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buttsonthebeach · 4 years ago

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“Take My Hand”

It’s been 84 years since I wrote anything, largely thanks to Smol Beach, but when @scharoux asked me to do a commission for the 14 Days of DA Lovers event, I couldn’t resist this delicious, angsty prompt.

Thank you as always for trusting me with Rhaella, Sacha, and everyone check out all the lovely art and writing for the event!

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Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas

Rating: G

Rhaella was over the edge of the cliff before she knew what had happened.

One moment - frost at her fingertips as she cast a glyph to freeze the Red Templar barrelling towards her - the next - nothing but iron-grey sky and her stomach hollowing out as she fell. She was too shocked to be afraid, to do anything but fall. Her right side hurt. Why did it hurt so terribly?

She shouldn’t be falling.

She needed to stop falling.

“Rhaella!”

The voice broke through. She reached out blindly, all animal instinct, caught hold of the edge of one of the basalt pillars that marked the Storm Coast, scrabbled to hold onto it. Processed finally that the ache in her side was an arrow. She must have been shot by a different templar as she cast the glyph.

She was slipping.

“Rhaella!”

The ocean roared below her. It would be easy, she thought, to let go. To fall. She knew she needed to hold on though. The Anchor crackled in her hand, pain lancing up her left arm as it did. She needed to hold on.

“Rhaella!”

There was a loud crack on the cliff above her, a concussive wave of force. A spell. The magic from it rushed through her own aura, made her flinch at its power.

She was slipping. She was slipping. She was going to fall. She was going to fall.

And then there was Solas above her, his hand outstretched.

“Rhaella, take my hand!”

She did it without hesitating. He pulled her up. It was as easy as falling had been. Trusting all her weight to him. He had her. He had her.

Even through their armored gloves she could feel the strength of his hand and his arm. She could feel how he hauled her close to him as she cleared the edge of the cliff, kicking and pulling her way along to help him. She could feel his warmth, how heavily he was breathing.

He had her.

She looked at him - at the raindrops on his cheekbones, his eyelashes - at the way his pupils were blown wide, his full lips parted like he was about to say something. Like he was about to kiss her. She melted against him, willing him to.

And then she remembered.

Crestwood.

The pale blue light that wreathed his hands as he burned her vallaslin away.

Solas stepped away from her then, as he had that night.

“The boss okay?”

Bull was hefting his axe out of the body of the archer who’d shot her. The wet crunch shocked the last of the reverie from Rhaella’s system. Her wet armor clung to her and her lungs burned from screaming or panting or both. She’d nearly fallen and died in the midst of a battle. The Anchor buzzed and flickered. How could she have been so careless? Who would have sealed the rifts and defeated Corypheus if she was gone?

And how did she lose sight of all of that as she fell, as he rescued her? How did her mind circle endlessly back to him when he'd rejected her? Harden your heart, he'd said. She started to -

“I believe so,” Solas called back to Bull.

And then his hand was on her right side, where the arrow was, and Rhaella was lost again.

“I can -” she began, though the words seemed to come from somewhere outside herself as she focused on that point of contact.

“Let me -” he said, his words tripping over hers.

Rhaella let him.

Rhaella let him examine the wound even though she already knew it was more bruising than anything else, something she could easily have tended herself, because it had been only a fortnight since Crestwood (would she ever look at that name on a map again without her heart cracking open?) and that fortnight had felt like falling, freewheeling, untethered, as she replayed the scene over and over again. Standing there, his hand on her side as he examined the wound, felt like solid ground again.

Why? She wanted to ask him, even though she knew it was pointless. He hadn’t given her an answer that night or any night since then. But the terror in his voice as he called her name - as he begged for her to take his hand -

In another world. Why not this world? If you are that afraid to lose me -

“It did not pierce your armor,” he said. “But I would imagine you are quite sore from the impact. I could ease your pain if you...”

He looked away as his words trailed off. Perhaps what she was thinking was written plainly on her face.

Yes. You could ease my pain. You could tell me why.

Harden your heart, Rhaella.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Rhaella wondered if she sounded hollow to anyone who could hear her, or if it was another aftereffect of the fall. If the wind was still rushing in her ears.

Solas moved away from her. Only an inch or so, but it was enough. Boundary lines were redrawn.

"Inquisitor," he said, soft, polite, distant as the moon.

Rhaella did not heal the wound. Not right away. The ache was a reminder to stay focused on her duty, to not be so careless next time. To fix things herself, because she was alone again. Solas had made that perfectly clear.

Except -

That night, as the camp prepared to settle in, the Inquisition soldiers buzzing around them like fireflies as they worked through their last orders of the day -

Rhaella watched as Bull asked Solas if he wanted to play a game of chess with a real board this time. She saw Solas as he hesitated to answer, his own words needing to travel a great distance before he spoke them, the way her own words did (no thank you, Bull. Not tonight). She saw from the corner of her eye how he looked at her just a moment too long - just long enough that she thought she could see cracks around his mask -

And then all she wanted to do was cross the distance between him and say take my hand and pull them both back to shore.

#beach writes #beach does commissions #14 days of da lovers #scharoux #rhaella lavellan #solavellan #angst

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athenasdragon · 5 years ago

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I CANNOT stop thinking about the geologists at the University of Orlais that the Inquisitor completes geological surveys for. Geology is already a pretty buckwild field but imagine doing your thesis on lyrium. Imagine going to do field work in the deep roads and frantically trying to collect samples while your PI fends off the darkspawn. Imagine trying to form a coherent geologic history of a landscape where game developers keep dropping columnar basalt every five feet because it looks cool lmao

#i want to write about the orlesian geologists!!!!!!!!#dragon age #da geology #dragon age inquisition #mine

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itslaeshorseeh · 5 years ago

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To Condorcet

They were all turning left, the cars oncoming While they in seats were listening to their tunes. The engine sound, amongst the turtles, humming, Was loudly in their ears, this day of June’s, Which all combined, were coming down to summing Up for a good one for the gnomic Runes, Which mark their hearts and mind with calendars, Of best and better of those gallant hours. Where the Columbian River flows and cuts, Gem Of the Mountains, Idaho’s Basalt Formations, their ambitious earth abuts; The light that had been strongly cast, a fault Would find for one thin ray, and then it puts Itself out; day’s revolving, too, must halt. Well-wearied travelers their speed did check, As might befit in darkest hours, one’s neck. Of all the things that haunt men with a passion, The blind discovery like of what was gemmed, Compares with that which later keeps its fashion— They sensed, that out of vastness, from there stemmed, The answer self-sufficient laying at Ashton For which they long, and flee from what condemned. They sought out sights and towns that they found rustic, On roadways leading to the russet dust, slick.

For now the cars could be seen in three miles In each direction, when their eyes were dry From lack of sleep where roads to one point files; And straight away the thoroughfare did ply One to reach the end; Auriga’s light brought smiles, Being behind, the light still did not die, But like they bore celestial wings, gave wind, So they could reach Snake River Plain, their Ind. With all these Rocky and Cascade Range Mountains, The din of suburb or the city stifles; What one could call a rat-race is all’s fountains, Give or take, gardens ripe with green and trifles; There is so much that paying eyes’ account wins, Especially what one sees changing by the eyefuls-- The patches grown, and the games over, women Who their expenses gained had as glum win.

They pared their hours with solid witticisms, Such as, that without water, by it new ones, In the form of shadows, water pipes find schisms And of the name take on just pipes; that show runs Not being trapped, to source the water’s prisms, And being caught, would percolate for due fun’s. To bathrooms, would these runs belong; digestion Is how it should end, any solid question.

But those who have the props fill up and clean, And ‘mong the qualities of bare things, it takes on A clean look when a thing of craft would lean, And glide there on as crafts on seas wake ‘pon, To show of Memory that they are Dean. Until the moment when rents come, the air makes gone A rosy hue, which all life girds, from sky To sea, and turmoil round with peace both dye. But beauty being one, a serum’s fast: Their food they found like Cream of Mushroom: Campbell’s; And flattened what had contents made to last. They found the curiosity that ambles, Which they saw as the countryside’s late past, And hoped the stray spark would not light up brambles, When off their touchstone they then ventured answer, That magic made Astolfo a good lancer. Beside the road they could imagine spears: Since strength was much in favor in a saddle Which gave a view and a good segue steers. Besides that was the rune’s puissance in battle, Which made with it, endured itself thro’ fears. These weapons thus inspire Perfection’s prattle, For which gleamed bronze-age gold, and now some truth: From Polydorus to Astolfo, myrtle’s ruth. Friendships that secret counsels lack are like, One’s instant bowl of noodles without heat, Or, chains that fall again off of one’s bike, Or, oranges that are not a seedless treat, Or, even worse, a starry student’s spike Who does not have the chops to be elite: The friends who keep each other at their word, Are like two wings of an ideal bird. At Vantage on, they talked of old loves, still hurt. They mentioned names that their hard memories tumbled, Such as Charissa who they knew a chill flirt, For whom the boys like bumble bees oft stumbled. This peaked when young, like time made Curtis Gilbert, Until suburban Exodus all humbled; Which they attempted now as in a race, To take the Void on as it took plan’s place. It happened when one least expected to, Which was the facet skies cut out for those, Large clearings that had lake reflections blue, And if one e’er came back the status quo’s, To Cherry Trees that gave Quad sections hue, The quad profuse with cherry blossom shows, If not these, then, a call for a visitor For leaving out the Grand Inquisitor.

Tsunamis pummeled Hamadōri’s Sendai When the Okhotsk plate slipped, in Fukushima— It was a cup of coffee grounds to blend dry. Pacific plates went under Iwo Jima— They went around what was the river bend high— And under the Vaughn Hubbard Bridge there gleamed a Nice spot where stopped Snake River’s affluent; Then, gone went particles with sediment. If wandering, one just needs to search life back, The point? Not the Republic, Plato’s love, I’ll save myself more wondering by a knack, It may have been the bee’s be-morse, where of The little dots they find their language’s track— Fourteen, for me has always been the grove Plus Ultra: things that God once put by stream All healed together, Raphael would dream.

What stopped our predecessors from their ruling, Must have been lack of speaking back to meter, I called upon the Fates, no-one am fooling, As from a mold, the die cast as repeater, Then always blessed by seven! ‘Tis a cruel thing, Thirteenth twin legions' lions! But O! how sweeter, ‘Tis that step over stream, that’s ne'er as neat, The Rubicon I crossed, with oaths to meet.

One stream doth separate the perfect, dusting Eternal gold, that sacred second seven! A chasm I would venture where it must sing, Aeolian harps that play, are here in heaven, How long will play our visions we are trusting? The scroll lights up and some power transferred—leaven, Since what makes these events occur is fourteen, Like Juno’s nurses, hiding what have more seen—

The thing most often missing in equation, May be the units, fourteen passed three-fifths, That's one percent of one percent's, but weighs in: Thirty-nine fiftieths by thousandths: myths That greenwood was, the coals to feet a basin. A hero sees the world by breadths and widths. Imagine, what we leave to actuaries, Being caught in their likelihoods, like faeries. Like those who heard foretold, the thirty sucklings, By backwards alpha and omega dubbed; As Saturn men gave sickles, and showed time luck brings, This New Age would have perfect crossbows flubbed, And all have wandered in the sea like ducklings, If not I with black bile spelled in, or rubbed— My luck began the same way it had ended, With just a spin-the-wheel, which just my friend did.

If Time was given Saturn’s name, and Light Named Janus, weep the Reaper, Flee the Source! More often not, Perfection will not fight With half as much this truth as its resource; But as Decay of the Omega’s quite A problem when, it seems the fire grows hoarse, More increase I am obligated muse, I’ll pay back Death two silver, Time its news. The Rower might as well be down the Charles’, At least from River Side, since that is far Away closed-off, a well that truth lets borrow this; The Rower’s coxswain is a self-same star, As all the seven; England lends to war, earls, ‘tis These apothegms like those not found to jar. The Rower a good coxswain was, for led It then the self-same spirit paths to tread. This Two-faced Janus served their Dionysus. They paths had crossed beneath the starry Cetus, By Touchet on the road, then Lowden’s crisis, Namely, the savages the French made weet fuss, A slaughterhouse, amid their guns’ devices; T’ was four days fighting, signed a treaty sheet was; These plains’ hills roll, pass by around French Corner, Grande Ronde had formed Blue Mountains which adorn her.

From the Snake River flowed Grande Ronde, to there, Where Mill Creek from the Willow Creek with Shaw creek, Formed many others, Summerville to share, And from these, Hacker Creek with Coon Creek, all meek In various forms: My Muse departs from air, And seems to use a logic that I seek; Frenchmen’s Springs Member flowed from Pendleton, And retched from earth, once ruined gentle din.

La Grande they passed, named by a Settler's mind, His name was Charles Dause; Like him, Payette, Fur-trappers were, and make towns sound refined, The front and end of their day's trail may fit, Around the tale of Baker City's find, The senator that found the mess, they hit. The boats were not enough to cross Potomac; He gave his life, for which the town's a throwback. They passed the ghost-town which had tuff from flows, The open spaces being found past hills, They went where tuff-stone quarries long repose. Volcanic rock which porous in Italian bills As tufo, which consolidated, froze, Its fineness prized, was reached by use of drills. At Weatherby, Express Ranch, between Lakes Paddock north, Lowell lower, housed some drakes. And here I take the course, themes to attend,— If stars hold what we call the storied fates, Then O’! My Muse her song her voice will bend, A lyric song that all depreciates, And still lives on, a token worn on end. To prove a point, I ‘liven rabbles’ prates; This next one they will say is a heart-breaker, The left hand Zeus holds thunder, the earth-quaker. If systems hold the processes for casts, The moral is not difficult to catch; Since fixtures in the skies eke out repasts, Still, man has in this age, no plan to hatch, But thinking opportunity still lasts For his best goals, and growing a new patch. I may say more and spin clichés retold, Where boldly gained are fortunes, hopes enfold. An octopus was secret nightmare, sealed— Sir Marinell had Ocean rear up gold, Whom shores of Cyclades had dropped a shield, Like Jove his dimmed escutcheon extolled, And by the prophecy no woman’s field Is, I was given it by all, and I foretold— There I had seen, in seven of their mix, One thing I called six hundred-sixty-six.

The rat-race and its fountains these were not; The valley pass beneath the town of Lost Blue Bucket held the tale of gold not sought, Then, Malheur from across He-Devil tossed. The hills as big as canyons here have got, Changed colors with the season, as with frost. The one regret some have when they are twenty, They finished college--Caldwell had their plenty. The foothills green, were dotted, Basin Big Sagebrush and Curleaf Mountain Mahogany, The foothills north of Boise, lit a sprig, Which they saw in the Sagebrush-covered lea. They raced their way through like the Topgear Stig, Inside their shared Landrover, had to be By Mountain Home when Rocky Bar was haunted, Then passing Cleft, the country curved as wanted.

The mountains being footing for a Hermes, Had snow untouched that nothing would remove, Until they showed his passing on their firm freeze, When snow-caps, bent, contained a watery groove. The foothills having snowmelt were one term, keys, And locked until the spring, which it made move. Once past a field of wheat, the path had taken Scene-hunting to where inclines needed break-in. The road’s Chalk Cut, they ham went through what’s Hammett, Glen’s Faery King Hight Hill-Bliss said, “Tuttle! A boon abounds abroad, big is its gamut. Reach for the Craters of the Moon by shuttle, Where there are dreams deferred there where they cram, bit By bit, the landscape with their dart-ends’ cuttle. The two accepted, filed ‘ere bad behavior, And Hagerman and Buhl passed by, depths wavier.

King Hill-Bliss’ remark they saw as artful: Since faeries feast on fresh-squeezed honey, famine Was felt by tiny peoples what by part, full Ravages so that they have less to cram in, Less honey milk on honey cakes’ dessert bowl, Which for a boon, these heroes sought the shaman, A shady friend who in his hut was suited Beyond Shoshone Falls, and not secluded. The Shaman lived in Murlaugh, on a strand. From Tuttle did the two then go to parley, The two had plans involving talks that spanned A windy plain of wild growth: groats from barley Owned by King Hill-Bliss, left by sprites of sand From Morpheus, were made to rot and gnarly. To fend off ergot, they learned fungicides Were not the answer, but to find fey guides. Scale insects they collected for their Faerie’s mana, Their sweet saps in glass jars secured, was filled, Once hands that grasped like hands to strip some fauna, Of course, a looser grip would bugs make chilled. Accretionary shapes smelled like banana, Plus like a mashed-up serving of it milled, When on the circular rim, sap fell clumped, All thanks to Sage advice, built up what’s dumped.

The honeydew filled up, like cotton white, And the scale insects seemed disturbed, and shaken; It may have been the sunlight’s cause, the light In ultraviolet spectrums that they bake-in, But Western Pines have shade, which anchored tight. From Tuttle then to Burley, pains to slaken, Just as the Murlaugh Seer said, wild food Was gathered off of trees where bugs had poo’d. The honeydew was to their tastes, a sweet. The faeries there restored what was of blight That made the rye fields like-smells secrete To cleanliness from honeydew-fed might, And, then, the sickly parts cast off the wheat Made fungi lesser seen, though once spread quite. Though question one might how the faeries, fed, Had this new problem from a source that spread? The fight had always raged, beneath our noses, When bees went home and hives retched up and built, ‘Twas with the stolen honey that one goes less For when the arbors closed their lives, ungilt. They had much better food, from nuts than roses, And being taught in magic, made pans tilt, Without them having ever left their verdure; But they were summoned by the sound of merger. The mason stamp was honey-bear-like contoured, And with a customary twist, and toss, Of which friends heard a clatter, it then sauntered Before it came down after rolling moss. So leaving food, they made like Limbert onward; It was enough, because as gloss, the sauce, To faeries seemed like stacks, and tribes as tall, And Burley was thus saved, and plumped were all. Cotterel was seen passed in distance: older And held up kettles, while Acequia held, Its tributaries, and with tears to shoulder Stood Minidoka, where its fountains swelled. Raft River taken, showed Snake River’s holder: American Falls Neeley guarded, belled By nearby Bannock ‘round the corner, bubbling Across of highway eighty six, guts doubling. A ship could have a crew with names the likes Of which the towns had: Chubbuck, Gibson, Blackfoot, And just because the way they saw it strikes Truer this way, the Indians in tracksuit, Wapello even here, past Gibson hikes Up to the shore of Firth, by Shelley’s jackboot. From Pocatello anabasis stretched, North, where in Ammon they passed plains far-fetched.

Aquila shines the Altair: Idaho Falls was where carriers shined like boyhood that Laomedeians raised to fame, did. Though Hebe was soon replaced, whose pants went splat, The Trojan Prince would goblets tend, that glow. The Mount Olympus destination that The golden eagle carried him to, twin- Peaked, seconds better, not like “lettuce-win”.

Now finally they came and found potatoes: In silos they like kernels reached the tops, And filled with earthy bodies at the Date’s close, Where they would be shipped off to all these stops, From Rexburg which a Morman’s name its fate owes. Fall River split off Henry's Fork, and drops At Ashton; land like Atargatis eastern. The two Three Tetons gave names which the beasts earn.

Three mountains, they were Ashur, Cadwalladr, And Maruduk, the Grand, South, and the Middle Tetons. The winged sun, battle leader sure, And Bull Calf. Instrumental to acquittal, The weapon Maruduk used in the war, Imhullu countered Tiamat’s sprayed spittle By wind of four, so arrows wind of seven Had decompressed, then Kingu caused skulls riven. Like Cetus are most sea-beasts. Take Poseidon, Who sent for sacrifice, Troyano’s fairest. Then Laomedon, Cetus quelling, tied on The cliff his daughter Hesion, when he darest, And kept his horses, not his word, when fight gone. For his last scion, Priam’s goods were rarest, Kept close in Polydorus’ hands thrusted, Until the greedy Thracians proved mistrusted. The Cliffs at Henry’s Lake not far from Ashton, Had springs by Naiads blessed, and trumpeter Swans there inhabited, the avian lashed in The arms of Leda, Queen of Sparta, her, For Zeus unlike Semele who he mashed-thin, Swan Valley tucked like Crete, a swan’s form pure, That not unlike Pleiades guided feeding, And so was Helen got by unplanned breeding. The rainbow trout caught there at mountain footsteps, Were pass-times even when the Milky Way Displayed its naval in the autumn, loot depths That only twenty feet hid by the bay, Which the Black Mountains showed in strokes by mute reps Of ripples at the borders’ interplay. The nation here went where, as if Great Plains Were like the edges of a world space drains. At Old Ranch Steakhouse were the patrons, Melson, Who was just shy of twenty, and his sage Father who was at graduation, belts in A suit and tie, asking why a steak would gauge Better cooked well-done, to the taste buds—melts in The mouth less if it is not kept off fire’s rage; The cooking not as important in the steak’s life, As blood and sauce that gleam around their lake’s knife. The diner’s wooden handrail mostly gleaming, Drew on new patrons under lanterns minds had, The waiters basked in screens, and kitchens steaming, The décor featured pioneers of kinds bad, The clattering in the kitchen that made more absent seeming, The hanging LED screens that new finds had, Of advertisements, opportunities, In flux, of mattress sales, or Moon trip’s fees. The polos on the waiters had full contrast: The intermittent light between shrubs, The age displayed, one a dimension fast, Where vehicles could make tremendous subs, Artificial intelligence unclassed. The question why we live, to have like Tubbs, The sight was clear, though far away, and hilly, And there were sales to make, by land made still free. For Papa had for just the traveler Three years before, bought him an old manual land Automobile, that from the grounds made gravel stir, With foot-wide tyres. With it had Melson planned For every place to host artistic blur, This owing to time which passes quickly, grand, As well as to traditional senses found, In taking stock poetically of ground. They paid the waiter, passed beneath the corn sheaves, Which covered door jambs, before they departed, From one another, so this had left the torn sleeves Of Modern Liberty of limbs full-hearted, The light it bore which being smoothly as morn leaves, Which made the niche bear out perfection charted; For youth was wasted if you never grew up, And Melson thought he must, for plans he drew up.

The Heritage High roof, a spacious car, Reliable though at the cost ‘tis said, That owners of this car date less by far; Was for cross-country travel, which time bred Exclusively for trips shown popular By travel agents that hid in the head, Of artists and survivalists, as one, Must suffer for their art: times pleasure shun. Art was a job collectivizing surveys, And like the minnow on a crocodile Had made the task of cleaning points, but verve pays To the fresh-forming bubble: where folks stayed a while, Not for too long, since the attractions serve days, Their share of their due fun, paid back each mile That had required their time, first sights ignored: Like when bald eagles knew from eyes that soared.

So Nature needs a spirit to take Notice. If things are seen apart, they take disguises, So are like newer revelation made to focus, So are the sites attracting crowds whose sizes, Are thinner like Odysseus’ fed Lotus- Who back home sent were, but new Trojan prizes, Were left a means of a recovery Pushed for when Melson sought discovery.

Since art is like an inspiration solid, Not being abstract, it refit its owner, Though more than complimentary, all Id, Especially these days the algorithms’ tones, sure, Make simple pages less like where a shawl slid, Less like where sunlight on floors were plants’ honer, Than an artistic muse, like landscape blogging Which was, in general, the calling for his hogging.

#pacific northwest #short poem #poems on tumblr #ottava rima #contemporarypoetrytradition

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edh-a-to-z · 7 years ago

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13 - Ambassador Laquatus

OG MILL COMMANDER!!!

PLAN: We go in, get infinite mana, and win. Stifle/Counter anything in our way. That’s it, that’s the deck.

Okay, fine, I’ll do the tech too.

LORE:

Ambassador Laquatus represented the cephalid's Empire on Otaria, though he was a merfolk.

The chief reason for this, stems from his part in overthrowing the Berbous Merfolk empire during what was meant to be their rebirthing ceremony. During the ceremony, which took place every 30 years, every member of the Berbous nation would give their lives as energy to hatch the stockpiled eggs collected over thirty years. Lacquatus distracted the Emperor, who was in charge of this event and would not sacrifice himself, from noticing that the Cephalids had replaced the merfolk eggs with their own. When the ceremony was complete, the Cephalid nation was hugely strengthened, and the Merfolk nation was decimated, leaving the Cephalids as the dominant race in Otaria's oceans. He was made Ambassador for his ability to change freely between his natural and his two-legged forms faster than other members of his race. He hated the assignment and loathed having to deal with surface-dwellers, longing to get back into the cephalid imperial court and scheme to gain more influence.

Whilst he appeared to be a loyal subject, Laquatus played dangerous political games above the waves and below, ultimately looking to seize power for himself. Laquatus was a talented blue mage, possessing the ability to hypnotise people and implant false memories; which he used against Kirtar and numerous members of the Cabal in order to convince them to trust him. He also employed the amphibian Turg, and later the dementia beast Burke to provide physical force.

He was one of the many individuals obsessed with obtaining the Mirari, hoping to use its power to overthrow the surface dwellers, and most especially the Cabal. This quest failed horrendously when he overplayed his hand while trailing Kamahl and his secret passageways into the interior of the continent. With his plans in shambles, he decided to directly confront Kamahl. Ultimately he failed in his task and was killed by Kamahl twice, first after a battle in Krosa, where the Mirari sword was plunged into his breast, and then as a Mirari-mutated giant zombie when Kamahl came to retrieve the sword.

TL;DR: OG asshole merfolk betrays his race and dies twice. Man, MTG lore sucked back in the day.

THE CARD:

Pretty simple as commanders go - Weak body for cost, modesty interesting tribal types, no inherent protection. Also capable of some wicked combos if left alone.

BUILDS:

Mill.

And mill with Infinite Mana.

That’s it.

Everyone knows your game when you sit down, but that’s fine.

BATTLE PLAN:

MILL!

That’s what we’re about.

Infinite mana -> Ambassador -> Mill everyone.

But it’s a little more complicated.

Our packages -

(1) Infinite Mana + Ambassador

(2) Milling Stuff Support

(3) Countering Package

(4) Defensive Measures

1 - Infinite Mana

Blue probably has the most ways to go infinite. Bring ‘em all.

Palinchron and High Tide are classics, and there’s...

- Great Whale and Capsize

- Echo Mage and Reality Spasm

- Tidespout Tyrant + (2 of) Sol Ring, Mana Crypt, Mana Vault

- Power Artifact and any mana rock that makes 2< mana, liked Gilded Lotus

- Rings of Brighthearth and Basalt Monolith

- And mana more. Bring your faves.

Using your mana:

- Ambassador Laquatus. Obviously.

- Sands of Delirium, one opponent at a time.

2 - Milling Support

That was the stuff just for the Ambassador. Now we need some backup stuff to keep us milling at non-combo times.

There’s plenty of milling faves to fill out the rest of the deck and support the mill theme. It also gives us a backup in case our milling pieces get removed, like with Supreme Inquisitor.

- Traumatize lets us rip off half of a deck. That’s around 30-40 cards for 5 mana.

- Keening Stone mills based on the GY size. And probably mills out a player after a Traumatize.

- Archive Trap, when done for free, is amazing.

- Jace, Memory Adept for repeated draw and milling

- Psychic Spiral late game whammies a player, and recycles your GY into the deck.

- Hedron Crab and Sphinx’s Tutelage are decent incremental targeted mills. And Manic Scribe if you get delirium.

- Startled Awake is slow and expensive, and overall clumsy. It’s still super cool and fun. It’s up to you.

Not direct milling, but related:

- Laboratory Maniac is a backup plan - mill ourselves and auto-win.

- Training Grounds makes Laquatus’s ability cost (1), making it possible to mill opponents without a infinite mana combo.

- Visions of Beyond, as your milling makes this an Ancestral Recall

- Some colorless GY hate with Tormud’s Crypt and Relic of Progenitus take care of the things you milled (I’d be a shame to do the all the work forMeren or Karador)

3 - Countering Package

We need to stop others interfering, and mess with other people’s win-cons.

Big Counters - Mystic Confluence, Insidious Will, Cryptic Command, Desertion, basically flashy counters if you’re feeling playful.

3 Counters - Dissolve, Void Shatter, Dream Fracture, Dissipate (budget)

Disallow,

2 Counters - Counterspell, Arcane Denial, Muddle the Mixture, Deprive, Memory Lapse, Remand, Mana Drain (haha lol no), Disdainful Stroke

- Unsubstantiate and Venser, Shaper Savant are good ways of dealing with “uncounterable” spells like Counterflux or Supreme Verdict if the opponent is tapped out after casting.

- Force of Will and Pact of Negation are classic “free” counters, and are great at messing with things that try to counter

Not a counter, but Merchant Scroll and Mystic Tutor can tutor these spells.

4 - Defensive Measures

We need to not be dead to win. Even with 40 life as a buffer, we want some options.

- Drift of Phantasms is a decent defender, and blocks flyers, and can Transmute if needed.

- Wall of Frost and Fog Bank are also great at holding off most combat threats, and Mnemonic Wall gets you a spell back.

- Gozamas. All of them.

- Propaganda may have been color shifted to white, but at least there’s the original! Crawlspace is a good defensive option, and Dissipation Field takes care of damaging problems.

THE REST:

(A) Might as well add some mono-blue merfolk tribal. It’s fun, and modular/easy to remove if you want to add other options.

Terrible plan. Tried it out, just dilutes the deck.

(A) And a mana rock package. To ramp and combo with.

(B) And some staples!

A - Mana Rocks

I’m a sol man!

Classics. Sol Ring (never a dead draw in this deck), Sapphire Medallion, everything from the “infinite mana combo” section. And Mind Stone is worth it’s weight in gold when you need one more card.

B - Staples

Cyclonic Rift. Every blue deck has it.

Archaomancer and Call to Mind gets your best toys back, and you can supplement it with Torrential Gearhulk and Snapcaster (if you have the budget).

And whatever blue draw you want. Jace’s Archivist and Consecrated Sphinx, and any draw X spells.

WEAKNESSES:

Interrupting counters and stifles hurt us pretty bad, so Ambassador needs to hold up enough mana.

We also don’t hold the board very well, or carry any Indestructible options, so we don’t bounce back fast from something wiping our mana rocks or commander.

RATINGS:

Control: 3/10

Weak control options for MonoBlue because we’re pretty dedicated to a milling combo.

Diplomacy: 3/10

We’re not really a board threat, nor do we have a carrot to offer, so lack of Diplomacy options.

Aggro: 0/10

hahahahhahahahahahhahahahahha lol no.

The build we want doesn’t require it, nor can it be done effectively.

Maybe you can scrape some weak merfolk together, but...nah, just no. Even Modern isn’t really a home for Merfolk anymore, much less EDH.

Overall Power: 5/10

Solid if the combo works, trash otherwise. As expected.

NEW CATEGORY!

Combo Potential: 10/10

It’s what he was made for. Go blue infinite mana, then boom.

Versatility: 3/10

Unfortunately, being made for combos gives us, like, zero options, except how we mill.

Affordability: 5/10

He can be build budget, but competitive play has a cost. You save by having a monocolored land base, but he’s not a cheap date in CEDH, nor is he very competitive.

Overall Score: 29/70

Okay, not perfect. But a 10/10 for combo potential makes it worth playing.

One of the 99:

A solid option in mill decks for sinking mana into at the end of turns, but I’d rather have Oona, Queen of the Fae milling AND exiling, plus making tokens.

FINAL VERDICT:

Gimmick general for a gimmick game night.

Not much else to say.

Sorry it took so long to pump out another of these. It’s been a long month between personal life, C17, and Ixalan. And MTG Arena now. What a time to be alive.

#edh #edhatoz #commander #mtg #ambassador laquatus #atoz commander

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blackoutace · 6 years ago

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✨ Dragon Age Questionnaire ✨

@cutieink following in your footsteps again :P

01) favorite game of the series?

Dragon age Inquisition, but I loved the original.

02) how did you discover Dragon Age?

I played DAO when I was a kid. When I grew up I played DA:I and loved it to pieces. Imagine my surprise when I found out/remembered there were 2 other games.

03) how many times you’ve played the games?

I- don’t- really remember to be honest.... I think I’ve done 4 full playthroughs of DA:I, 2 of DA:O, and 1 DA:2 (only because I sold my system that had it...) Oh but I made like 20 characters and got half way through with each.

04) favorite race to play as?

Qunari. The intimidation options were always so surprising even though I played gentle character.

05) favorite class?

Warrior/Mage. They’re both pretty equal. Nothing quite like beating down an enemy and keeping them down or zapping the entire area.

06) do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

I make decisions based on the character I made or the Keep options yet to be unlocked. Although, in the initial play through I play as myself. I stay in character, but make choices based on how I would defuse or escalate a situation.

07) go-to adventuring group?

Origins: Leliana, Shale, Zevran // Da2: Anders, Isabella, Varric // DAI: Dorian, Iron Bull, Cole.

08) which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

Either my outcaste, hardcore, Dwarf Warrior, Poppy who took no crap and didn’t let stupid crap stand in her way. Or my Qunari Mage Nye, a gentle giant with an appreciation for the arcane.

10) have you read any of the comics/books?

Currently reading Hard in Hightown. Got it for Christmas and though I have trough getting into some books, it and Dragon Age: Asunder have kept my attention well enough to continue now and again.

12) favorite DLCs?

The Descent and Jaws of Hakkon. Both are rather beautiful. The descent answered some questions I was having and still makes me want to give it another play through. Witch Hunt was good, I found it to be a soft hearted ending... I mean... when I didn’t stab Morrigan

13) things that annoy you.

No threesomes?? No group sex?? NO ZEVRAN????? Not even a jealous love scene? Seriously, would it have killed Bioware to have Zevran show up ONCE?? I missed him. I missed the drama. I missed couples being comfortable with themselves, each other, and their sex lives.

Oh- And I guess I didn’t like how, out of place, AND NOT GAY/BI Cullen felt or how scruffy Blackwall was.

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

Scenery- Ferelden. I loved the Hinterland mountains, the Storm coast Basalt shores, and the weather too much.

Arcitecture- Orlais. Need I say more?

15) templars or mages?

Mages.

17) what did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

Dogmeat (I just finished Fallout). I didn’t name any other pets I don’t think.

18) have you installed any mods?

I played playstation. No Mods beyond the story changing- DA: Keep

19) did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

Eh- by happenstance. I think she needed to prove herself and got noticed in the process. From there she just took the lemons life gave her and launched them into orbit.

20) hawke’s personality?

Lol Sass master Hawke.

21) did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition?

Not if I didn’t have the materials. I liked the Warden sets until I went to the deep roads, now all playthroughs start with sucking the Hinterlands and Haven dry of all Iron and Nug skins.

22) if your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

Hawke would have liked to smack Anders, before or afterward, that stunt was too wild a play. Maybe romance Fenris.

23) do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

I had a DA:I character who I head cannoned as the Warden. Poppy had somehow ended up at the rift, lost select memories, and slowly regained them like the rest. She sided heavily with Wardens, would make snide remarks under her breath at the mention of “the hero” or Warden stuff, and Leliana just didn’t recognize her. When she got her memories back she just kept up her cover but would still glare at people talking about The Hero as if they knew her, what she thought, or what she would do. As if they’d recognize The Hero if she was standing in front of them.

Cullen is bi. (seriously donno why this wasn’t a thing.)

Cullen has the hots for Dorian and vise versa.

Hawke did smack Anders after that stunt he pulled.

Sandal is a God (less cannon, more headcannon tbh)

Sandal is half elf (less headcannon, more cannon tbh)

If Cole is told to leave, he doesn’t really, he just remains forgotten.

The Inquisitor has the Players memories and through the course of the game would regale Dorian with tales long past or yet to come. Both flip Solas the bird any time he mentions the fade/past, just on principle.

24) are any of your character(s) based on someone?

Nye was based on a DnD character I had. Gentle and reserved dragonborn.

25) who did you leave in the Fade?

Stroud at first.Then I actually played DAO & DA2 using my Keep choices. The second time was harder as it was Alistair and Hawke and I just couldn’t hurt Alistair and my Hawke would have leapt at the “I’m the sacrifice” option. 3rd time around was with Loghain and FUCK LOGHAIN.

26) favorite mount?

The drakes. The Blue one was kool.

#Dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition

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