earlier advice echoed in her mind. A terrace, yes! She just needed to find a nice, quiet terrace to lick her wounds for the rest of the evening before she could make her escape.

“Leaving so soon, Lady Naletski? I was hoping for another,” the noblewoman teased. Wait. Had Katareth given her name? Ah, who gave a shit—she had bigger issues right now. The reaper’s distress must’ve been apparent, as the woman’s tone became tinged with concern. “Are you okay…?”

“Hm? Oh, um, I’m fine! But I might slip away for a m-moment—if that’s alright, of course? Uh, I-I just need some air.” She managed to flounder out. Maker, even the sound of her own voice scraped against her ears.

Unconvinced, but now well-aware of the Watcher’s dire condition, the human pointed toward the closest flight of stairs that would lead her from the worst of the crowds, “That should be your safest option. It was delightful getting to finally meet you, as well! Hopefully we can cross paths again under calmer circumstances soon!”

Katareth wasted no time, tossing the familiar stranger a thankful wave over her shoulder as she squeezed passed throngs of humans.

Skulking off to a blessedly-empty terrace with only a handful of little blackbirds hopping about for company, the brisk Haring air was a balm to her frazzled mind. While she could still hear the orchestra, it was muffled to a pleasant background music that Katareth could tune out, should she so choose.

She wasn’t entirely sure how long she spent leaning on the balustrade recuperating with her head in her hands, but she supposed it didn’t really matter; she’d spent more than enough time mingling with the living for one night. She’d earned this. Lifting her head to look out upon the landscape, she breathed a long sigh of relief that billowed in the cold. Both moons were full and bright, casting Nevarra City in a silver glow that glittered gently off yesterday’s snowfall. It was nice. It was quiet. She could think.

And massage at the sore muscles of her neck. Humans were certainly an interesting bunch. They were resourceful, superstitious, and individualistic, among other things. But the one detail about them that consistently caused the qunari the most grief was just how short they were. Emmrich was one of the taller humans she spoke to, and she still found herself rubbing cramps from her neck on occasion…

“Sorry to interrupt your quiet time, but I couldn’t resist introducing myself,” a rough, gravelly voice came from her left. Katareth glanced, looking down—then further down still—to see a dwarf with red hair and mischievous eyes. You’ve got to be shitting me.

“Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and according to a certain Seeker, ‘conniving little shit’,” he snickered, holding his hand up to shake. The man had a warm smile, though the confidence that dripped from his words left her wary. Even though he was one of the heroes being celebrated tonight, she’d endured her fair share of self-important men for the evening. When Katareth said nothing and made no move to take his hand, he let it fall to his side, carrying the conversation for her. “The strong, silent type, then? I can work with that.”

“It’s been a long night… Uh, Katareth Naletski. Mourn Watcher.” He didn’t seem offended when she didn’t meet his eyes, instead following the little blackbirds as they flapped about.

“Katareth… that sounds like a very Qunari name to hear in the middle of Nevarra…”

She manifested a handful of Veilfire before dismissing it with a clenched fist. It required fewer words than explaining the nuances between Qunari, Vashoth, and Tal-Vashoth, and most people understood just enough of Qunari culture to know mages weren’t viewed fondly by those who still followed the Qun.

“Ah. Yep, that’ll do it. So, does that make you one of the death mages I’ve heard so much about?”

“Not really,” she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m a bit shit at magic, truth be told. There’s another Watcher here named Emmrich Volkarin, if you’d like to talk to a real Nevarran death caller.” She felt bad trying to make the dwarf Emmrich’s problem, but the necromancer was far better equipped to speak on anything arcane. Really, he was better equipped to speak on anything.

“And miss out on the pleasure of your company? Never,” the dwarf teased. “Besides, you seem like someone worth knowing.”

She hummed inquisitively.

Varric ended up being surprisingly easy to talk to, easing her into the conversation with questions she could answer with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. It almost made her suspicious, as multiple times during their quid pro quo, Katareth found herself divulging information she hadn’t spoken on in decades. It certainly helped that he made her quietly chuckle a few times, regaling her with stories of some of his earlier misadventures.

After a while, she saw his head turn to one of the doors leading back into the castle proper from the corner of her eye. “And that’s probably my cue to get back to the party. It was great talking to you, and I’d love to stay in touch if you’d be willing, Rook?"

“‘Rook’?”

“Yeah. Those birds you’ve been watching the entire time? They’re called ‘rooks.’” He began counting on his fingers, “They’re sociable, dark-feathered, chatty, and tend to stay in the same place their entire lives—it’s perfect, if you ask me!”

Ah. She understood, now. “If you say so.”

Varric gave her one last farewell, passing Emmrich on his way back inside.

Taking the dwarf’s place on the balustrade, Emmrich handed her a steaming mug of mulled wine. “Philomena suggested I come check on you,” he explained. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything…?”

“No, nothing like that! Uh, he just thought I was interesting—but nothing more. Wait, your sister?” She sipped, reveling in the warmth that spread through her.

He nodded, nursing his own mug, “Yes, said you were an excellent dancer, too. I’ll have to pass her praise along to Johanna; I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic.”

“I thought she looked familiar… Please give Philomena both my thanks and apologies, I was a bit… um, unpolished toward the end of our dance and she handled it very graciously.” Katareth took a longer drink, hoping he would assume the pink on her cheeks was from the cold.

The necromancer waved her shame away, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, you certainly handled tonight better than I handled my first hunt ball, after all. And you caught the eye of one Varric Tethras.” He smirked, “…You know who’ll be kicking herself for not attending tonight?”

“Myrna!” They laughed in unison. She was probably his biggest fan, collecting signed copies of every book she could get her hands on. She was even their main source of information regarding the Inquisition due to her scouring every report from Ferelden for even a passing mention of her favorite author.

“On top of that, he even bequeathed you with one of his famous nicknames. What was it, ‘Rook’?”

“Apparently,” she grumbled.

“I could see it… After all, they’re immensely intelligent, committed, and often misunderstood by small-minded fools.” The necromancer took a long drink of wine, surveying the skyline.

“…I think I prefer your explanation.”

He smiled softly, huffing a quiet laugh.

The two Watchers stood there for several long minutes, silently basking in each other’s company as they inched closer and closer, blaming their increasing proximity on the biting cold. When their pinkies brushed against one another on the balustrade, neither retreated, and Katareth was pleasantly surprised to feel that his touch didn’t cause her to shy away. It wasn’t too much. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t enough.

Emmrich must have somehow sensed her desire, as he pulled his gaze from the cityscape to look up at the qunari. “Katareth… would you care to dance with me?” he almost whispered.

“I’d love to.” she couldn’t hide her lopsided smile. “Shall I lead?”

“If you’d prefer. I’ve no objections either way.”

The reaper nodded, moving from the railing to allow the necromancer to step even closer into her space. He placed one hand in hers, resting the other on the small of her back. Listening to the orchestra, Katareth found her place in the music, guiding her partner through the motions.

Dancing with him was overwhelming, but not in a way that had her recoiling. Instead, it was a cacophony of sensations in all the best possible ways: exhilarating and soothing and intimate and perfect. The rest of the world seemed to fall away around them, leaving the Mourn Watchers in a silvery spotlight.

Emmrich’s eyes traced along the multitude of scars and creases on her face, though she felt no judgement or derision under his umber stare. As he followed a jagged pearly scar down to where it sliced her lips, Katareth watched as a pink tongue subconsciously darted out to wet his own.

She allowed her eyes to wander across his features, in turn. Though Johanna teased Emmrich endlessly when she first noticed the silver hairs at his temples, Katareth thought they made him even more handsome. More distinguished. Like the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that deepened whenever he smiled, or the singular paper-thin scar at his hairline.

As the music built to its conclusion, she guided the human into a few quick spins, watching in awe as the sashes at his shoulders enveloped them both in a scarlet cocoon. The grey hand at Emmrich’s waist moved to cradle the space between his shoulder blades when the orchestra hit their crescendo, concluding with a dip that left the qunari’s face hovering above his own.

The final echoes of the music faded, though neither Watcher made any attempt to right themselves, practically sharing their breaths. Maker, she wanted to close the distance… Surely, he’d taste of the rich, spiced wine they shared. But I really shouldn’t… The wine was stronger than she’d anticipated, and while she was more than capable of holding her liquor, she couldn’t definitively say the same for the man in her arms.

Besides, doing something drastic and impulsive like that would most certainly qualify as ‘embarrassing herself’ in Johanna’s bespectacled eyes.

Katareth pulled the necromancer into a standing position, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder when Emmrich swayed slightly. Whether it was from vertigo or the alcohol in his veins or an unfortunate mix of the two, she wasn’t sure.

Nevertheless, Emmrich quickly found his balance, looking between the moon’s position in the sky and the ongoing gala inside before breathlessly declaring: “And with that, I daresay we’ve stayed long enough to satisfy social norms if you’d like to return home?”

“Yes, please.” Home. She supposed it really was home, wasn’t it?

They made their way back inside, skirting around the worst of the crowds before donning their overcoats and collecting their mounts. The entire time, Katareth’s mind was fogged with a warm fuzziness that she knew wasn’t brought on by the wine.

-----

“So, what did you think of your first hunt ball?” The Mourn Watchers were a little over halfway back, riding through a gentle fall of fluffy snowflakes.

“Maker-willing, it’ll be my last.” In her opinion, there were only two positives to the evening, and her favorite was currently riding alongside her.

“Can’t say I blame you…” After a few thoughtful moments, Emmrich looked at her and quietly hinted, “You know, I think this might be my last, as well…?”

“Oh?”

His brows furrowed with determination as he took a deep breath. “I… I hate them. They’re miserable, torrid affairs, and I’m quite certain this is the first one in years where I didn’t despise every moment of it.” The necromancer’s cheeks flushed. “I just… I’m so exhausted trying to appease my parents at the cost of my own happiness—if that makes sense? I mean, Andraste’s breath, I’m closing in on forty-five and still seeking their approval!”

She nodded sympathetically. While the qunari never had to grapple with disappointing her biological parents, she had given up on trying to make Petra proud of her years ago, determining the resentful woman was a lost cause. “Trust me, I understand that sentiment all-too-well. And you have my full support, should you need it.”

He expressed his gratitude, and the pair rode in companionable silence for the remainder of the trek, returning to the Grand Necropolis just as the snowfall began to pick up.

-----

Emmrich spoke again as they entered the residential area, “While I can’t say the same for the rest of the evening, I enjoyed our time together.”

They stopped outside Katareth’s door. “Likewise. Um, we should go out more.” The reaper heard her own words and realized how they could be misconstrued with a wince. “I mean—I go to that little Antivan place not far from here with Johanna on Tuesdays and get coffee with Myrna on Saturdays. We could do something like that—if you’re interested, of course?”

He either didn’t notice her misstep, or was too polite to draw attention to it. “I’d love to. Did you-,” he paused, covering his mouth to stifle a yawn. “My apologies, ah, did you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

“Not yet, but we can decide on that in the morning.” It was rather late, and the qunari found her eyelids growing heavier by the minute.

“I'll hold you to it,” Emmrich smirked. “Oh, and one last request: could you wait until I’m at breakfast before telling Myrna about your meeting with Tethras?” he sheepishly asked.

“Of course. We’ll have to wait for Johanna, anyway, as I’m almost certain she’d throttle me if I didn’t,” Katareth snorted.

“Good point. Well, I’ll see you in the morning…” he turned to walk away, stopping briefly with a playful glint in his eyes. “…Rook.”

When she gave him a withering look, the necromancer defended himself, “You have to admit it’s better than ‘Kitty Kat.’”

“Go to bed, Emmrich,” the reaper groaned at his invocation of Johanna’s obnoxious nickname, unwilling to concede. “Your lack of sleep is making you delirious.”

He laughed, and it was the most wonderful music she’d heard all night. “Maybe you’re right… Regardless, sweet dreams, Katareth.”

“Sweet dreams, Emmrich.”

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich x qunari rook #dragon age fanfiction #katareth naletski

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persephoneggsy · 7 months ago

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I'm too excited about The Veilguard so I wrote a little fic trying to figure out my prospective Rook, Phryne. Tried to keep stuff re: the Mourn Watch vague since I'm sure we'll learn more about them in the game proper. This is mainly just me succumbing to the brainrot lolol

***

People often said that the dead looked like they were sleeping. All the tension and worries of the corporeal had vanished, leaving only an expression of peaceful repose.

Phryne had seen her fair share of dead faces – she’d been a mercenary for several years, and besides, she was Nevarran. Death was seeped into their very marrow.

Sometimes, it was true. Other times, she’d look down at see a face twisted with pain, shock, sometimes even sadness. She just never thought it mattered. Who cared what someone’s final expression was? Dead was dead; the mortal soul was gone, and if they found their bodies possessed, then the most expressive the corpse would be was dependent entirely on the spirit doing the possessing.

Now, though. Phryne looked down at her son and wished he looked like he was sleeping.

Rothe’s expression was much like it had been in life; hard and stern, his jaw stubbornly set and eyebrows furrowed as if he were in the middle of an inspection. Even in death, her eldest child was not able to relax, it seemed. She used to tease him for that, wondering how he and his sister had turned out so uptight. He’d always answer, “It’s obvious, Mother: we had to make up for your carefree nature.”

Even when his tone was light, his mouth would twitch into a short approximation of a smile before resuming its usual stoic state. And now, that was the face he would carry into eternity.

Phryne tore her eyes away from her son’s face – his too young face, he was barely thirty, why had she outlived her son – and focused on the rest of him. The Mortalitasi in charge of preparing his body had done a fine job of repairing… the damage. She’d been told his cause of death was a blade to his heart. It would have been quick, or at least quicker than bleeding out or starving or drowning. Small mercies, she supposed.

He was wearing his finest suit, the same he’d worn at his wedding, but with an added red-orange sash and emblem pin denoting the symbol of the Inquisition. His arms were crossed over his stomach, hands resting on the hilt of his trusted blade – it was broken in two when his body arrived from the Arbor Wilds, but Phryne had found a reliable craftsman able to repair it. One could hardly tell it was broken, now.

Rothe had left instructions for the sword. When he was old enough, and if he wanted it, it would go to his son, Quirin. It would be some time before that happened, thought Phryne. Quirin was barely five years old.

Maker. Phryne closed her eyes. Poor Quirin. Still a child, and both his parents gone. His mother was lost to fever just two short years ago, and now his father, lost to a cause halfway around the world. Her daughter, Elke, was going to take him in, raise him alongside her own son, Halig. She’d given Phryne a pointed look when she made that declaration, as if expecting her to argue. Of course, Phryne did not; Elke was a good mother.

Better than Phryne thought she had been, anyway.

A polite cough drew Phryne’s attention away from Rothe’s body. A man around her age was standing in the doorway of the funeral hall. Judging by the staff in his hands, topped with a skull, he was a mage, and he seemed vaguely familiar to her. Perhaps she’d crossed paths with him in the Watch.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t realize there were still mourners here.”

Phryne glanced at the candles illuminating Rothe’s still form. They’d nearly burnt to their ends. Had she been there that long? It seemed that just minutes ago, the hall was filled with mourners, Rothe’s friends and acquaintances. Elke and the children had been among the last to leave, but now, it seemed she’d been alone with her thoughts for some time.

“It’s… fine,” Phryne managed to say. She smoothed down her mourning dress and turned away from the corpse. “Are you here to administer his final rites?”

“Yes, but if you need more time…”

“No, thank you.” Phryne managed a weak smile, which the necromancer returned, though his was much more sincere. He was quite handsome, she noted distantly, and if the body on the altar had been anyone’s other than Rothe, she might have said so out loud. As it was, she merely gave her son one last look over her shoulder. “He’s as ready as he’s going to be. Me too, I think.”

The necromancer chuckled kindly. “A relative?”

“My son.”

“Ah. My condolences.”

He stepped forward, joining Phryne at the altar. Shrewd eyes scanned over Rothe’s body. Phryne found herself watching the mage. She was a part of the Mourn Watch, and she suspected he was as well – last rites were typically conducted by Watchers, especially in cases where it was another Watcher’s relatives that had died – though she never saw much of the mages that made up the bulk of the order. Most tended to stay in their studies, talking to skeletons and doing research long into the night.

“Inquisition, hm?” he murmured. “They’ve been doing good work. You must have been proud.”

“I suppose I was.”

“It’s in question?”

“I am proud. But no mother wants to outlive her children.”

He gave a sympathetic nod at that. “True enough. But it’s clear that you loved him. I’m sure his spirit sits well at the Maker’s side.”

“I hope so.”

They then lapsed into a contemplative silence, which Phryne took as her cue.

“I’ll leave you to your work, sir,” she said, straightening her back as if she were in uniform. To her surprise, he waved a hand at her.

“Oh, no, please not ‘sir’. Emmrich is just fine.”

She spared him another smile; this one smaller, still tinged with grief, but genuine nonetheless.

“Emmrich, then. Thank you.”

Emmrich inclined his head towards her, watching as she turned and left the funeral hall. Once she was out of the darkened room, she let out a long breath. Emmrich. The name was familiar, too. Perhaps he was one of the more famous Watchers… which meant, hopefully, that Rothe was in good hands.

Her heart already feeling lighter than it had been for weeks, Phryne started making her way home.

#my work #fic #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv #rook #idk i think it would be neat if they briefly met before the game starts #maybe she remembers him but he doesn't remember her #or vice versa #emmrich volkarin #phryne ingellvar

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fadewalking · 16 days ago

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☕ + that necromancer likes to do the deed with corpses for Emmrich from Dorian

Send ☕ for my muse to rant about something (bonus points if you pick the topic) // @altusofhousepavus

"Completely and utterly absurd!" Emmrich could hardly stand still, pacing the polished floors of his rotunda with the vigor of a man deeply affronted. All it took was Dorian’s offhand mention of the rumors to ignite him.

"I will never—nor would I care to—understand the grotesque fascination outsiders have with the Mortalitasi. That we would entertain anything so sordid with our own dead!" It was the height of insult to any Nevarran—Mortalitasi or not. Was it ignorance or something more nefarious that fueled these rumors? He couldn’t be sure, but it hardly mattered. The damage was clear: such whispers clung stubbornly to even the most illustrious among them, despite having no foundation in truth.

"Has there been the occasional deeply, deeply misguided soul to sully our reputation? Perhaps," he admitted, gesturing sharply to nothing, "But to that, Dorian, I say: show me a nation without its share of unsavory figures. Our laws, at least on this matter, reflect our values. Even the Necropolis has strict policies against certain practices with the undead."

There was much about Nevarra’s elite that left a sour taste in his mouth. The endless political games, the liberties enjoyed by the few at the expense of the many—it all exhausted him. Yet the laws against such abhorrent acts with corpses? Those were not among the injustices.

"More appalling is the asinine debate over which is worse: impropriety with a possessed corpse, or one untouched by spirits. As if such an act were a competition of depravity! Well, it is not." That, at least, was absolutely an argument born of ignorance.

It was shocking and disheartening how little those outside Nevarra truly understood about Spirits. An entire intricate world of unique and extraordinary beings, and so few had even the faintest comprehension of their nature. For as much as Emmrich did to impart his knowledge to the world, the tide of anti-intellectualism felt insurmountable at times.

"Suffice to say that any corpse animated by a curious spirit lacks the faculties for meaningful consent. As, of course, do the unpossessed dead, for obvious reasons. To disregard that for the sake of wanton, self-indulgent fantasies is nothing short of villainous."

That was the crux of it. The reason behind the laws. It wasn’t merely distasteful—it was morally untenable. Consent, of course, was paramount, a principle no one with an ounce of integrity could overlook. The rumors were insidious precisely because they undermined that truth.

Abruptly, he stopped, catching himself mid-stride. His cheeks flushed faintly as he realized the force of his outburst. The last thing he wanted was to seem himself a man possessed, especially in front of present company.

"Ahem." He cleared his throat, brushing a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair as though composing himself. "Well. There you have it—my thoughts on the matter. Now then, what were we discussing before?"

#altusofhousepavus #c: Emmrich #c: Dorian #Conversations #Asks #so glad i was able to write this one tbh #tell em emmrich

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kiivg · 28 days ago

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ok this is research anon. might i ask you(if you are thinking of rewriting. Which I hope you do but not pressure obv):

1. will moira's sword come into play? if alistair knows that it was gaspard that returned the Rebel Queen's sword perhaps they might use it as a symbol to pacify the nobles?

2. in the end do you think gaspard's gambit for the throne could succeed?

3. how do events of inquisition influence what is happening? sorry if i missed something but this is happening after it yeah?

4. YOUR WARDEN. I AM CURIOUS. PLEASE TELL.

.Reaearch Anon I do love you for this 💕 I’m very tempted to write something because it’s like…. Nobody else is going to lbh….. 😔.

.OH this is a bit long, have a read more 💋.

.1. I didn’t know that happened tbh, where is this info???? I love this?? Gaspard my Liege, my Lord, my Emperor, this is absolutely bang on in character for him 😩🙏✨. I’m gonna be completely honest I read half of the books and they kind of suck so I probably missed a lot…. Unless it’s in the GAME???? (I do need this info, I will use this, the sword imagery girl!! It’s phallic!! It’s a knight in shining armour!! It’s giving a sword to a King!! It’s giving!!)

.2. THAT would be a spoiler now wouldn’t it ;) but I also think he wouldn’t want to rule Ferelden, but I also think he could actually become a good King, I mean he’s been practicing for it his entire life, he was born to be an Emperor after all, and also he hates the Grand Game, he’s not going to be frippery and nonsensical with politics and stuff, but also he is a warmonger so…. I mean, is he? He fights off a Nevarran army single-handedly by duelling and destroying their King? Commander? Saving all his men from a war by being hot shit lbh. Idk I can’t remember exactly. He’d be a great King, I love him, I make the rules ✨🤷‍♂️✨.

.On a side note I 100% think he could take over a country easily, which makes me wonder if he even wanted Orlais as it was, with the Grand Game and the nobles who he’d never respect. Oohhhh. That’s smth.

.3. I think uhh I would have to insert a new Inquisitor because Goddard makes Gaspard Emperor and Celene and Briala are both killed off…. But it was set after Inquisition, so I do imagine it would be anywhere between a few months to a few years after. But, in this world state, I could just say the Inquisitor left for whatever reason (idk chasing Solas or something) and Gaspard most likely despises them for allowing Celene to remain as Empress and for killing his sister Florianne, BUT he probably respects them because the Inquisitor did save the world, and his cousin, and give his sister a valiant death in battle? Or does she just get arrested, if she was arrested I imagine he doesn’t respect the Inquisitor at all for that. At least she’s alive? But then again… hmmmmmm…. Smth to think about.

.If anything it’ll be a background thing, OR insanely I could set it post WEWH and pre-Ending? The inquisition could still be happening… OH the humiliation, not only did Gaspard fail to get the Orlesian throne but he’s been exiled for his association with Florianne, they can’t trust him at all! Oh! OH! Delicious, yes, delicious 👹.

.4. My Warden is Andrastopher Cousland, there is a lot about him floating around on my blog I’m sure. He’s 8’ 1” or 8’ 3” and is an absolute unflinching bastard. Marries Zevran, becomes the Teryn of Gwaren, the Arl of Amaranthine, the Warden Commander of Ferelden, and advisor to the King (he does sub out his work but he will also stomp right back in and take charge at any moment (v annoying)). He also re-titles himself as The Silverlite Warden as a way to split his faction of Wardens away from the Wardens in the north (because wtf are you doing Jowin?) and that is why none of them travel north to help out in Veilguard.

.He absolutely hunts down every Howe who still lives, butchering them and whatnot, spends a lot of his free time painting (mostly naked men and landscapes), he learns the Qun, he has slept with both Hawke and Rook. He steals from nobles because it’s fun and they can’t do anything about it, he fills the Warden ranks with criminals, he fills his home with mercenaries, he lets people try to kill him once, and he thinks the only thing he’s bad at is dying.

.ALSO!!! I do want to say my original plan for him was the go through his calling (with Lei Mi’Durgen’s help) and becomes a ghoul in the Deep Roads who keeps his mind and like helps Wardens pass through safely or something idk…. Veilguard just did that, they made that canon for me, so like 🤷‍♂️ good prediction on my part tbh.

.But if I’m going to make a non-canon Inquisitor, might as well have a non-canon Warden 😔🙏. RIP Andrastopher I do love you but you would just fight with Gaspard or take over the throne yourself, not a good match and I am stopping this train of thought before I end up shipping HoF/Gaspard because that’s insane, that’s insane, no.

#answer #anonymous #gaspard de chalons #not art #.im gonna do it I’m sure but then again I’m busy lately but I wanna.#.im definitely thinking about it.

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scribbledquillz · 2 years ago

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For the micro story, #1 (and if I can request another, #16)

Thank you so much for the prompts, Jin! I will absolutely do #16 as well because hell yes you can, but wanted to get this one shared now. I have a few more of these squirreled away that I'll be working on as I have time - thank you so much to everyone who's sent one in! If anyone else would like to shoot one in be my guest. :)

Micro Story Prompts #1 - Don't Leave

The plan had not sat right with him from the start. Zevran's trust in his instinct had been a hard and costly lesson learned, and in that moment it had snared itself about his spine and buried its thorns deep. Ferelden nobility, for all their proud reproach of Orlais and its labyrinthine games of politics, was no less guilty of the same schemes and double speak, and Eamon’s claims of gratitude for his life would undoubtedly be worth the coppers in a beggar’s pocket should he be offered the right ends to justify his means.

He had told Revka as much in the hours before, his voice a strained hush as he’d held her arm far too tightly, making an anchor of his hand as though that alone would stay the inevitable.

“Allow me to come,” he had said, not quite managing to hide the note of wariness which colored his words. “Or perhaps Alistair in my stead. I would not see you face the wolf’s den alone, Mia Cara.”

But no. No, she had told him with the same stubborn gentleness that had worn away the mortar in his walls, because Eamon had need of Alistair by his side. “And you’ve already put yourself through plenty,” she had said as she raised a cupped hand to his cheek, a caress of her thumb brushing over the angry red rise of Taliesen’s parting gift. Maldito tonto que era, he had agreed and let her go, cut her loose to face the maw of Howe’s treachery alone.

Time passed, minutes lasting hours and hours leaping past in the blink of an eye. Eventually the door to Eamon’s chambers flew open in a thunderous crash, the rut he had been pacing in a fine Nevarran rug forgotten as his eyes snapped to the returning group, heart a stone plummeting to the Waking’s depths to see their number one too few. Leliana was the only one brave enough to meet his gaze, mouth a hard line and the kohl she wore at her eyes now drawn in damp streaks across the tops of her cheeks, telling him all he need know.

He did not stay to hear the Queen’s excuses, did not trust himself to keep his blades free from her throat. There were others as equally deserving, and far more threat to his Warden now than her. Without a word he slipped away through the door, leaving the group to their panic and hurried plans. His instinct told him what he need do, and this time, he thought as he drew up his hood and broke loose the lock of the nearest window, he would not make the mistake of ignoring it.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #zevran arainai #revka tabris #zevka #zevwarden #lilou writes

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dreamywritingdragon · 22 days ago

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Rook Questionnaire

An occasion to yap about Ysleen? Consider it done!

Original post here

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

Ysleen is from Nevarra. At least that's what everyone assumes, since she was found as an infant in the Necropolis, and non-Nevarran don't usually come there to drop their kids. She always assumed her mother was from Nevarra City.

2: What is your character's alignment?

Neutral Good

3: Race and subclass?

Human Mage, deathcaller (necromancy vaccuum ultimate, my beloved)

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

She'd be either outside, taking notes about the Fade, or in her room, working on her quilts

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

Diplomatic

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

Neve and Emmrich. Ysleen's first thought when she met Neve was "she's insanely cool, I don't know if I want to be her or be with her!". They flirted a bit before Minrathous was attacked, then Ysleen worked in regaining Neve's trust.

As a fellow necromancer, she likes geeking out with Emmrich about all things death magic, and sharing gossip about other Watchers (don't tell me Emmrich isn't one of the biggest gossips of the team!)

7: Romantically close with?

Lucanis. Same as Neve, she saw him and went "ok. He's insanely cool." Then she got to know him better, and ever little kernel of knowledge made her fall even deeper.

8: Who are they suspicious of?

No-one, sadly. She even gave Solas the benefit of the doubt, at the start.

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

Kinda. She's grateful they didn't let her die when she was an infant, but she's still pissed they decided to make her leave after the War of the Banners. She gave so much to the Watchers (I heacannon there is a Foundling House and that she worked there), it hurt to see politics being placed before family/friends/colleagues.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

Nope! She never learnt, but enjoys the sound of harp and violin.

11: Weapon of choice?

Staff. Because you can beat ennemies off with it when they get too close.

12: What is their orientation?

Bisexual. She swings left and right, and not only with her staff.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

A necessary evil. As Emmrich says, all Watchers must chose where they put the line regarding killing and death. Ysleen will murder you if you touch her friends, no questions asked.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

She loves quilting (it's a creative way to use the sewing techniques she learnt on corpses and the blankets make great gifts!) and candle making (she loves playing with scents, and asks for Taash's opinion often)

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

Biiig crush on Teia (Ysleen isn't immune against the people who look extremely hot in all circumstances). She doesn't like Staalgard, too blunt for her taste, and was super pissed to have confirmation that Hezenkoss is...like that, because some of her early work was good???

She really likes Mila, who reminds her of the foundlings she took care of.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

Baby griffon :p Ysleen, Bellara, Lace and Neve are giving Assan aaaaall the snuggles.

And she's always wanted to see a fennec

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

Kinda? She likes discovering places over Nevarra, but misses the comfort of home and sleeping in your own bed.

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

If she didn't fight in the War of the Banners, she'd continue her work in the foundling house.

Otherwise, she'd travel some more, maybe find a part-time job as a healer, and wait for the Necropolis to call her back

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

Happy, old, in her bed, surrounded by her family

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

Fight him. She ultimately chooses to redeem him, but she reeaaally wanted to punch him as hard as she could

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

Fuck it, I cast fireball

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

Nevarran and common, that's it. She had a bit of a reading disability, and never had to learn another language.

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

Have a good shouting session about it, then back to business

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

Yep! She holds to the belief that the dead enter the Fade and can be reincarnated

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

Deathcaller

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

A Siberian cat. Fluffy and cuddly, expensive looking (don't trust her, she's a goblin)

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

Working in the foundling house, she oversaw the accounts (so fun with dyslexia <3) and taught the kids history and basic magic

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

She takes up Varric's role from the beggining, in a "somebody's gotta do it!" way

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

I wanna say Antivan Crows, but that's because of Lucanis, and she ends up joining them anyway when they marry. Otherwise, with her affinity for magic, she'd be a good Veiljumper

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

Everything? :p She got me back into writing, and I'm super happy about that!

#dragon age veilguard #rook #oc: ysleen ingelvarr

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deathbind · 5 months ago

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DRAGON AGE.

BORN: A REALLY long time ago, don't worry about it RACE: Human NATIONALITY: Nevarran CLASS: Mage SPECIALIZATION: Necromancer

BACKGROUND.

Serot is the father of Nevarra's death rites, the necromancer who laid the foundation for the Mortalitasi to come. His soul has been recalled again and again to keep the mysteries and guide future generations. When their rites have been repressed, he has held them in wait for resurrection: the Saint Eternal, the Guardian Against Plague. There are few Nevarrans venerate more.

DA:O.

The Disciples of Andraste conflated Serot with Hector, who laid down his life in defense of Andraste long ago. Thus they took great pains to steal one of his bones from the Grand Necropolis and use it in a profane rite of resurrection. They wished for Hector to rise again and champion Andraste, to succeed in protecting Her when he had failed before. Their rite succeeded, but Serot was reborn with a flawed memory. He remembers his name and much of Nevarra (as it was during his lifetime), yet he recalls only wisps of his personal history. The Warden will encounter him in Haven during their search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. He is vehemently opposed to tainting the Urn — and indeed is inclined to slay the dragon cultists believe is Andraste reborn. Provided the Warden does not taint the Urn, he will join their party.

DAII.

Although Serot recalls little of his history, he feels a pull north. This takes him to Kirkwall circa Act I. A lack of funds necessitates a stay in the city. Hawke can recruit him by the docks where he's attempting to negotiate passage on a vessel. If so, then his reason for staying in Kirkwall even when he has the funds to leave is simple: he is incredibly loyal and has no desire to leave these friends he's made behind. He will regain memories over the next few years as well as uncover his bond with a spirit called Refhremmit. I'll think of proper questlines eventually, but they generally revolve around that.

DA:I.

Serot is forced to leave Kirkwall in the aftermath. He accompanies Sebastian to Starkhaven, then follows the Minanter to Nevarra. He'd intended to keep a low profile initially, but it isn't long before he's identified as the reborn saint. Though this creates controversy with the Orlesian Chantry, everyone is eager to enmesh in Nevarran politics. With King Markus in a steady decline, it is thought that whoever has the saint's blessing is all but guaranteed the throne. Serot's primary concern, however, is the Mortalitasi. Not only have they fallen far from their original purpose but Refhremmit has shared concerning information about an unseen hand manipulating them.

Then the opening of the Breach shatters Serot's and Refhremmit's lines of communications. His bond with Refhremmit persists, but the Breach muddies so much. Serot himself is hunted by the Venatori who have infiltrated the Mortalitasi. He slips away from Nevarra in secret shortly after the explosion at the Conclave. He will arrive at Haven to join the Inquisition and is available as a companion for the Inquisitor. I'll think of proper questlines and war table missions eventually, but they revolve around reestablishing communication with Refhremmit as well as rooting out the Venatori in Nevarra.

#META / HC: DRAGON AGE.#I'm kinda cutting Meresankh out of this verse but y'know #we gotta make it work #different cosmology different rules #will add DA:V when it's released

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jackdawyt · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

So, Tevinter Nights released a year ago, and you bet I’m still talking about this magnificent book that’s setting up the future Dragon Age title. For those who haven’t read the book, heavy spoilers are ahead as I rundown each story and the major characters mentioned and introduced in Tevinter Nights.

For those of you who’ve already read the book, well, hopefully I’ve noted and discovered things that, perhaps, you may have missed or forgotten about regarding certain characters in this novel. For the sake of this video’s length, there is an emphasis on major characters, by that, I mean the ones who took centre stage in these stories - appearing most relevant for potential future ties.

With that said, In the book’s chronological order, let’s delve into the many characters that were revealed and mentioned in Tevinter Nights.

“Three Trees to Midnight” by Patrick Weekes

Myrion:

Myrion is a Tevinter mage; not a Magister, from the city Ventus that was recently destroyed during the Qunari Antaam’s invasion in Dragon Age: Deception.

“Myrion of Ventus didn’t know much about Qunari. Until last week, they had been an annoyance, something young soldiers went off to fight while everyone else grumbled about the taxes they paid to defend the Imperium from the savage ox-men.” (Three Trees to Midnight).

Myrion comes from a slave family, and only became an official Tevinter citizen when he started showing signs of magic, as of which, the owner of the factory where he worked adopted him into his family.

“I’m not a magister!” Myrion glared, his eyebrows about the only thing Strife could make out in the darkness, then sighed and shook his head. “Magisters come from important families! My family were slaves. I only became a citizen because after my magic came, the owner of the factory where we worked adopted me into his family.” He swallowed. “I’m nobody. You know the glowing lamps in the streets of Ventus? I light those with magic. That’s my job.” (Three Trees to Midnight).

During the Antaam invasion, Myrion was captured by the Qunari and was sent to chop wood for the Qun in the outskirts of the Arlathan forest - while chained to an elven male.

Strife:

Strife is a tall Starkhaven elf with silvery hair and a strong build. He’s at-least fifty years old and has no vallaslin.

“Then chain me to a man, not this knife-ear,” Myrion said, glaring at the silver-haired elf.” (Three Trees to Midnight).

Strife left the Starkhaven alienage after hitting a guard who was beating elven children, he was living in the woods when the Dalish found him and let him join their clan.

“Hard to believe, I know. I hit a guard who was beating elven children, and he came back with more guards, and I ended up living in the woods. The Dalish found me and let me join up with them. I’ve picked up what I can from them, but . . .” (Three Trees to Midnight).

Strife ended up chained to Myrion, after butting heads, the two prisoners worked together and escaped the Qun’s grasp, they fled into the Arlathan forest and were able to make their way to a Dalish clan with the help of Irelin - Strife’s shapeshifting elf companion.

Irelin:

Irelin is a Dalish shape-shifting mage who saved Strife and Myrion from Qunari imprisonment, and even worse, a potential Qunari lobotomy. Before the Qun were defeated, Strife told her to warn the clans that the Qunari plan on moving into Rivain, she returned later having told the clans, and saved Strife and Myrion. The group then decided to head to their Dalish clan.

“The halla looked at Myrion, his breath heaving and his leg throbbing from the shackle, and then at Strife. Then, with a shimmering sparkle of magic, the halla slid into the form of a young elven woman.” (Three Trees To Midnight).

Saarbrak/The Huntmaster:

The Huntmaster is a Qunari tracker in charge of chasing down and punishing would-be runaway slaves. After he killed one of the Qunari Antaam leader’s known as Bas-taar, the Huntmaster revealed to Myrion and Strife that he's actually Saarbrak of the Ben-Hassrath. He was sent to confirm the rumours about the Antaam in Ventus not acting in accordance with the Qun. After confirming these rumours to be true, he took command of the remaining Qunari, and let Strife, Myrion and Irelin go.

“Now weaponless, the Huntmaster raised his hands, and then, as though they stood at a fancy ball, he placed a hand across his waist and bowed politely, his stoic expression melting into a polite smile beneath the face paint. “I am Saarbrak, of the Ben-Hassrath.” (Three Trees To Midnight).

The Dragon Age Day short story “Ruins of Reality” furthered Three Trees to Midnight’s plot. Set in the Arlathan Forest, Strife witnessed an illusion of himself as powerful magic cursed the forest. Him and Irelin braved the dark magics at play and retrieved a figurine of the elven goddess Ghilan'nain, for whatever purpose.

“Strife was looking at it now. On the other side, so was his double. Both transfixed by a statue of elven goddess Ghilan'nain holding a crystal halla figurine, exactly as the journal described.... Irelin swooped in and snagged the figurine with her talons, tearing it from Ghilan'nain's grip.” (Ruins of Reality).

The short story’s artwork revealed Strife wearing a mysterious cloak with floating triangles that bear similar to the Executor’s logo - “a downward-pointed triangle with two wavy lines drawn through it.”

So, are Strife and Irelin working for the Executors? Or is something else at play here? Hold on to that thought for the future.

"Down Among the Dead Men” by Sylvia Feketekuty

Guardsman Audric Felhausen:

Audric Felhausen was a Nevarran guardsman before he was killed on duty by Lord Penric Karn's possessed corpse, however, he was brought back to life, caught between two spirits: anger and curiosity. A conflicted Audric awoke inside Nevarra’s Grand Necropolis as the Mortalitasi’s Mourn Watcher’s questioned Audric’s attack and began an inquest into the matter.

“Audric would always remember the moment a withered hand grasped him by the shoulder, and a corpse in jangling gold crunched its teeth into his neck.” (Down Among the Dead Men).

With the help of Mourn Watcher Myrna, one of elite guardians of the Grand Necropolis, Audric decided to confront the Pride Demon who possessed Lord Karn’s corpse. He later discovered that the ‘real’ Audric died during this attack, and he is, indeed, caught between two spirits.

“Guardsman Audric Felhausen died of his wounds after Lord Karn’s funeral.” Myrna sounded apologetic. “His body arose the next morning, and went to his old post. Your captain was at a loss. As you were intestate, she sent you to us to ease your passage.” “I’m not dead,” Audric said as he grabbed at the blade in his chest. “I’m myself. I’m not a spirit, I’m . . . I’m me! (Down Among the Dead Men).

In order to find a balance between anger and curiosity - and to resolve his conflicted nature - Audric faced and challenged the Pride Demon that possessed Lord Penric Karn’s corpse.

“You brought me here to watch me,” he said, quietly bitter. “The Mourn Watch assists both the dead and the living. We wish to help you resolve what you are.” (Down Among the Dead Men).

After Myrna helped Audric defeat the demon, he felt a sad relief, like he had fulfilled his purpose. Myrna offered him a choice - Audric could rest in peace with his death, or work under the auspices of a Watcher. With much excitement, Audric was given the position to be in charge of the Necropolis’s library.

“What position were you thinking?” “I thought it was obvious.” Audric felt a slow excitement as he heard Myrna say: “We have a great need for someone to take charge of the library.” (Down Among the Dead Men).

Mourn Watcher Myrna:

Myrna is a young Mourn Watcher mage with pulled-back hair, she is a guardian and keeper of the Grand Necropolis. It has always been the Mourn Watcher’s responsibility to assists both the dead and the living, and that is why she helped Audric uncover his true nature.

“The younger mage, a woman with pulled-back hair and a severe gaze, sipped her own tea and regarded the guardsman silently.” (…) “Within the Mortalitasi was a group of select mages invited into an old fraternity called the Mourn Watch. The Watchers served as elite guardians, keepers of the Grand Necropolis and its sacred repository of the dead.” (Down Among the Dead Men).

"The Horror of Hormak" by John Epler

Grey Warden Ramesh:

Ramesh is a Senior Grey Warden who’s been with the order for over twenty-three years – with his older age, his calling is almost upon him.

“Twenty-three years Ramesh had been a Warden. His Calling was nearly upon him—and if he’d been alone, if only he had felt the palpable sense of dread that filled the woods, he might have thought it was that. It reached every Warden differently. But Lesha had only been a Warden.” (The Horror of Hormak).

Along with a small rescue party, Ramesh led an exhibition into the Nevarran forest to search and find Senior Warden Jovis and his recently missing group. Jovis, in particular, meant everything to Ramesh at one point, however, the Wardens are called to a higher purpose as death walks with every Warden. Grief is often buried beneath their duty, and it’s easier to do that then care for another with love and friendship.

“Jovis had meant everything to Ramesh once, but he’d pulled away. Death walked with every Warden, and you learned to bury grief beneath duty. Easier to do that, it seemed, before grief ’s edge had been honed by love and friendship.” (The Horror of Hormak).

The Warden’s discovered an entrance to the Deep Roads with the name ‘Hormak’ encased in a Dwarven rune. As they explored the thaig, they unearthed entirely elven ruins filled with twisted, mutilated creatures and a massive pool with a viscous gray fluid. The same symbol of the horns of a halla were repeated on each column.

“This, however, was exclusively, entirely elven—there were no dwarven works interspersed throughout, not even any sign of the darkspawn that filled so much of the underground. And this chamber was nearly pristine.” (The Horror of Hormak).

Ramesh approached one of the mutilated monsters, it was an enormous centipede that had hundreds of legs and a humanoid face, he recognised its face as a bloated and broken Warden Jovis attached to this diabolical creature.

“Before him, twisted and broken, was Warden Jovis. It was him from the waist up, but bloated, grotesque, and his flesh flowed into that of the massive creature.” (The Horror of Hormak).

Jovis was able to recognise and communicate with Ramesh, even in this state, he told him that ‘they’ made the Warden’s drink from the gray pool, explaining his twisted nature. He added that they can't let "her" have it again and the pool chamber must be destroyed. Jovis lost control as the creature regained itself and took over.

“Ram . . . esh?” The voice came slowly, as if across a great gulf of memory, and possessed of an almost insectile buzz that tore at Ramesh’s tattered nerves.” (…) “Can’t let this out. Got to . . . bury it. Bury me.” The words came even more slowly, each one being forced through whatever will battled Jovis’s for control of the creature. “She cannot have it. Not again. Locked for a reason.” (The Horror of Hormak).

Grey Warden Lesha from Ramesh’s search party sacrificed herself so Ramesh could leave and warn the rest of the Wardens about the horrors witnessed at Hormak. Ramesh reluctantly escaped, remembering that this mountain he’d brought down, encased with all of its nightmares, was not the only one to which the aravels brought their prey. There had been, before the images repeated, eleven others. His task was clear, warn the rest of the Wardens.

“The rain started to fall—a soft drizzle, the water mixing with the tears that streamed freely down Ramesh’s face. Tears of mourning, of grief. For Lesha. For Jovis. For the rest of the Wardens, whatever doom had taken them.” (The Horror of Hormak).

"Callback" by Lukas Kristjanson

Donal Sutherland & Company:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Donal Sutherland, now a landed knight known as Ser Donal of the Hinters returned to Skyhold with his company to investigate the recent inquiries made by the caretakers about restoring the rotunda’s fresco. Donal’s company included the elven mage mercenary Voth and the human rogue Shayd.

“The three of them had arrived at first light: Ser Donal of the Hinters, Crosscut Brother, namesake of Sutherland’s company; Ser Shayd, Lady of Evesol, bard of secret distinction; and Ser Voth Dale’An, free mage by special commendation.” (Callback).

Upon arrival, the group discovered that Skyhold’s caretakers had been brutally murdered, some dismembered. The culprit of which emerged from the plasters of Solas’s painted mural – a regret demon in the shape of a wolf and dragon.

“What in the—!” yelled Shayd, waking to find a dismembered foot in her lap.” (…) “Regret raised itself unnaturally, its body simply re-forming into a standing position, like a shadow rising without a wall. It looked at Sutherland, but there was no smile this time. It snarled a toothy growl, a sound that—like its shape—was somehow between wolf and dragon. Regret touched the wall, and more plaster from the fresco joined its mass. The wound in its chest remained, but it filled and discolored with new material.” (Callback).

The demon revealed that it was the regret of a god. The unfinished, final panel of Solas’s fresco revealed an outline of a beast that stood over both dragon and sword. This mural was drafted by Solas to represent his exchange between himself and Mythal after Corypheus was defeated.

“But here, unfinished, was the outline of a beast that stood over both dragon and sword. This was not the battle, or the victory. This was after. And the beast was not a dragon. The outline alone might have allowed that assumption, but now, filling with black and red, it was something other. The creature was reptilian, but also canine. The snout was blunted and toothy, but edges came to a point in houndlike ears. As the mass of plaster filled the shape, it began to rise, revealing scales and tail, and paws with talons. It looked like two figures painted on either side of a pane of glass, then viewed together, their forms confused. A wolf that had absorbed a dragon, and now stood crooked over all.” (Callback).

As Sutherland faced the demon alone, he regretted acting alone and using his friends, as the demon drew closer to Sutherland’s regrets, the rest of the company plus Dagna, Rat, Harritt, Morris, Cabot, and Elan Ve'mal attacked the demon and sent it back to the Fade.

“And then it hit walls made of flames and runes and a half-filled cart. Dagna and the others blocked its escape. They were the little people, who supposedly didn’t matter. But inspiration had once made them the heart of Skyhold. And now they were again. Regret stood no chance. The doubt it fed on had evaporated. It flailed and gasped, and its legs crumbled beneath it.” (Callback).

Their victory was regarded by Divine Victoria herself.

“By order of the Most Holy, Her Divine Victoria, you who have served are to be commended. And though the Herald guides you no more, and legion and name are retired, know that you served good and true. Change comes, both to and because of the Inquisition. And we are blessed with the ability to accept and move on, to leave dread and regret behind.” (Callback).

"Luck in the Gardens" by Sylvia Feketekuty

Hollix:

Hollix is one of the many nicknames of a mysterious Lord of Fortune, a new-faction introduced in Tevinter Nights. The Lords of Fortune are a renowned guild of treasure hunters and dungeoneers based out of Rivain.

“One of the famed Rivaini Lords of Fortune. A guild of treasure hunters and dungeoneers, they specialized in pulling gems from the eyes of statues and, for added cost, protecting the softer people who hired them to do so.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Hollix, in particular, is a master of disguise and can pass as, pretty much, anyone when needed with their extensive use of make-up, accents and plenty of outfits.

“I’ve been called many things—a liar, a knave, a scoundrel—even a hero, once or twice. I don’t like being called lucky, though. That comes and goes, and it’s best not to be superstitious about it. “Oh ho! A Lord of Fortune, shunning luck?” Very funny, you wits.” (Luck in the Gardens).

While in Minrathous, Tevinter’s capital city, Hollix was hired by Dorian Pavus, last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition and Maevaris Tilani who was introduced in Dragon Age: The Silent Grove. The two hired Hollix to hunt down a wicked, tentacled monster that lurked in the city’s gardens. The creature was known as the Cekorax because it beheaded all of its victims.

“Dorian produced a map. It was a wonderful piece of work: crisp letters, bright inks, and a master’s eye for details. “There’s been nine people killed so far, here, here, and here. Each was found decapitated. The criers and balladeers have charmingly dubbed our killer the Cekorax, which is a rather suspect kludging of the old Tevene word for ‘headsman.” (Luck in the Gardens).

A young girl by the name of Mizzy witnessed some of the monster’s attacks. With her help, Hollix, Maev, Dorian and Mizzy headed to the monster’s lair in the sewers of Minrathous.

We digested the picture in silence. “So you didn’t see anything?” I eventually asked. “Not much,” she answered. “But I know how the monster got in the house.” (Luck in the Gardens).

The group lured the Cekorax to the city’s garden as the monster peeled open at the top to reveal a ring of dozens of eyeless heads. It spoke in the voices of its many victims.

“There was a ring of heads. Dozens, not just nine. Their eyes were plucked out, their flesh otherwise whole and healthy. Squeezing tendrils ran inside, caressed the cheeks. A crown of the blind, lovingly carried inside that atrocity. When the Cekorax spoke, their silent mouths formed the dripping words. “Come inside and see.” (Luck in the Gardens).

They killed the monster together as Dorian recalled what the Mortalitasi said about beasts of this nature, that it may be past the Veil of the world, neither demon nor spirit.

“I was at a party with one of those necromancers from down south a while ago. Five cups in, she went on about things ‘past the Veil of our world,’ neither demon nor spirit. Perhaps it wasn’t the tipsy nonsense I assumed it to be.” (Luck in the Gardens).

Hollix extended an invitation to Mizzy, if she ever wanted to join the Lords of Fortune, she’d be more then welcome. Bidding their farewell to Dorian and Maev, Hollix set sail for Rivain.

“I had told Mizzy, she might learn something from the Lords of Fortune in Rivain. “I’ve got loads of aunts and uncles and cousins south of here,” she had said reproachfully. “I’ve got to take care of them now that I’m a rich lady. But when I grow up,” she’d concluded, “maybe I’ll visit. Don’t forget me!” Then she hugged me for a moment, and ran into the crowds and was gone.” (Luck in the Gardens).

"Hunger" by Brianne Battye

Grey Warden Evka Ivo:

Warden Evka is a dwarf born and raised in Orzammar, she is a profound member of House Ivo, one of Orzammar’s many noble houses. She’s been living on the surface as a Grey Warden for three years.

“Warden Evka Ivo had grown up in Orzammar. The dwarven city was what it was: stone floors, stone walls, stone ceilings. It never changed much. Her three years with the Grey Wardens had brought her to the surface and she’d found a lot to love about life aboveground.” (Hunger).

Following orders directly from Fortress Weisshaupt to escort new Grey Warden recruits to the Warden headquarters, Evka and a newly-joined elf Warden called Antoine stop in a supposedly cursed village called Eichweill in the Anderfels. Some of the town-folk had suddenly began disappearing.

“After a hasty recruitment in Orlais, Evka was charged with taking the new recruit to a quiet outpost. They weren’t halfway there when the messenger caught them. The summons called available Wardens to Weisshaupt Fortress, the center of their order, located in the heart of the Anderfels.” (…) “Because Eichweill’s cursed,” Mina said. “That’s what people say. And we’re either too far out or too Maker-damned for folks to bother with our bad luck. Or they show up and die, too.” (Hunger).

The two Wardens agreed to help the villagers uncover the truth. They discovered that a wayward son of a noble who was kicked out of the town for poisoning a Chantry brother, starved in the woods, which attracted a demon of Hunger. The noble’s son was turned into a werewolf and had started infecting the towns-folk. Evka and Antoine defeated the werewolf and saved the town.

Grey Warden Antoine:

Antoine is an elf from Orlais who was recently recruited as a Grey Warden. It was Antoine’s belief in the Order’s heroism that compelled him to help the villagers of Eichweill.

“Antoine held his bow loosely in one hand. This was it. His other hand hung by his side, fingers twitching. Ready. The last and only time he’d fought darkspawn, it hadn’t gone well. He’d barely survived and lay near death for days before the Grey Wardens rescued him. He hadn’t been a Grey Warden then, but he was now. And Grey Wardens stopped the monsters first.” (Hunger).

While unearthing the town’s mystery, Antoine was bitten before the werewolf was slain. However, they killed the werewolf soon after his affliction. Antoine and Evka believed that with the werewolf defeated, the curse of the bite was also dead.

“He grinned. He hadn’t died—they hadn’t died. They had beaten a werewolf and Antoine was still breathing. And Evka was standing very close to him. “We should . . .” “Make sure it’s dead?” Antoine touched his shoulder where Renke had bitten him. Ending the night as a werewolf was not how it was supposed to work.” (Hunger).

Having saved lives and resolving the curse, the Wardens headed for Fortress Weisshaupt, this time with no side-tracking or detours.

“What now?” he asked. “Weisshaupt Fortress?” she said. “The part of being a Warden where we report where we’re supposed to and get told what to do without being sidetracked.” “Bien sûr—on y va! No detours!” His grin said he didn’t believe the last part. She wasn’t sure she did either.” (Hunger).

In the hushed whispers of the village, the hunger demon endured - ready to pray on its next victim.

Small, banished. Powerless. But if it waited, it would sense the knot that twisted its victim. The weakness that followed. The opening. The longing. And just before the blackness fell, when they would do almost anything, it would whisper . . . Are you hungry? (Hunger).

The Dragon Age Day short story “The Next One” revealed Evka’s recruitment to the Grey Wardens.

Evka was rescued by Warden Lawrence, she was attacked by a blighted creature with two mouths while in the Deep Roads. Lawrence’s perseverance to save Evka was so insistent that he attracted a spirit of Perseverance to keep him fighting despite his fatal wounds. Evka ordered the spirit to release him, and to tell him that she'd save the next one for him.

“The ghouls were dead. “Who are you?” Evka asked, grip tight on the hammer. “A spirit,” it said through Warden Lawrence’s mouth. “I could hear him.” Drawn to the dying, then. After all he’d done... “Release him,” Evka snapped. She wouldn’t leave him like this.” (The Next One).

"Murder by Death Mages" by Caitlin Sullivan Kelly

Sidony:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition’s multiplayer component, Sidony is a Mortalitasi mage from Nevarra. She voluntarily became an agent of the Inquisition when she witnessed the Breach first-hand, her sole purpose was to research and study Thedas’s biggest magical mystery of the age for her own advancement - nothing and no one will stand in her way of reaching her full potential as a mage.

“And what better way is there to achieve a great understanding of magic, and thus grow more powerful, than to observe the biggest magical mystery of the age?” (WoT. V2).

After Corypheus was defeated, Cassandra Pentaghast instructed Sidony to return to Nevarra City to investigate claims of a Mortalitasi plot that involved assassinating a member of Nevarra’s already unstable line of succession.

“They could not easily overlook claims that a Mortalitasi—one of the influential and highly respected mages charged with tending Nevarra’s dead—was planning to assassinate a member of Nevarra’s already unstable line of succession. Especially when those claims came straight from another Mortalitasi, one that Sidony once knew.” (Murder by Death Mages).

Reluctantly, considering her hatred for her home country, Sidony agreed to this assignment and headed to Nevarra City. She was handpicked by Cassandra because of her intimate knowledge of the Mortalitasi.

“None of the other Nevarrans have your intimate knowledge of the Mortalitasi,” Pentaghast reminded her.” (Murder by Death Mages).

Upon arrival, Sydony attempted to make contact with her previous mentor, Lord Henrik, the one responsible for warning the Inquisition regarding this plot in the first place. However, Sydony found his lifeless body in a city alleyway.

“The more she looked at them, the more they twisted and contorted until all she could see was the vacant face of Henrik’s lifeless body.” (Murder by Death Mages).

With her former mentor dead, Sidony contacted Antonia, a Mortalitasi mage who Sidony met as a child. Antonia told her to head to a party hosted by Nicolas Reinhardt, a minor family, but one of the oldest in Nevarra. Nicolas, in particular, enjoyed shouting accusations that the death mages were ruling the kingdom through manipulation.

“House Reinhardt: a minor family, but one of the oldest in Nevarra.” (…) A man drunk enough—or stupid enough—to shout accusations that the death mages were ruling the kingdom through manipulation was a man who might let slip rumors about a Mortalitasi assassin’s plan to remove a noble from play . . . if he wasn’t a target himself.” (Murder by Death Mages).

At the party, Sydony made acquaintances with Cyrros, a very dapper elf who’s accepted among many members of the Nevarran elite considering he knows everyone’s dirty secrets and scandals. After more nobles were killed, Cyrros and Sidony decided to work together to find the assassin.

“An elf in such finery, mocking and touching a member of old Nevarran nobility, and no one batting an eye—this was someone welcomed with open arms and stacks of gold in circles fueled by secrets and scandal.” (Murder by Death Mages).

Lady Reinhardt, Nicolas Reinhardt’s wife was killed as both Cyrros and Sidony stood over her deceased body. Nicolas walked in to see the two over his dead wife and believed they had killed her. He shouted at Cyrros and claimed that he hired him to kill his rivals and blame the Mortalitasi for their deaths, not to employ a death mage and kill his wife.

“What would you have me believe?” Reinhardt roared. “I hired you to kill my rivals and take the Mortalitasi down with them, and now I find my wife slain by the assassin I employed—and one of the damn death mages herself!” (Murder by Death Mages).

After Cyrros explained that someone must’ve killed Nicholas’s wife before they arrived, Sydony, frustrated at Nicholas’s attempt to blame the Mortalitasi for these deaths, killed Nicholas and Cyrros.

“She thrust her arm forward, tearing away her bonds, flinging the siphoning spell and hitting him square in the chest. The skin on his extremities turned dark purple, then black, as the curse drained the very life from his body.” (Murder by Death Mages).

Sidony returned to the Grand Necropolis to attend Lord Henrik’s funeral, she spoke with Antonia who revealed that she was the one who killed Henrik and Reinhardt's wife in an attempt to give the Mortalitasi control over the Nevarran elite. She used Sydony to expose the corruption of the elite, so the Mortalitasi could rule without question.

“So many people tell me they’re ready for change, for the kingdom to be taken in a new direction, without the uncertainty of the old royal blood and their constant struggles for control. With the line of succession in such disarray, maybe it’s time for the Mortalitasi to intervene . . .” (Murder by Death Mages).

Sidony killed Antonia for murdering Lord Henrik, and later returned to Cassandra Pentaghast having dealt with this Mortalitasi assassination plot.

“And in the time it would take for someone to discover the Mortalitasi’s body, Sidony would be too far from Nevarra City to hear their screams. They had met in an alley, and in an alley, they would part.” (Murder by Death Mages).

"The Streets of Minrathous" by Brianne Battye

Neve Gallus:

Neve Gallus is a human private investigator set up in the streets of Tevinter’s capital city, Minrathous. She is a mage and has a single dwarven-crafted prosthetic leg.

“My one leg may be dwarven-crafted metal below the knee, but that doesn’t keep me out of a chase.” (…) “I channeled a bit of magic, ready for whatever he planned to do, then let it fade back.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Neve accepted a contract by a man called Otho Calla who wanted her to tail and pursue his nephew, Quentin Calla, to see if he was secretly working with the Venatori. She witnessed Qunetin assassinated in an alleyway by a figure in white and beige robes with a full-face mask of polished bronze. The figure escaped the scene by using blood magic and reflecting one of Neve’s spells onto herself.

“A figure in white and beige robes approached from the shadows.” (…) “The figure that stepped into the light wore a full-face mask of polished bronze.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Before Quentin perished, he told Neve that It was ‘almost the hour’. Neve returned to Otho Calla and informed him of his nephew’s death.

“It’s almost the Hour,” Quentin said. The words sounded forced, as if they pained him more than the knife. His hand sank back. (The Streets of Minrathous).

She reported the crime to Knight-Templar Rana Sava and the rest of the Templars who shared that Quentin Calla wasn’t the only one who was ominously murdered last night, Lady Varantus was also killed, uncoincidentally another person with connections to the Venatori. Both Calla and Varantus had brutal neck marks as if necklaces were forcibly removed from their bodies.

“No,” Rana agreed. “A person in a bronze mask was seen in the street. The timing works out.” (…) “A thin line of bruising arced across the exposed skin, suggesting a fine chain once sat there—one that had been forcibly removed. I bet Quentin Calla had the same marks.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

To inquire about the necklace’s stolen, Neve met up with a con artist she’d turned in the year prior. His name was Elek Tavor – the two met in a tavern called the Lamplighter. Elek confirmed that Quentin Calla was looking for quiet ways to leave the city, perhaps connected to the antislavery movement, or even for himself - he knew something bad was about to happen and made plans to leave.

“I don’t know who Calla thought he was meeting at the docks,” Elek continued, “but I know why. He turned up a few times, asking about false papers, places to buy horses or hire a boat with no one noticing. That sort of thing.” (…) “The way he’d toyed at the chain around his neck . . . he’d known something was coming.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Neve left the tavern, and was ushered by a strange, robed Tevinter man with bloodshot eyes who inquired about Calla and Varantus’s deaths, explaining that another was killed last week - someone by the name of Paxus. He shared further that the assassin was called Aelia, and she took round clay discs that were encased in necklaces from their bodies. He then gave Neve one of the discs so she could inspect it for herself.

“The man shook his head. “Paxus was killed last week. No one noticed that one. Well, almost no one.” “This Paxus. Venatori?” I asked.” (…) “Do you want to know what Aelia took?” He’d changed tacks again, this time emphasizing the new direction by shoving a round clay disc into my hands, although he kept hold of the chain attached to it. “Aelia’s the one who killed them?” (The Streets of Minrathous).

As Neve continued her investigation and reported her findings with the Templars, she was attacked by the Venatori cultist Aelia in-between narrow streets of the city’s lower market. Aelia drained power from Neve to unfold the necklace’s enchantment, and fled the scene with parts of the necklace having almost killed Neve.

“Our lives for the glory of Tevinter reborn.” “You’re Venatori,” I said. “Why—?” “Minrathous has forgotten its way,” Aelia said. “It falls to us to put it right. To make it rise.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

With the help of Flavian Bataris, Neve uncovered that the Venatori planned on unleashing a demon that dwelled below the city. The eight necklaces were blood-bound between members of the Venatori, they would be used to free the demon from its prison, restoring Minrathous to the Tevinter Corypheus promised. However, Calla, Varantus and Paxus refused to give their necklaces, thus explaining their deaths.

“Not like this,” Flavian said. “I’m not even sure demon’s the right word. It’s something only a god could summon.” At the look on my face, he added: “If not a god, Corypheus was close enough.” (...) “And the plan was as well. Until Aelia took over. The Venatori still want the Tevinter Corypheus promised, whether he’s around for it or not. All she needed were the seals.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Neve faced Aelia and her Venatori alone in the city’s catacombs until Knight-Templar Rana Sava and the rest of the Templars joined the fight. They stopped the summoning ritual and Aelia was incarcerated. Minrathous, for the moment, was safe from the evil clutches of the Venatori.

“Minrathous is broken,” Aelia spat at me. “I know,” I said. “But you aren’t the one to fix it.” I left Aelia to the templars. I wanted sleep more than anything, but there was one more stop I had to make.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

Neve returned to Otho Calla and told him that his nephew had left the Venatori, so he could treasure Quentin’s memory. She then walked away back into the streets of Minrathous.

“For what it’s worth, you weren’t wrong to give Quentin a second chance,” I said. “He’d left the Venatori. There’s nothing ‘unsavory’ in his last days either.” (…) “I don’t know,” I said and walked away.” (The Streets of Minrathous).

"The Wigmaker Job" by Courtney Woods

Lucanis Dellamorte:

Master Assassin of the Antivan Crows, Lucanis Dellamorte is the favourite grandson of Caterina Dellamorte - the First Talon. As of which, Lucanis is the heir to the First Talon of the Crows considering he’s Caterina’s favourite. But we’ll talk more about that later on, when we get to the story - Eight Little Talons.

“For years, he’d hated her. But his time as a Master Assassin had since taught Lucanis that Caterina’s cruelty was her way of making sure that he was prepared for this life—that he survived.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Lucanis is lean with dark hair and umber eyes, he’s focused and intense. The kind of man you couldn’t look away from—until he looked at you.

“Both men were lean with dark hair and umber eyes.” (…) “While Lucanis stared ahead, focused and intense. He was the kind of man you couldn’t look away from—until he looked at you.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Along with his cousin Illario Dellamorte, the two Crows were on their way to the Tevinter city, Vyrantium, both contracted to assassinate Ambrose Forfex, Tevinter’s premiere wigmaker and high-ranking Venatori blood mage.

“Ambrose threw down the matted mess. “Lucanis Dellamorte, I presume?” “Sì,” Lucanis answered, knowing even a single syllable of a foreign language would disgust the Wigmaker. It had the desired effect—Ambrose recoiled as if he’d stepped in urine. “Is this your handiwork?” “Sì.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Disgusted with Ambrose’s method of feeding slaves red lyruim to create wigs, Lucanis and Illario executed Ambrose, freed the slaves, and destroyed an elven artefact that allowed spirits of vengeance that once lingered to return to the Fade.

“It was Ambrose’s turn to laugh. “I thought a Crow could stomach anything—for the right price.” Lucanis leveled the Wigmaker with a pointed look. “Not red lyrium.” (The Wigmaker Job).

After fulfilling this contract, and stacking up to around 40 deaths, Lucanis was known by the rest of the Venatori as ‘the demon.’

“Lucanis Dellamorte is responsible.” Crispin licked his lips. “We won’t be able to keep this one from the public.” He and Felicia exchanged a nervous glance. “They’re already calling him ‘the Demon.” (The Wigmaker Job).

The two cousins spoke about Lucanis becoming the First Talon, however, Lucanis didn’t believe that, and instead wanted Illario to become the First Talon.

“Even if it kills you,” Illario whispered. “Death is my calling,” Lucanis stated, matter-of-fact. “Just as yours is to become First Talon.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Illario Dellamorte:

Like his cousin, Illario is a Master Assassin of the Antivan Crows, as well as one of Caterina Dellamorte’s grandsons. He’s lean with dark hair and umber eyes, however, Illario is all smiles. He’s got a calculated handsomeness from his smooth skin to his perfect, white teeth. And, according to Lucanis, Illario has a silver tongue. Illario would love to be the First Talon, he believes it’s his calling however, that is not his call to make. Only Caterina Dellamorte can decide who takes her place.

“Both men were lean with dark hair and umber eyes. Illario was all smiles. His was a calculated handsomeness. From his smooth skin to his perfect, white teeth, everything was contrived to be enticing. As they walked through the crowd, he basked in the appreciative glances he received.” (…) “My talents lie elsewhere,” Lucanis said, gesturing toward the arsenal around him. “You’re the one with the silver tongue.” (The Wigmaker Job).

Magister Zara Renata:

Venatori Maleficar Zara Renata is a Magister of the Imperium who seeks the death of Lucanis Dellamorte along with her Venatori agents, Crispin Kavlo and the sister of Livius Erimond, Felicia Erimond. They plan to exploit everyone of Lucanis’s flaws until ‘the demon’ is defeated.

“Freeing Ambrose’s slaves already tells us this Crow has a heart. He will reveal other flaws. And we will exploit every last one of them.” (The Wigmaker Job).

"Genitivi Dies in the End" by Lukas Kristjanson

Brother Genitivi:

Last witnessed in Dragon Age: Origins, however, his literature has spread throughout Thedas in all games, infamous Chantry scholar brother Ferdinand Genitivi gathered legendary scholars Philliam, a Bard and Sister Laudine together to write a manuscript about their experience finding the true history of the elven pantheon. Each writer used a pseudonym to protect themselves from the Qunari Antaam.

“You want me to find the true history of the elven pantheon, in a piece of a library that doesn’t exist, beneath the Imperium, deeper than the Deep Roads?” Philliam tossed the scroll back to his publisher. “I don’t do fiction.” His host started to laugh, and then didn’t.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Philliam, a Bard!:

Philliam Bernard Aloicious Trevelyan, more commonly known as Philliam a Bard is a Free Marcher known for plenty of literature spread throughout Thedas. However, Brother Genitivi thinks Philliam is a thief considering he reduced his five hundred-and thirty-six-page book to a twenty-page collection of cautionary-yet-enticing executions.

“Philliam knew the name before he felt the sting. Five hundred and thirty-six pages of leather-bound Ferelden heraldic history—not including epigraphs and appendices—slapped across his face. It was a book he’d reduced to a twenty-page collection of cautionary-yet-enticing executions. “Thief!” yelled Brother Ferdinand Genitivi, honoured Chantry scholar and respected historian, on the eve of the longest—and last—month of their lives.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Sister Laudine:

Formerly a sister of the Chantry, Laudine is a young writer in her late twenties with long blonde hair. She has published many works, particularly about Orlais which have been officially denounced by the Chantry.

“Formerly Sister Laudine, ex of the Chantry, documenter of all things sensual and denied in otherwise falsely prim Orlais.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

The three scholars ventured on an expedition that took them to the Silent Plains with the help of a hired Lord of Fortune.

Mateo:

Mateo is a Lord of Fortune, he’s a broad-shouldered man covered with many trinkets that he’s discovered throughout his years. He has a genuine appreciation for history, because of which he was hired for Genitivi’s expedition as a driver and delver.

“Their hired driver and delver was a broad-shouldered man called Mateo, one of the famed Rivaini Lords of Fortune.” (…) “The Lords wore their expertise, and the sash around Mateo’s waist was heavy with ancient coins and other trinkets from beneath the plains. He had a genuine appreciation for history, but didn’t claim to know the works of his current charges. Which, all things considered, probably made him the best fit for the expedition.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Rasaan:

Tamassran Rasaan was last seen in Dragon Age: Those Who Speak, as a female priest of the Qun, Rasaan’s role has been to determine what is done with captives of the Qun, she will interpret the Qun with regards to how it applies to those outside of it. Rasaan has served directly under the Ariqun and was long ago chosen as the Ariqun’s eventual successor by the rest of the priesthood.

Recently, Rasaan has taken great interest in Fen’Harel and his scheme, as of which, she led the Qunari Antaam unofficially In Tevinter to search for Fen’Harel’s true name. This has been an unsanctioned operation considering the Arishok is the only member of the Qun who leads the Antaam.

“Fen Harel,” she lectured, “is a name given by enemies. Its translation, ‘Dread Wolf,’ isn’t true.” She turned, considering one of the tomes now piled on the slab. “The name given when he lied to us—and to your Inquisition—was chosen by a self-styled martyr. ‘Solas’ is also not true.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Therefore, Rasaan revealed to Brother Genitivi that “her” Antaam are in Tevinter unofficially.

“Rasaan stopped him with a raised index finger. “I know your work,” she said. She knelt again, her eyes dead-straight with his. “My Antaam are in Tevinter as officially as you are. Does that change your tone?” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

Rasaan uncovered that Fen’Harel’s true name isn’t Solas, but actually Pride. With this true name, she could track the best and worst of him, find flaws, exploit weaknesses and know what he had failed to be. Rasaan believed that there is no greater advantage than to know an enemy’s true name.

“With this “true name.” You could track a person back through the best and worst of themselves. Find flaws. Exploit weaknesses. Know what they had failed to be.” (Genitivi Dies in the End).

And so, Rasaan’s quest continues to uncover Fen’Harel’s scheme while hunting Genetivi, Laudine and Philliam a Bard!

"Herold Had the Plan" by Ryan Cormier

Bharv:

Bharv is a Dwarven Lord of Fortune. He has spent decades of his life as a treasure hunter, consequently, he has a lot of long scars over his body, and a crooked back. Be that as it may, Bharv enjoys the life of a Lord of Fortune, it has provided all the thrills he’s ever craved.

“The dwarf clawed back up to the dry riverbank and looked around.” (…) “The Lords of Fortune provided all the thrills he craved, but decades in their service left him with long scars and a crooked back.” (…) “Still, despite the pain, he’d always slept better as a Lord of Fortune than as a creeping thief in his younger years. Through decades of treasure hunting.” (Herold Had the Plan).

After a botched robbery job at the Grand Tourney went sideways, Bharv and his elven Lord of Fortune companion, Elim, fled into Starkhaven’s forest. Herold, Bharv’s partner, was killed during the escape. However, they were able to successfully retrieve their target – a powerful and ancient amulet.

“They’d recovered the amulet from the lockbox at the Grand Tourney like sneaking the sugarcake from a child’s lunch. No one spotted them. No one at the tournament even sneered in their direction.” (...) “Bharv shrugged. He was told it was ancient and powerful. That was all he needed to know.” (Herold Had the Plan).

The two Lord of Fortune’s located Panzstott, their hired guard from Tantervale. The Tournament knights caught up and surrounded the group, they claimed that one of them had stolen the Celebrant – the legendary greatsword granted to the winner of the Grand Tourney. Panzstott had stolen the blade on behalf of Lady Lucie, in exchange, Lucie would help find Panzstott’s sister who was headed to the Anderfels to become a Grey Warden.

“We only want the sword.” It was a man’s voice calling. “Though we will take your thieving lives all the same.” (…) “Never.” Even Panzstott’s voice was different. “It’s what Lady Lucie wants. It’s not yours. You got your thing, I got mine. All square.” (…) “Lady Lucie, yes. She’s sure my sister might be found. Says so all the time.” (…) “Lady Lucie says she can find anyone. Her husband is also a warden.” (Herold Had the Plan).

After a rambunctious fight, Panzstotts was killed, Bharv and Elim were fatally wounded, the knights retrieved the Celebrant and Lady Lucie was imprisoned. Bharv only survived death because he wore the mysterious amulet that restored his wounds, however, Elim was killed.

“Collect the sword,” the captain said. “Bind the widow’s hands.” “The thieves, Captain?” The captain clucked disgustedly as he considered the question. “Leave them to die.” (Herold Had the Plan).

Having picked himself up, Bharv made his way to the nearest village downriver, to the place where Herold used to get drunk. He handed a very familiar elven squire the amulet and finished the job.

Vaea:

Introduced in Dragon Age: Knight Errant, Vaea is a Ferelden elven rogue who serves Ser Aaron as his elven squire. Bharv’s partner, Herold had contacted Vaea specifically to take the amulet to Northern Tevinter. Accompanied by Ser Aaron, the two toasted to Herold’s memory with Bharv before setting out on their next adventure.

“Vaea nodded. “He contacted me and said a job of his had turned into a charity run. Asked me to bring the amulet back north with me, to Tevinter. The chaos there has left many in desperate need, a lot of families torn up. He said you’d understand.” (Herold Had the Plan).

"An Old Crow's Old Tricks" by Arone Le Bray

Lessef/”Old Nan”:

Lessef is an old member of the Antivan Crows. She has a kind and wrinkled face, and her eyes are of someone who has lived a long life.

“Kind and wrinkled in the corners. They were the eyes of someone who has lived a long life.” (…) “Lessef of the Antivan Crows has fulfilled the contract.” (An Old Crow's Old Tricks).

In the middle of the Tevinter Imperium; over the Nocen Sea, Lessef made herself known as “Old Nan”, a trading merchant who was known for selling fine wares. However, her actual intention was to fulfil an assassination contract on the Tevinter centuri who recently murdered Dalish children for control of resources in the area. Tevinter solider Chencel had chased down and killed a twelve-year-old Dalish boy under the order of Magister Bicklius, the Oranavra clan purchased Lessef to kill the remaining centuri, as of which, Lessef tricked and suffocated Chencel with a scarf made of halla leather.

“Chencel remembered. On their way to set up camp here, the centuri had encountered some Dalish children from an aravel. Her centurion, Magister Bicklius, ordered the whole group wiped out so that the centuri would have no competition for resources in the area. Chencel had to catch the child who started to run, so that he would not warn the rest. “His mother called him Sil. He was twelve. You held him under the water.” Chencel still struggled, but the older woman’s grip was too strong. “Did he fight back? While his breath left him, and you held his shoulders to keep him still, did he thrash? Kick? Try to scratch or bite?” The soldier’s arms started to go limp. “Did you know that the Oranavra clan also sold their goods? They even made enough to purchase a contract from the Antivan Crows.” (An Old Crow's Old Tricks).

As the Tevinter centuri discovered an Antivan Crow was in the midst, Lessef assassinated Magister Bicklius. She evaded the rest of the army by having Tainsley, her seven-foot, elf-blooded human servant, dress up and pretend to be a Qunari.

“Reaching his full seven-foot height, he stretched his arms and legs, kneading the muscles with his aged hands to start the blood flowing again.” (…) “He knew he might look like a monstrous apparition, seven feet tall and wrapped in wiry, taut muscles, but he still felt every bit of his seventy-six years weighing him down.” (An Old Crow's Old Tricks).

The Tevinter soldiers retreated as Lessef and Tainsley celebrated by eating cookies, revelling in their victory having redeemed the Oranavra clan.

“Onward, to cookies!” (…) “Thanks to his mistress, his uncle’s clan would at least have their halla statue back.” (An Old Crow's Old Tricks).

"Eight Little Talons" by Courtney Woods

Caterina Dellamorte:

First Talon of the Antivan Crows, Caterina Dellamorte leads the Antivan Crows. She has silver-white hair swept up into a bun and an impressive collection of rubies hanging from her ears and neck.

“Her silver-white hair swept up into a bun to divert attention to the impressive collection of rubies hanging from her ears and neck.” (Eight Little Talons).

Her two grandchildren are Lucanis and Illario Dellamorte, however, Lucanis is her favourite – she intends on promoting him to First Talon when it’s his time.

Caterina Dellamorte called for a summit and invited each of the eight Antivan Crow Talons together in one location to discuss the impending Qunari threat. The summit was held in a villa on an island at the centre of the lake called the Verdant Isle.

“To that end, First Talon Caterina Dellamorte insisted her colleagues put aside their differences and attend a summit to concoct a plan of action.” (…) “The summit would be held in a villa on an island at the center of the lake called the Verdant Isle.” (Eight Little Talons).

Dante Balazar:

Second Talon Dante Balazar was eliminated and betrayed by Emil Kortez, the fourth Talon.

“That you were right. Dante was poisoned—with the Quiet Night.” (Eight Little Talons).

Lera Valisti:

Third Talon Lera Valisti was also eliminated by Emil Kortez.

“We know Lera died before dinner, but after her argument with Dante in the garden.” (Eight Little Talons).

Emil Kortez:

Fourth Talon Emil Kortez decided to betray the Antivan Crows. He stuck up a ‘peaceful’ deal with the Qun, Kortez agreed to eliminate all the other seven Talons with the assumption that the Qunari would honour their deal and occupy a peaceful conquest of Antiva and its people. As a trade-off, the Kortez family would be the only house leading the Antivan Crows.

With this machination in play, Kortez killed the second, third and eighth Talon before Viago, Teia and the rest of the Talons unmasked Kortez’s conniving plot, and then defeated their brethren.

“Emil squared his shoulders. “The Qunari are many things—brutal, rigid, merciless warriors—but they are also honorable.” (…) “Under one Talon, we might actually get something done.” (…) “Following Teia’s lead, Viago, Bolivar, and Caterina all raised their blades. The steel glinted in the fire’s light.” (Eight Little Talons).

Viago De Riva:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Deception, Fifth Talon Viago De Riva helped thwart Emil Kortez’s scheme. Viago and Andarateia have since headed to Antiva City to inform the royals of Antiva in preparation for the Qunari war. The Crows also plan to recruit more Talons for their ranks, as they just lost four leaders thanks to Kortez’s scheme.

“To brief His Royal Fatherliness?” She balanced the stick on the tip of her boot. He reached for it. “Why are you asking?” With a kick, she flung the stick onto her other foot. “To see if you had a place to stay.” (Eight Little Talons).

Bolivar Nero:

Sixth Talon Bolivar Nero helped the rest of the Talons against Emil, after killing him, Bolivar was the first to leave the scene. Viago believed it was for the best, Bolivar didn’t have much to offer the war effort.

“Bolivar refused to speak to anyone. He simply grabbed a bottle of wine and barricaded himself in his room until the boats arrived. Viago thought it was for the best. Bolivar didn’t have much to offer the war effort.” (Eight Little Talons).

Andarateia Cantori:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Deception, Seventh Talon Andarateia Cantori, otherwise known as Teia helped uncover Emil’s scheme alongside Viago. She’s since headed to Antiva City with Viago to warn the Antivan nobles and recruit more Talons.

“Is that an invitation?” “Is that a yes?” He reached out again. This time, she let him have the walking stick, but held on to the end. Viago drew her close, until they were a breath apart. “It’s a definite maybe,” he murmured. Teia beamed up at him. “My favorite answer.” (Eight Little Talons).

Giuli Arainai:

Eighth Talon, Giuli Arainai was eliminated by Emil Kortez.

“Dead,” Bolivar spat. “Like Dante and Giuli and Lera—and us if we don’t leave this cursed place.” (Eight Little Talons).

Since Kortez’s agreement was foiled, the Qunari are heading to Antiva with a full invasion in mind after their ‘peaceful’ contract went sour. Should the Qunari decide to attack, the assassins must present a unified force.

The Dragon Age Day short story “The Wake” furthered Eight Little Talon’s plot.

Illario Dellamorte, Viago De Riva and Teia Cantori mourned the loss of Lucanis Dellamorte, the heir to the First Talon.

For reasons unknown, Lucanis has mysteriously died, perhaps the Venatori Maleficar Zara Renata discovered his flaws and murdered him, or perhaps Lucanis is pretending to be dead. Regardless, it seems the next heir to the First Talon is Illario Dellamorte, if Lucanis is truly died.

“He was my cousin, but we were more like brothers, really. Always getting himself into every sort of trouble. And I was always right behind him, you know? Always.” Illario’s voice suddenly grew thick with emotion. “Now there’s nobody for me to follow.” (The Wake).

"Half Up Front" by John Epler

Vadis:

Vadis is a former Tevinter Altus, she left her life of nobility behind to peruse a romantic relationship with Irian Cestes, her father’s elven servant. Vadis has since built a reputation as a crafty thief.

“Altus, not magister. I’d never been a magister—my father filled that seat for our family. And I’d left the nobility behind, so even altus was past tense. “My one rule is no names. You don’t know a damned thing about me.” She arched an eyebrow. “The disgraced daughter of Magister Mareno Vadis. Lover of an elven servant.” (Half Up Front).

In Minrathous, Vadis was hired by a mysterious elven lady to find and steal a relic called “Dumat’s Folly” - supposedly it was a piece of the Black City itself.

“Then you know the significance of Dumat’s Folly.” She gestured at the rubbing I held in front of me. So that’s what it was. “Supposed to be a piece of the Black City itself. A ‘reminder of man’s hubris, and of the unique and glorious divinity of the Maker.’” I snorted. “Seems like a bunch of nug shit to me.” (Half Up Front).

Together, Irian and Vadis infiltrated the Archon’s palace, they discovered a centre case where “Dumat’s Folly” had been, however, until recently, the glass display was empty. They found large footprints and a blood trail that led down a tunnel with Qunari Ben-Hassrath instructions regarding the relic. They pressed on through the tunnel and found a fake model of “Dumat’s Folly” believing that the Qunari had the real relic.

“The center case where Dumat’s Folly had, until recently, sat was empty. The glass in its display case was missing.” (…) “It’s orders—well, instructions. Ben-Hassrath. Locations and names are in code, but it’s telling them to get the item and return home. Not to be seen either.” (…) “I nodded. “The Qunari have the real one.” (Half Up Front).

The pair headed to the Qunari’s new Darvaarad, a ship headed to Rivain. Vadis uncovered the real “Dumat’s Folly” on deck, when suddenly her patron, the mysterious elven lady revealed herself. She approached from the shadows and claimed to be an agent of Fen'Harel.

“I opened the crate. Dumat’s Folly. I smiled. All right. I reached into my satchel and pulled out the rune that my client had given me. I wanted to make sure the artifact was the real thing before I took it back—not that I had any reason to believe otherwise, but I’d promised my client I’d verify first. I moved the rune toward the object and it started to vibrate, to glow.” (Half Up Front).

She declared that she acted freely for the Dread Wolf, to bring back what was once theirs, and what must be theirs again. She wore a simple robe embroidered with an unknown symbol. Her plan was to trick and frame Vadis into stealing a powerful and dangerous artefact that was integral to Fen'Harel's plans.

"The agent replies that she acts "freely. For the Dread Wolf. To bring back what was once ours—what must be ours again.” (…) “One of our agents spoke of Dumat’s Folly. Suggested it was an artifact of great power and danger, integral to Fen’Harel’s plans.” (…) “She’d traded her thick winter clothing for a simple robe, embroidered with an unknown symbol." (Half Up Front).

This relic was in-actuality a magical bomb, that was supposed to be used by Vadis, destroying the Qunari’s Darvaarad. This would’ve created a calamity feud between the Qunari Ben-Hassrath and Tevinter kinsman, if each party had discovered that an Altus thief attacked Qunari lands using this bomb, it would cause immediate chaos for all of Thedas.

“It is an ingenious device. Not a piece of the Black City, like the true Dumat’s Folly, but taken from the same time. It draws magic into itself.” “A Tevinter altus, striking at a Qunari settlement that had yet to enter hostilities? Ben- Hassrath wouldn’t be able to sit the war out anymore. Utter and complete chaos.” I felt nauseous. What I’d almost done, almost been responsible for. (Half Up Front).

Fortunately, this wasn’t the case, the Agent of Fen’Harel committed suicide to avoid future interrogations. Vadis used magic and forced the Darvaarad out to the sea where it exploded, with few casualties. One of the Qunari Ben-Hassrath agent’s took Vadis and Irian to a tavern in Kont-aar.

“I thought I could see the dreadnought, the burning deck a distant speck on the horizon. A moment passed. Another. And suddenly, a flash of light, a second sun on the horizon.” (Half Up Front).

Gatt:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Gatt is an elven agent of the Qunari Ben-Hassrath, he shared the Qun’s knowledge on the agent of Fen’Harel’s scheme with Vadis and Irian. He then asked that if they wanted revenge against the Dread Wolf, they should seek a dwarf in Kirkwall, because he will want to hear what they’ve got to say about the agents of Fen’Harel, even more than that, he’ll have work for the two of them.

“You cannot stay with us. Nor, I imagine, would you want to. But we have other allies. A dwarf in Kirkwall. He will want to hear what you have to say about the enemy. And more than that, he will have work for you. Something more than survival—a chance to strike back. A chance to matter.” (Half Up Front).

Vadis and Irian decided to head to Kirkwall, but first, took a stop to see Val Royeaux together for the first time.

“We’ll go to Kirkwall. Eventually.” I looked at Irian again and my smile widened. “But first, any chance we can go to Val Royeaux? (Half Up Front).

"Dread Wolf Take You" by Patrick Weekes

Charter:

Last seen in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Charter is an elven agent of the Inquisition who worked very closely within Leliana’s spy network.

In Hunter Fell, Nevarra at a tavern called “The Teahouse” (the same name as my private Discord server that you can join if you become a channel member). Charter invited the best spies in Thedas for a roundhouse meeting to discuss the Dread Wolf and his scheme.

A Carta Assassin, Orlesian Bard, Mortalitasi Mage, and an Executor Agent presented themselves at Charter’s summit. The Tevinter Siccari and the Qunari Ben-Hassrath both declined their attendance at this meeting.

“The lamps were dim and the walls bare of both windows and any painting where a peephole might have been concealed, but a fireplace against the wall crackled merrily, and seated around the fire in comfortable overstuffed chairs were four figures.” (…) “As did the Ben- Hassrath.” She grimaced. “The latter is especially disappointing. They had more knowledge of Solas’s movements than anyone else.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

As each faction-representative shared their slightly fabricated perspectives on the Dread Wolf and his red lyrium idol, the group grew tired of each other’s white lies and false truths, they began to argue until their truths were finally revealed. By which point, the Orlesian Bard had already killed the Executor before they could share their insights. The Bard then froze the Mortalitasi Mage and the Carta Assassin, he took off his mask and revealed himself as Solas.

“That’s a good story,” the Assassin said, cutting into the silence, “but I’d rather hear the truth.” (…) “The Assassin and the Mortalitasi were still where they stood, their skin and clothes suddenly the gray of dead, dull stone.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

Solas:

In a desperate attempt to understand what the Inquisition and a few other high-profile factions knew, Solas disguised himself as an Orlesian bard. He understands that the powers against him in Thedas are not fools, and there are many who oppose him.

“I wished to know what you all knew,” he said, gesturing at the table. “There are many of you, and you are not fools. As for me coming in person . . . the Inquisition was involved.” He returned to his seat. “Why did you come?” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

When he revealed himself, Solas looked tired and sad. He said that telling the Inquisitor what he intended to do in Trespasser was a moment of weakness. He admitted that he’s prideful, hot-headed and foolish. He then told Charter to tell the Inquisitor that he’s sorry.

“He sighed. “It was a moment of weakness. I told myself that it was because you all deserved to know, to live a few years in peace before my ritual was complete. Before this world ended.” (…) “I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor . . .” His voice faltered. “Say that I am sorry.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

The Dread Wolf:

Whether a separate being from Solas, or his own shapeshifting form, the Dread Wolf appeared in the Fade with wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons. He’s lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon. The Fade is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him willingly.

“It was no elf, no mortal mage. It was a beast unlike any I had ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon, and it came to us on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons as the Dread Wolf landed before us.” (…) “But whatever fear the name Dread Wolf carries, he has earned. While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

The red lyrium idol belongs to him and he wants it back. The Dread Wolf declared that if anyone ever binds a spirit, then your life is his. This is particularly difficult for the Mortalitasi considering their entire culture is dependent on binding displaced spirits to corpses.

“YOU USE MY IDOL CARELESSLY TO VANDALIZE THE SEA OF DREAMS. NOW FEEL THE PAIN OF WHAT YOU HAVE CREATED.” (…) “FROM THIS MOMENT, SHOULD YOU EVER BIND A SPIRIT, THEN YOUR LIFE IS MINE.” (The Dread Wolf Take You).

From this moment, the Dread Wolf has a ritual in the Fade, binding spirits and using blood magic undoes his work, therefore, he has abolished these types of magic and will eliminate anyone who dares use them in the future.

"And as clear as the Dread Wolf’s anger at what we had done— the Mortalitasi binding spirits he considered his own, the Tevinter mage using forbidden blood magic— was the feeling that we had disrupted his own work." (The Dread Wolf Take You).

For now, his ritual and future plans are largely unknown, in any regard, the Dread Wolf has risen and is preparing his scheme to destroy the Veil and reclaim the elvhen kingdom.

With that, there’s all the major characters mentioned and introduced in Tevinter Nights that I feel are paving the way forward, and may potentially have some involvement in the future Dragon Age game. Let me know your thoughts, which characters did you like the most, who would you like to see in the next game, who appealed to you and has the most plot potential?

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