#inquisitor nines

[itsybitsybatsyspider]

(been a minute since i posted for the Star Wars D:BH au, so have a small design sheet for Connor, Hank, and Nines' lightsabers!

you can find part 1 of the au here)

[enchantmen-was-taken]

SWTOR Classes as Onion headlines

[spitzobsessed]

[kaikamahine]

Now that I have a desktop instead of a mid-2000s laptop that would take 20min to load every map, even a fast travel (not an exaggeration,) I decided now was a great time to ...... completely redo all of my Inquisitors from scratch.

on one hand. fuck that prologue demon. fuck the entirety of the exalted plains. "sEe ReASoN, lYseTTe." PLEASE WILL THE BEARS JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.

on the other!!! not to get goopy on 9yr old computer graphics, but have you PLAYED DA:I on ultra mesh settings?? OH MY GOD.

it's SO DIFFERENT when you're not on super low resolution and don't take 20min to change maps!!!! is this how y'all were living THE WHOLE TIME????

mods 😎

From top to bottom we have:

Jem, my child-soldier templar

Persefene, my widowed Avvar Adaar

Chenelo, Edgelord™

Maia, my Kirkwall throatcutter turned mom

Emmory, the hearthkeeper

Aodhán, the agoraphobe

and Steven

NOT pictured, because they're perfect the way they are and I felt no need to tinker with them: Dain Cadash, the least qualified person here, and Esperantha Lavellan, the unfortunate heterosexual.

[abysskeeper]

How has been Trick's relationship with the Empire? As far as I've gotten, she got sold into Imp Slavery before being picked by the Jedi, which does grant a very good cause to hate them without quarter, but also she has made friends on the other side, plus her experience on the Alliance must have tempered any lingering passions against it? Where does she stand now?

Oh, this is a fun question, if not a little disappointing of an answer. Thanks though!

Remember how I said I enjoyed desperately, spitefully hopeful stories? Yeah. So Trick was born into slavery, which is sort of an important distinction because, while her two older brothers and her parents remembered a life beyond Dromund Kaas, she never knew anything else before she escaped as a young teen. Despite that...Trick never really hated the Empire as a whole. Her abusers? Yes. The systemic oppression that allowed this to happen to her? Yes. But the Empire as a whole? No.

Or, at least by the time she joined the Order, she mellowed into a much more balanced viewpoint. For one, she absolutely refuses to be another round in a cycle of hate and violence--this is sometimes to her detriment, but in this case it actually gives her a bit of clarity in not seeing the Empire as one huge conglomerate and instead considering the individuals within it.

For two, she's aware that many of those individuals were in similar circumstances to her, and are either just as trapped in an oppressive society as she was, or wound up broken when they broke their own chains (and she cannot blame anyone for falling to the Dark Side in that environment).

And for three, she takes a much more balanced approach to the Light and Dark debate of the Force, and holds steady to the belief that one can't exist without the other. Thus, she doesn't want to see the Empire destroyed so much as she wants to see it change (because yeah...she does genuinely hate the whole slavery and conquering angle). Besides, she readily acknowledges the Empire has its merits, the same way the Republic has its faults.

So, by the time she hits the Alliance, her views are already pretty mild towards the Empire and they remain that way. The Alliance is everything she's ever wanted (Nadia's return and seeing the Alliance is like...the most canon conversation ever for Trick) and the Imperials who are with her are obviously the kind of people she always knew were in the Empire and wanted to see changes happen for anyways. Her true ire has always been towards the Hutts, and her falling out with the Republic during KOTET gives her way more grief than the Empire ever does.

Though, it should be noted that her friends on the other side (not counting the canon divergence @gothamcityneedsme and I have going on) consist of my canon BH Hayden, whom she met on Nar Shaddaa right after her escape (so well before he was a hunter and she was a Jedi), and who holds absolutely zero loyalty to the Empire or to the Mandalorians, and my sometimes canon Inquisitor/otherwise Sith assassin Raz, who was a fellow slave and who holds...surprisingly similar ideals regarding the Empire and its need for change.

The only Imperial she really befriended after becoming a Jedi was Lana, and their closeness kind of just proved to her how the whole divide and wishing for the Empire's destruction was pointless in the first place.

[kissingwookiees]

solas in trespasser: *starts calling rava inquisitor but not in a respect for her position kind of way more like trying to distance himself from the inquisition and her kind of way*

rava: my gods do i want to palm strike your giant ass forehead right now

[thegnomelord]

Demon simon who gets so damn angry when he finds out hunter had lover/crush

Why he so damn mad??? He can't stand him! And it bothers him so much

Then you have hunter who connect dots later and is howling from how funny situation is his *husband* is lil jelouse from his ex / celebrity crush that he kept clinging into him in almost painful grip for weeks

Oooh I love this idea! Lol jealous Simon is such a fun concept but I changed it a bit lol

CW NSFW: jealous demon ghost, groping at the end.

Imagine you, good hunter, in the search of a solution for your. . . problem. . . end up having to meet your Ex. Darek isn't a bad man, he's merely a merchant for all things dark and demented, or so he likes to say whenever the inquisitors come knocking on his door for devil worship. And Darek isn't a bad looking man either, he's got pretty light brown eyes and blonde hair down to his shoulders. He's a charmer who's fooled many a fey into giving their hearts with just his looks and honeyed words.

How you got together is a story echoed by many hunters; He needed some monster parts. You needed some weapons. The sex was just a nice way to soothe over any hiccups in your business relationship and give you both a way to release stress. There was never any feelings, no strings tying you together, just mindless bliss and mind-blowing sex.

Ghost hates him.

If you didn't need Darek, Ghost would already be using his skull as a cup. It wouldn't even take much to take him to the depths bellow, the man reeks of so much sin that the only question on the event of his death would be: which circle would want him the least?

Even when he's invisible, you can still feel Ghost glare at you with the intensity of the nine hells from the moment Darek leans in to brush his lips against yours. It doesn't lessen even a degree when you push Darek away, your mind too wrapped up with thoughts and the possibility of being killed like a common cultist to even think about dealing with Darek's fuck boy behavior.

"Since when did you become such a bore like the other hunters?" Darek huffs, but he's not too hung up about your rejection. The man has a revolving door of lovers, most of them definitely prettier and softer than you.

"Got a slight problem." You say as you take off your glove. An inch of space around your ring finger is burned, the flesh scarred over and blackened so it looks like a wedding ring.

You have to admit, as far as devil worshippers go, Ghost's particular cult was dumb as shit. Why they thought that burning a ring on your finger would somehow make this 'marriage' more satanic is beyond you.

Darek takes your hand, thumb brushing against the scarred flesh. Ghost has never wanted to murder some human more. "Ah, the joys of matrimony." Darek grins, "Don't tell me you already want to leave the poor bride?"

"Groom." You say quickly, tone flat, and you're unsure why you feel the need to correct him when you're talking about a demon. "And yes. I need a way to dissolve this union before some other hunter takes my head."

"Tisk tish, and here I thought you would be more considerate for others." Darek chuckles, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and nibbling on your knuckle, a lustful look in his eyes. He does that on purpose, both of you are able to smell the sharp scent of brimstone as Ghost looms behind you, invisible but not unnoticed.

Darek lets go of your hand, starting to go over some old books that he has. They're little help in the grand scheme of things, but you're not in a position to be a chooser, so you agree to buy them.

"Now then, how will you pay?" Darek asks, resting his head in his hand. "You know, it's been so long since we both saw each other. I would be willing to give you a discount if you gave me an hour of your time." He purrs.

You consider it for a moment. It would be nice to let off some steam, especially as you haven't exactly had time to relieve yourself with Ghost always by your side.

And all Ghost can think is: the fucking audacity. He doesn't care if you and Darek have history you are his human, his 'bride', his to touch.

You feel Ghost growl. The 'ring' on your finger vibrates, heat flaring up your entire arm and it feels like a lightning jin is stuck inside your chest. It feels nice- no, it must just be the binding making you think that you're wanted just because a demon is throwing a hissy fit.

"Maybe next time." You still say despite yourself, paying in cash and leaving with Darek telling you to call him if you get bored of the married life.

No sooner are you on the street does an unseen force pull you into a dark alley. Claws, good for rending flesh from bone and not much else, gently scrape down your front before they curl around your belt and pull you close against a body bigger and hotter than yours. Ghost's tail curls around your thigh and on instinct you clench your thighs to trap it, but the crushing force behind it is lessened by the damned curse around your finger (The fact you don't try to punch him is one you will worry about later).

You look up, expecting to snarl at the same skull faced demon you've unfortunately been married to. Only for your mouth to fall to the floor when you look at. . . a man. A handsome man, in the rugged way other hunters are handsome; Blond cropped hair, short like a soldier's and your fingers twitch to scratch his scalp. Firm and strong muscles, hard won just like yours. Five o'clock shadow that many hunters sport when you forget to shave. Dark brown eyes that look very nice when mixed with Darek's hardened feature — wait a moment. . .

He looks like Darek! More precisely a hunter version of him, the version you aways thought about whenever you two would fuck. The only way you can tell it's Ghost is by the Hell reflected in the blacks of his eyes.

"Ghost what the fuck?" Is the only thing you can come up with, your eyes the size of dinner plates.

Ghost just grunts, pushing his weight until you're stuck against the wall. "What do you see in it?" He demands.

"What?" You ask, pressing your hands to his chest and trying to push him away, but your strength evaporates and all your wayward hands do is slide along his muscular abdomen.

His tail moves despite the tensing of your thighs, pressing against your groin. Mild panic builds in your brain as the spines along his tail are sharp enough to tear flesh, but all that violent potential is dampened by the marriage. Instead of tearing your balls off, those spines flatten down, creating a strange sensation against your groin that, unfortunately, has your cock chubbing up.

"What. Do. You. See. In. It?" Ghost repeats himself, each word hissed through semi-human teeth, fangs bared at you.

"Fuck Ghost!" You growl, and the best you can do is grope him in retaliation. Some part of you wants to blame the binding for your passiveness, another knows that the binding would not stop you if you didn't want this.

"Why debase yourself with that mortal?" He asks, his tone changing. He may be a demon of wrath, but he's no stranger to lust. His clawed fingers slide down, not even needing the binding to curb his strength as he cups your groin gently but firmly. "What do you get from it that you can't get from m- from someone else?"

Neither of you mention his slip up, you especially as the firm sensation against your clothed cock has you panting like a dog.

"Wh- what? Je-jealous ar-hm! you?" You manage to say, biting your lip to keep yourself from making a sound a hunter should Not make. (A hunter also shouldn't be groped by a demon but here you are.)

Ghost laughs, sharp and dark. "Absolutely not." His tail curls more around your leg, the size of it making you unconsciously spread them so you're not crushing it. "I am Not jealous of a meager mortal." He growls, his hand continuing to gently grope you, the other hand fiddling with your belt. . .

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

Keiren, Morrigan's son sired by either Alistair or the players Grey Warden from Dragon Age Origins, will be in his 20s at the start of Veilguard.

Hmmmm, it would be very cool for him to show up.

Speaking of age, canonical age for the Grey Warden is around 18-20 years, closer to 18 if you play a mage. That puts them in their 40s when DA4 starts. It's also canon for them to live only about 10 -30* years before the Blight starts talking to them.

Hawke was 25 years old, according to canon, so they're closer to mid or late 40s when DA4 starts.

The Inquisitor is pretty much whatever age you want them to be, so add nine or ten years to that for DA4.

*I've found conflicting info regarding the lifespan of a Grey Warden. Some sources say 10 years, other 30 years. A clip from DAO mentions 30 years. I like the idea of 30 years, so I'm going with that now.

[shewolfofvilnius]

Imagine, it's 9:44 Dragon. The Inquisitor swears upon all they believe in that they are going to kill Fen'Harel. Not for what he did to stop the Evanuris; she actually thinks he had a point there, especially with the whispers of Mythal's servants now in her head. But for what he wants to do. The destruction of the Veil. The unleashing of armageddon. The end of everything that everyone has built for 5000 years.

Time passes, now it's 9:53. They've been after Fen'Harel for nine years now. But it wasn't her only life. She settled down with Rainier, had kids. Made new friends all across Thedas. Helped organize the Red Jennies a little. Learned more about the Avaar's perspectives on spirits and magic. Suddenly Varric sends word: They've found Solas. Come quickly. Bring a weapon.

and when the Inquisitor gets there, spending ten years of her life planning to kill an Elvhen God, she instead finds three of them, two of whom - Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain - are blighted monstrosities. The very same gods her people have prayed to for millennia...are essentially arch-ultra-darkspawn.

What in creation must be running through her head now. Anger at Solas? Pity? Concern for this 'Rook' Varric mentions? The realization she could suddenly kill THREE elven gods in one swift action?

I'm excited for Veilguard. I'm excited to kill Solas.

[lulu2992]

From the Inquisitor to the Baptist: The Evolution of John Seed

From the early stages of the development of a video game to the day it gets released, its gameplay, story, and characters usually go through many modifications. Far Cry 5 is no exception to this rule, and thanks to promotional images, trailers, interviews, official side material, and even deleted content still available in the game’s files, we can get a glimpse of what Hope County and its residents used to be like. John Seed, in particular, seems to have undergone quite a few alterations, both physical and moral.

In these posts, I will be listing and discussing all the changes I noticed in John and explaining why the man who used to be known as “The Inquisitor” isn’t identical to “The Baptist” we met in Far Cry 5.

All the sources and references indicated by the superscript numbers will be given in the last post.

Part 1: Physical appearance, clothes, and tattoos (concept art, promotional content, and side material)

What seems to be the earliest portrait of the Seed family is a piece of concept art that Lead Graphic Production Artist Nick Arnett shared on Instagram¹:

As you can see, many things look different from what we are used to, from the Eden’s Gate cross (behind Joseph’s head) and logo (on the pulpit, with an eagle) to the Seed siblings’ outfits. The man on the right seems to be John, and he’s sporting a two-tone blue shirt that resembles the one he will end up wearing in the game, but he doesn’t have a vest. Instead of a belt, he has suspenders, and his pants and shoes look darker and more formal than his usual jeans and boots. He already has a beard and, while his hair is slicked back, as it is in the game, it’s a little longer. He doesn’t have any visible tattoos, but if you look closely, you’ll notice that he does have something on his hand: blood, running from his knuckles.

In May 2017, nine months before Far Cry 5 came out, the game was officially announced and a few promotional pictures were released, notably these two²:

But before that, we can see what John looked like at an even earlier stage of the game’s development, during the making of those two aforementioned pictures, thanks to early sketches and visuals shared by AmCo Studio³ and Fire Without Smoke⁴:

John’s iconic vest and sunglasses have appeared, and while his shirt became white, it’s now partially unbuttoned and the sleeves are rolled up, which is how he wears it in the game. As for his hair, it’s shorter than it was in the first family portrait and looks more similar to his final design. We still don’t see any tattoos on his arms, but he has a watch.

In the final version of what I would call the “Last-Supper-like” images, John looks even more like himself, but there are still a few differences:

Although they are not strictly identical to the ones he has in the game, he’s wearing sunglasses with blue lenses on his head. His shirt became blue again, his vest is striped, and he now has his “EG” (Eden’s Gate) earring and belt buckle, grey jeans, and bunker key around his neck. He’s also wearing a coat, but while, at first glance, it looks like the one we all know, the pattern isn’t the same; instead of planes, there are “EG” symbols on it. The buttons, however, are already golden and decorated with scales.

In the pictures, especially the first one, the siblings are associated with symbols: a crown for Joseph (on his jacket and napkin), a sword for Jacob (on his music box), a pair of scales for John (on his coat’s buttons and in the bread/cake), and intoxicating Bliss flowers for Faith, a reference to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Conquest, War, Famine, and Death, respectively, who. In John’s case, the scales could also be a nod to the fact he’s a lawyer. Indeed, scales are commonly used to symbolize justice.

This time, he finally has tattoos, and while some of them are the ones he will have in Far Cry 5, others are different. He already has small symbols on his fingers: an eye, a tongue, a hand with a drop of blood on it, a heart, a foot, a keyhole, and waves. The meaning of these symbols used to be a mystery to me, but it turns out they were inspired by Bible verses, specifically Proverbs 6:16-19⁵:

There are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies and a person who stirs up conflict in the community.

The flames on his right wrist will be in the game as well, but here, they are smaller. This tattoo seems to have been taken directly from this illustration:

It’s from a French (Breton, to be precise) collection of “Taolennoù Ar Mission” (literally “mission paintings” in Breton) by François-Marie Balanant, who was a priest, and it depicts a human soul being afflicted by the seven deadly sins⁶. “Taolennoù” were created in Brittany in the sixteenth century by the Catholic clergy in an effort to make religion more accessible to the faithful, some of whom were illiterate, with the help of drawings.

This particular image can be found on the Wikipedia page dedicated to the seven deadly sins⁷, which seems to have been the primary source of information and inspiration for several of John’s tattoos.

Clearly, the angelic figure with the dove, on his right hand, also directly comes from the drawing (upper left corner). This tattoo will later be redesigned and decorate the inner face of his left forearm.

As explained on Wikipedia, there used to be eight mortal sins, and their Latin names were:

Gula (Gluttony)

Luxuria (Lust)

Avaritia (Greed)

Tristitia (Sorrow)

Ira (Wrath)

Acedia (Sloth)

Vanagloria (Vainglory)

Superbia (Pride)

Tristitia and Acedia would later be combined, as well as Vanagloria and Superbia.

In the two promotional pictures, John has seven of these sins (except Acedia) tattooed on his left hand, as he does in Far Cry 5.

John also has letters on his fingers, but while, in the game, they spell “E-D-E-N” and “G-A-T-E”, here, we see G, G, S, E, W, P, and L, most likely the first letter of each deadly sin in English.

On his chest, instead of a scar and the mutilated word “SLOTH”, he has a tattoo. We see two crossed rifles, the number seven in tally marks (probably yet another reference to the deadly sins), what seems to be the words “Bros & Sis” above the design, and what probably is “Til Death” under it. It looks like an infantry tattoo, very similar to the example included below (center) by tattoo artist Garrett Tankersley, known as tat2garrett on Instagram⁸:

Finally, in one of the images, John is holding a tattoo machine. In the other, he’s holding a revolver. In the game, however, this weapon is nowhere to be seen.

Even though he will never use it in Far Cry 5, John was represented by this gun again on one of the game’s old official websites⁹:

At the time, as you can see, his title was also “The Inquisitor” instead of “The Baptist”.

On the PlayAsia blog, on a page dedicated to Far Cry 5, short information sheets about a few of the game’s characters were posted¹⁰. They look official, but since I have only ever seen them on this website, which was not created by Ubisoft, their origin and therefore the accuracy of the information they give are uncertain.

While most of what the picture says is either true (blue eyes, brown hair) or plausible (his height), John mathematically can’t be only 32 years old because he was already working as a lawyer about ten years before the events of the game, which is set in 2018. According to my research, it takes 7 years after graduating high school to become a licensed lawyer in the United States. In 2008, John couldn’t be younger than 18+7=25 years old, so it’s impossible for him to have been born after 1983. He could have skipped grades, but since this is never mentioned anywhere, I assume he didn’t and that he’s in fact older than 32 in Far Cry 5.

It’s possible, however, that he really was supposed to be 32 years old when the picture was made but that his backstory (and consequently his age) was then modified.

In the novel Far Cry Absolution, a few details are given about John’s appearance. For example, on page 6:

He was ten years older than [Mary May] and near six foot with brown hair and a beard that covered the lower half of his face.

Mary May is 29 (almost 30) in the novel, which makes John approximately 39 or 40 years old in the book. This age is more plausible, I think.

Then, on page 31:

John Seed, the younger brother of The Father, slighter in build, but cut from the same cloth. Both bearded and tattooed, and both with those all-seeing eyes that seemed to search through the dark with a kind of nocturnal prowess.

This isn’t the only time in the novel that John’s gaze is described as intense. The word “predatory” is even used on page 145.

Interestingly, and despite the fact it’s absent from Far Cry 5, the gun seen in his hand in one of the promotional pictures is mentioned in Absolution as well. It’s described as “a large revolver” on page 31 and as a “big magnum revolver” on page 57. He also uses a rifle “with a wood stock and bolt-action lever” (page 48) at one point, but this weapon isn’t in the game either.

Overall, aside from this detail, his physical description in the book is rather consistent with what we see in the game. And in this official picture posted in January 2018 to promote the book¹¹, he apparently looks the same as he does in Far Cry 5.

In the live-action short film Inside Eden’s Gate¹², Joseph is the only member of the Seed family who is played by the actor who also plays him in Far Cry 5, Greg Bryk. In the game, while John is played by Seamus Dever, in the movie, it’s another actor named Rob Evors who was cast in the role. His voice and face obviously don’t sound and look exactly like John’s, so these differences are not significant.

His outfit, however, has gone through several changes. I don’t know if the design was deliberately altered or if the clothes Rob Evors has in the film simply are the closest real-life equivalent to the ones John is wearing in the promotional pictures that the movie’s costume designers could get their hands on. Like in the development sketches for the “Last-Supper-like” images, his shirt is light-colored (but still blue, apparently) and he’s wearing his sunglasses normally, not on his head. They don’t seem to have blue lenses, but again, maybe the team could only find “regular” sunglasses. He has his Eden’s Gage belt buckle and earring, but instead of being grey, his coat, vest, pants, and shoes are brown/beige. The coat is decorated with “EG” logos, exactly like the one John is wearing in the promotional pictures, but lighter in color.

As for his tattoos, they are identical to the “old” ones we’ve seen so far, but two more are visible: the pair of scales on the side of his thumb and the snake (from the Taolennoù Ar Mission again, but uncoiled), which represents Envy, around his left wrist. These two new tattoos will be part of John’s final design in the game.

There’s another one between the snake and his watch, but it’s simply one of Rob Evors’¹³.

In the film, John’s tattoos were actually hand-painted¹⁴. Here’s a better look a them, from Makeup Artist Casey Lynn Stuckey’s Instagram account:

His sleeves are never rolled up in Inside Eden’s Gate, but it’s most likely because that would have meant covering up the actor’s actual tattoos and possibly painting more, so I suppose they thought it was more convenient to just hide them.

The last notable change regarding John’s appearance in the short film is that, for the first and seemingly only time, he’s wearing a shoulder holster, but his gun is not the revolver we’ve seen for far. Instead, it looks like a semi-automatic pistol, maybe a 1911. Since, in Inside Eden’s Gate, Joseph also has this type of gun and not the revolver he carries in Far Cry 5 (albeit rarely, and he never uses it), it’s possible that, once again, the team couldn’t find the right weapons for the movie and used the available props.

In the live-action TV spot “Anything Can Happen, Everything Will”¹⁵, John is this time played by model and actor Jon Oswald, who jokingly described the character as “the asshole in the Gucci trench coat” when he shared the video on his Instagram account¹⁶.

John’s outfit looks identical to Rob Evors’ in Inside Eden’s Gate (except the shoes and the holster, it seems), so it’s likely that they just reused the same clothes. Like in the film, John’s sunglasses (which are not blue) aren’t on his head; he’s wearing them. His hair is a bit different, but it’s probably simply because Jon Oswald’s hairstyle looked close enough to John’s and they thought it didn’t need to be modified, so I don’t think this “change” is significant.

Thanks to the pictures that Mackenzie Lawrén Johnson (better known as Kenz Lawrén), who plays Faith Seed in the short film and the TV spot, posted on Instagram¹⁷, we can have a better look at him and his tattoos.

They haven’t changed much compared to the previous ones, but we can now see a goat (a symbol for Lust, also directly from the Taolennoù Ar Mission) next to the snake on his left arm. In the game, the goat will disappear from his hand, be redesigned, and end up on his right forearm. We see two other tattoos in the picture, but they simply are Jon Oswald’s¹⁸.

In the image below, drawn by Anthony Winn, who made storyboards for the TV spot¹⁹, the character on the far right (who is not Joseph), wearing a vest and sunglasses, and standing next to a woman who is probably Faith, appears to be an early version of John. This time, he’s holding a rifle, different from the one described in Absolution, and not a handgun. For once, his sister is armed as well.

In The Book of Joseph²⁰, John, as a child, is described as “the best looking, the least odd” of the Seed brothers, which is why the narrator, Joseph himself, believes he was adopted first after they were sent to an orphanage. When they meet again as adults, Joseph says his younger brother is “strikingly handsome, elegant”, wears “tailored suits” and very expensive shoes, has gleaming hair, shiny teeth, and manicured hands. He also writes that, as John Duncan (the name of his adoptive parents), “physically, he was society’s very model of success”. Psychologically, however, it was another story… but this will be discussed later. Although the John Seed we meet in the game isn’t exactly the same person as John Duncan was anymore, he’s still “elegant” and seems to take care of his appearance. Joseph doesn’t mention tattoos, but it’s likely that John got them later, after the Project was created.

An official guide for Far Cry 5, by Prima Games, was released alongside it. In the book, which was written in 2017, we get to see what John looked like when the game was still in development.

This design is very close to the final one, but for some reason, his sunglasses, bunker key, earring, and tattoos are all (temporarily) gone. However, the “SLOTH” scar has now appeared on his chest instead of the tattoo he previously had, even though it’s a bit closer to his collarbone than it will be in the game. His outfit and facial features look slightly different, but this is also true for many other characters in the guide.

On IGN’s YouTube channel, a video titled “Far Cry 5: Why John Seed Is Your Charmingly Deadly Enemy” was uploaded in February 2018²¹. In it, we get a glimpse of an early version of the “You have been Marked” TV broadcast²², and although the setting looks different, John’s appearance is very close to his final one.

By the way, if you look at the noticeboard behind the TV, you’ll see that the Testicle Festival was supposed to take place in 2017 instead of 2018. When this early in-game footage was recorded, Far Cry 5 was probably still scheduled to come out in September 2017 (which is what the first rumors said and could also explain why all the calendars in the game suggest we are in September).

In the thumbnail of the YouTube video, John looks exactly like himself:

He does too in the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” artwork²³, this promotional screenshot²⁴, and this poster²⁵:

And in a trailer posted by Ubisoft three weeks before the release of Far Cry 5, a “character spotlight”²⁶, John has his final design as well. The only difference is that, although the game was about to come out, they still called him “The Inquisitor” instead of “The Baptist”.

Then, on March 27, 2018, Far Cry 5 was released.

To be continued…

[nerdee-blondee]

*more solas and rook brainrot and theories*

so, as we know, solas and rook will be connected to each other by the fade. now whether that means solas is literally in our heads at all times or only in certain circumstances remains to be seen. also, what remains to be seen is how much we are connected to our fav silly little elven god. (more rambling under the cut)

what i theorize is that in certain situations, solas will be able to help out rook in a fight. meaning he could probably take over rook's mind and body temporarily to dish out some AWESOME elven power. (kind of like a naruto and nine tails kind of thing)

NOW here's where my theorizing gets real theory (just stay with me i've been thinking about this for days LOL). what if towards the middle point of the game, there is a particular instance in which solas needed to take over rook to do a very-big-nondescript-magic-thing with the glowy eyes and everything. rook (in their inner world of their mind or the fade or whatever) goes to solas and is like "good job friend, now time to give me my body back" and solas looks back at rook with the most apologetic look ever and decides not to give rook back control.

maybe at this point, solas has lost any semblance of hope that he can return to the real world in his own physical body, so he becomes so desperate to lock the 2 elven gods away again and to save his people himself that he's willing to use rooks body as a means to get it done. meanwhile rook, who presumably he has garnered a real trust and understanding with, watches in their mind/fade in horror and betrayal as solas starts doing crazy magic things with their own body.

this leads up to a confrontation between all the companions, (and fuck it lets throw in) the inquisitor and solas/rook at the lighthouse where they try to talk solas down and to please give rook their body back. a lot of talking and yelling back and forth "NONE OF YOU UNDERSTAND" "I NEED TO DO THIS" and the companions aren't sure what else to do but have to kill rook.

THEN this is the point where whoever's your love interest steps forth and softly and with the most heart wrenching words begs solas to let their love go. it could even possibly the first time where the love interest confesses to their love outloud. in front of all their companions. but especially to solas in hopes that solas will let rook go.

solas, who's will and determination is now shaken, is still trying to hold onto control of rook until he hears softly from the back of the room "let them go solas... please" from none other than the inquisitor themself (romanced or not it still hits the same).

then, the dread wolf takes a step back or two, turns to look into a mirror to see himself as rook. it's rooks' body, but solas' glowing eyes and he sees there are tears rolling down rook's face. and very faintly from either in their mind or in the fade solas hears a broken "please" from our rook. and at that moment, solas lets rook go. and they both proceed to pass out.

I HAVE BEEN THINKING OF NOTHING ELSE SINCE WE FOUND OUT ROOK AND SOLAS ARE CONNECTED. now none of this is probably gonna happen BUT WOULDN'T IT BE COOL? what a fanfic premise LOL

[castellankurze]

The psyker's forearms had been replaced by simple augments - unadorned pipes leading to basic manipulators with fingers like cleaning rods that mimicked the shape of human hands. They sat limp in the man's lap. Apart from the occasional slow blink, he'd made no move to shift position for some time, his head rested against the back wall of the cell. He was a rangy thing, tall and lean, his long, unshaven face marked by pocks as if from terrible acne scars or perchance some manner of shrapnel, cheeks lined by reddened tear tracks. His hair was grayed. At a glance one might have pinned him as a man in his fifties, a tragic fate for one nine and twenty.

The man that pulled out the chair opposite and sat in it was much the opposite, blocky and square-faced, his eyes hidden by shaded lenses. The psyker showed little reaction as the Inquisitor pulled himself up to the table and set a dataslate atop a stand where both men could view the screen.

He pushed a button and a scene began to play, the sound filtered through the speakers barely loud enough to be heard. Gunfire flashed through the vista of a battlefield, the camra centered upon the figure of a man fallen to his knees. His arms were outstretched, though not in welcome but rather in horror, his hands clawed as if struggling to grapple with some monumental force.

Then it leaned into view. An abomination. A thing that should not have been. A long, inhuman face of horn and bone and cartilage and long, scythelike teeth, eyes glowing with a malevolence felt even through the small datascreen. A face large enough it could have been mounted to one of the Imperium's knight-titans, jaws parting as the bio-form closed in on the comparatively miniscule human. As its mouth opened, it began to howl, an unearthly sound of bone-chilling vibration that filled the world and made the dataslate's speakers crackle and between the two figures the air could be seen to waver and sizzle as invisible forces pushed- The Inquisitor jabbed another button and the scene froze. All throughout the playback, his unseen eyes had been locked to the figure across the table. He had studied the footage more than was sufficient to commit the scene to memory. The psyker had reacted to the display, at least to the extent that his own dull, sunken eyes had risen to watch the footage play out.

"Tell me what you felt," Kryptman said. Long moments passed in silence as the psyker's eyes drooped, bobbed upwards again, drooped once more. Kryptman didn't hurry him, watching his every twitch in the silence of the too-warm room as the seconds slid languidly by. Finally, a parting of the lips, a subtle swallow. "Mm...mfelt like," the man murmured in a dry voice, speaking as if for first time in his life, "I wwas..." blink "...an algae. Beinng... swallowed by a whale." A blink. A breath. "A whale that...hh-hhated me," he said, voice shuddering, "ffor being...too small t'be worth the effort. T-too small for the hunger it had, like...it could eat and eat and never stop eating, and it was desperate to have me even though it hated how worthless I was because it had to have me and anything else that could feed it because it was so hungry and it hated that I was the next thing to eat."

Like a tumbling rock down a mountainside, the psyker's speech had gathered speed and clarity until it abruptly seemed to reach the end and shut off. All throughout his tone was gray, exhausted.

Kryptman waited for several seconds more before resuming the playback. He knew what came next - the norn emissary miraculously subsumed in a tidal wave of fire and smoke as the rocket artillery dropped, even at the moment the camra picked up the distinctive wobble in the air around the psyker's outstretched hands. By some miracle of chance, the camra had stayed in place to continue recording as the smoke and dust cleared, a hazy outline of the psyker still knelt in place, hands held out before him, a crescent of clean ground around his body. It had continued to record until the reinforcements had found him, still rooted to the spot, arms necrotized up to the elbow by psychic permafrost.

Inquisitor Kryptman didn't wait for it all to play out. Instead he pressed buttons on the slate that stopped the footage and restarted it, but this time the gunfire was muted, all but inaudible. Instead a man's labored breathing could be heard as if he heaved directly into the pickup. This time, as the terrifying face of the norn emissary leaned close, a whisper could be heard at the edge of sound, entreating "Emperor protect me...Emperor...protect...me, Emperor..." The voice of the man that sat opposite him now.

He jabbed the button to pause the footage once more. "You called out to the God-Emperor," he said. "Do you credit His intercession for your survival?"

Once more the psyker's eyes wavered, and this time as the moments passed the corners of his mouth began to tremble. "No," the man croaked. "I couldn't feel Him. There was just Her. There was only Her." He began to sob, lifting his pipe-shaped augments from his lap and pressing the cleaning-rod fists to his eyes. Inquisitor Kryptman deactivated his slate, gathered up the damning evidence, and left the room.

[daitranscripts]

Cassandra Deleted Dialogue

Cassandra Masterpost

—

Cassandra: Leliana mentioned a Grey Warden in the Storm Coast, did she not? I have my doubts their disappearance is related to our troubles, but she is not often wrong. I would look into it.

—

PC: I was hoping we could spend some time together.

Cassandra: I suppose there is nothing pressing right this second.

Cassandra: If you like, certainly.

Cassandra: Are you not heading out of Skyhold? As you wish.

Cassandra: I’d enjoy that. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: I’ve never understood this game.

Cassandra: Ha! Can you believe it? I’ll win this round yet.

Cassandra: How often must Varric play this to become as good as he is? It boggles the mind.

Cassandra: You’re cheating, aren’t you? Can you cheat at this?

Cassandra: Madness. I only draw a card once I no longer need it.

Cassandra: Andraste’s tits! Why do I keep playing this?

Cassandra: I’ll play my hand! Just… give me a moment. It will come to me. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: I’ll go easy on you this time. Three bruises is enough, I think?

Cassandra: (Chuckles.) You almost had me that last time. One more bout!

Cassandra: Now then, a little practice bout, yes?

Cassandra: Take me down if you can, Inquisitor. Do your best.

Cassandra: Let’s see how you fare in one-on-one combat.

Cassandra: …years of practice under my mentor, Seeker Byron. The man was a warrior without peer.

Cassandra: Maker’s breath! Fine. One more bout, and then I give up. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: The uniforms were Josephine’s doing. It’s still a mystery to me.

Cassandra: …and there I stood at the monastery’s gates, the apostates staring at me as if my hair were on fire.

Cassandra: The Lord Seeker never let any argument go. He was like a dog who refused to let go of a bone.

Cassandra: …so I opened the chest only to find an entire cache of lyrium vials. “Just some rags,” ha!

Cassandra: …twelve templars in one Circle. I never saw the like before or since. The knight-commander was beside himself.

Cassandra: You notice how they look at you? There are many who would give anything for such reverence. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: Interesting that this ruin stood empty all this time. I wonder how Solas knew of it?

Cassandra: Majestic, isn’t it? Of all the spots in Skyhold, I think this is my favorite.

Cassandra: …and then twice again before the battle was through. It took me weeks to recover.

Cassandra: …and so I said to the man: “is this a jest? Put your trousers back on, you fool”

Cassandra: …and they would look at me with such fear in their eyes. I could never stand that part of it.

Cassandra: …nine times out of ten, it was nothing. Just fears and useless superstition. (Sighs.) ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Cassandra: I never said I was frightened of horses. They just… have such large teeth.

Cassandra: Can we ride fast? I prefer galloping, and I suspect the horses do as well.

Cassandra: Do we have any apples? I can’t believe I forgot to bring even one.

Cassandra: …and the chevalier’s horse threw him, on cue. I could not stop laughing.

Cassandra: No, nobody solely speaks Orlesian any longer. Well, perhaps the marsh-folk.

Cassandra: I always wanted to visit Minrathous. Someday I’ll see the twin guardians for myself.

—

[Part of the jealousy dialogue. These lines are not technically deleted and can be heard in-game using the bi-Cullen mod. (ask me how I know)]

Cassandra: It’s probably nothing, but it claims that you and Commander Cullen are…

Cassandra: Ah. Is Commander Cullen aware of that?

—

[Low approval scene. It may still be in the game, but I cannot find the plot trigger for it.]

Cassandra: Honeyed words. Liar’s tongue. And I fell for it all.

[pavus]

In preparation for 30 Days of Veilguard, I decided to put together a megapost containing little bits of general knowledge about the characters you'll be getting to know over the next month and links to future writing once October hits.

INFORMATION & WRITING LINKS UNDER THE CUT.

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS • • ��� • • Halva Aeducan, the Warden. Age: Twenty. Class: Warrior. Love Interest: Alistair Theirin. Pinterest | Character Tag.

DRAGON AGE 2 • • ▶ • • Verity Hawke, the Champion. Age: Twenty-four. Class: Warrior. Love Interest: Isabela. Pinterest | Character Tag.

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION • • ▶ • • Suri Cadash, the Inquisitor. Age: Thirty-three. Class: Rogue. Love Interest: Blackwall. Pinterest | Character Tag.

DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD • • ▶ • • Kehda Mercar, the Rook. Age: Twenty-nine. Class: Rogue. Love Interest: Varric Tethras. Pinterest | Character Tag.

[littlelostmabari]

Day 18: Close Call

This week was shit but I'm still alive :) I have a backlog that I will post eventually when they're appropriately edited!

Pairing: f!Reader (Lavellan) x Cullen

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You don't want to go to a dress fitting. Cullen doesn't want to go to dance lessons. Broom closets exist.

SFW. Unresolved sexual tension, pre-relationship. Reader is Inquisitor f!Lavellan, otherwise not described.

You had been in hiding for a little more than an hour now, and you were quickly becoming bored with picking the bristles out of the second broom.

You were not a favorite of Josephine's, especially when it came to the… thing… at the Winter Palace. The Ambassador had woken you up at quarter past nine bells with thirteen fabric swatches in all different colors and styles. Josie hadn't even bother to intentionally wake you: you had opened your eyes as the third swatch flitted over the skin of your shoulder. Your blinking eyes had met warm brown skin and yellow ruffles and a square of the most hideous puce taffeta.

And Josie had brought backup in the form of Vivienne and Dorian, who guarded the exit to the staircase and the grand doors to her balcony, respectively. Their positions had necessitated launching yourself in nothing but your nightgown over the railing and down the stairs. The only thing left behind you was the frost along the walls from her Fade Step.

It was too early in the morning to come up with a clever solution, so you defaulted to the easiest, and now you had to start working on the third broom.

About halfway through the first broom there had been annoyed footsteps and voices to match. A searching spell pinged through the closet, and you knew that Dorian had found you, yet the three passed by your hiding place without even approaching the door. You would owe him a bottle or two of the West Hill brandy.

The second broom had been fully plucked while you listened to a pair of laundry maids talking about who was bedding whom and with what frequency. There were things they spoke about that you did not need to know. They were almost done when one threw the door open, saw you, and squealed. A lot of hushing noises and promise of a sovereign later, when they finally moved on, you started to hear music from down the hallway which meant your way back to your room was compromised.

About ten percent of the way through the third broom, there was a commotion from the direction of the music, and a pair of hurried footsteps. You stayed quiet as a mouse, tucked up against the back of the broom closet with the broom clutched tightly in your hands — or, you tried to, but the broom closet was not the largest space even when it wasn't full of Inquisitor.

Unfortunately it was about to be a lot tighter squeeze, as with the briefest increase in music volume, the door swung open and another body with significantly larger shoulders than you quickly pressed into the closet and pulled the door shut behind them.

The darkness that didn't bother your eyes clearly befuddled the other person, who stumbled around in the darkness trying to figure out why the shelves in this closet were squishy and person-shaped.

"Maker's breath," came the exclamation as arms passed over your shoulders to press hands against the wall behind you, and you looked up into the wide eyes of your Commander who clearly couldn't see you, but knew he was not alone.

"'Ello, Cullen," you giggled, and relief shuddered through his shoulders followed quickly by a shiver of blush as he pulled away and pressed back towards the door.

"Inquisitor!" He clearly couldn't figure out where he should put his hands, especially because there was barely a foot of space between the two of you. He settled for behind his back pressed against the door, which only pushed his body that much closer to yours. When his eyes finally adjusted, you knew your grin would be unmistakable.

"Fancy seeing you here." You placed the palms of your hands on the end of the broom and placed your chin atop them, inching your face slightly closer to him.

"Yes, um, hello —" Cullen rasped, "— hello Inquisitor." He coughed and tugged at his collar and that's when you realized that he wasn't wearing his normal armor. He still had on his boots, but he was sans breastplate and mantle and vanbraces and only wearing his breeches and linen shirt. The music suddenly made sense.

"Dance lessons?" you giggled, gesturing at his clothes.

"Morning dress fittings?" he snickered, making the same gesture back at you. Your grin quickly faltered as your eyes darted down to your feet. Right. The nightgown. The broom dropped to the side and you made to cover herself with your hands. There wasn't much you could do, and you praised the Creators that humans had poor darksight. Even still, you and Cullen were suddenly in a resonance of stammering and blushing and it was only broken when voices echoed down the hall from behind the door. It was Vivienne's and Josephine's voices specifically, complaining that the lesser minds of the Inquisition did not appreciate the effort that was going in to make sure the Inquisition held its own at Halamshiral.

You didn't realize you had made a noise, but you must have because suddenly one of Cullen's hands was over your mouth and the other was behind your head and his body had pressed itself against you so that you couldn't move and make incidental noises against the shelves. You were up on tiptoes, hands down against the wall and back stretched to its limit.

"Please," he whispered. "Don't make me go back there." Your eyes were wide as you looked up into his, which had now clearly adjusted to the light. He was darting across your face, looking for anything that might indicate you would call out and betray his location.

"Commander!" Josephine called from right in front of the broom closet. You both held your breath — you could feel the tightness across his shoulders so you knew he was desperately begging you not to give him away. The only noise was the soft hiss of breath out of his nose and the huffing from Josephine on the other side of the door. Then, a final huff, a "where is he", and footsteps retreating down the hallway.

A moment passed, then another.

And another.

And another, and Cullen gently pulled his hand away from your mouth. You took a deep breath and it filled your lungs with embrium and oakmoss and elderflower. As your chest expanded, it pressed into his, and you realize that he hadn't moved an inch away from you even as his hand dropped from your face. Underneath the smell of the herbs there was a hint of petrichor and just the hint of whiskey, or perhaps that flavor was there because suddenly your vision was filled with amber.

His chest pressed forward with each breath too, and there was something in the twitch of his lips and jawline that made your heart leap. You'd not been this close to him before, except in your dreams. Except when the night was lonely enough that you had to conjure images of the Commander to drown out the foreboding of Adamant or the Winter Palace.

You relaxed, allowing the heels of your feet to fall to the ground, which is precisely when you realized exactly how Cullen had pressed you to the back wall of the broom closet — with the side of his hip, with his knee in between your legs. You stopped, shock still, and when he didn't pull back you dropped just a little more until your barely-clothed core rested against his unarmored thigh. That's when several things happened at once.

His eyes darted down to your lips, opened just slightly to breathe.

You brought one hand up to rest fingers on the waist of his linen shirt.

His fingertips tightened in your hair against your scalp.

And a knock echoed on the wood of the door.

"They're gone, Curly," the voice called out, a Kirkwall lilt to Varric's easily identifiable voice. Cullen flinched back from you, releasing your hair, and his eyes shockingly wide. "But they'll be back around this way in a couple minutes. If the Inquisitor is somehow nearby, she might like to know that the kid grabbed a robe from her wardrobe, it's sitting out here whenever she's ready for it."

Cullen coughed, and you heard a chuckled 'close call' from outside the door, then footsteps fading away. Cullen turned his back and adjusted his clothing surreptitiously.

"Inquisitor," he rasped, his voice scratchy. He pulled the door open and looked down the hallway both ways before stepping out and glancing down to a soft grey robe at his feet. He moved to pass it to you but stopped as the light illuminated your disheveled form. A long moment passed in which you did not make an attempt to cover yourself, before he swallowed, pried his eyes away from you, and handed the robe back into the broom closet. When it was in your hands, he strode away down the hallway with great haste before you had a chance to don it.

[buttsonthebeach]

Anywhere But Home

Back to writing Solavellan angst and it feels so goooood

Pairing: Ellana Lavellan x Solas (past); Marian Hawke x Merrill (past)

Rating: M for Mature - sexual themes and images

Triggers and Spoilers: Hawke is lost in the Fade; spoilers for Tevinter Nights

Summary: Nine years post-Trespasser, Ellana tries her best to move on.

His name was Varlan and Ellana hadn't seen him since the summer before she became Inquisitor, and when she slept with him, what she was really doing was slipping into an old self to see if it still fit, like the person she had been that summer was an old pair of trousers in the back of a drawer. She'd just forgotten about her. She could try her on again.

He wasn't an Inquisition agent - because of course she couldn't even dream of sleeping with any of them. And he wasn't some hero worshipper fascinated with the myth of her - because every one of them that had approached her since she became Inquisitor made her skin crawl. He wasn't a nobleman whose aims and ends she couldn't trust.

He was just Varlan of Clan Alvar, and they happened to be at the same inn, each passing through on their way to somewhere else. Her to Kirkwall. Him back to his clan.

“Ellana?”

And it was probably the fact that he said her name. It startled her at first - she was tying up her horse at the hitching post and he was just passing by, her hood was still mostly up, she was traveling alone, she was so used to being called Inquisitor or my lady. But then she saw him, recognized him, and it felt good. Just Ellana.

Clan Lavellan and Clan Alvar were close, both Marcher clans that overlapped in their roaming a few times each year, making him one of those people she couldn't actually remember meeting for the first time. He'd just been there. They'd slept together twice before, the last time being that summer before she left for the Conclave, twelve years ago now. So she could know, after passing a flask of whiskey back once or twice while reminiscing about old times in the room she let, that he really wanted to sleep with her for old time's sake and nothing more. She didn't take him up there with that intention - not really - but when it happened, she wasn't sorry.

Dorian had been after her about it anyway. Leliana, too. Gentle at first as the years went on and then more direct, he can't have been that good of a lay morphing into it's been 5 years and you deserve happiness, you know. Ellana, don't you think it's time to…? Maybe this would appease them.

And the first kiss did take her breath away. Not because she was in love with Varlan but because it had been nine years now since someone kissed her. His skin on her skin was exhilarating and too much - she kept her shirt on the whole time, and so did he. And gods it did feel good, it did, the weight of him -

“I'm clean,” he murmured. “If you wanted to…?”

“Me too,” she said, and it hurt even though it shouldn't. She knew she was clean because it had been eleven years since she lay with anyone. “I do.”

“Do you take a brew or should I…?”

That question hurt the worst somehow. She had just turned 39. And there was a part of her that wanted to lie, to not take her brew after he left (because he would leave), because she was getting older, and maybe this was her last chance -

“I do, but maybe to be extra safe…?”

“Of course.”

And gods it was good to feel him move in her, it was familiar, the roll of her hips and the delicious tension in her muscles and yes, it was her first time doing this since the loss of her left arm, but she could almost ignore that. Could almost pretend it was summer, an open field, stars above, and she was just herself. She'd go back to the circle of aravels after this. Restring her bow. Breathe in the woodsmoke. Hunt in the morning.

“I'm glad the gods brought us back together,” he said before he left. “And that they have kept you safe.”

She was sure he didn't intend the words to be cruel. But Halamshiral’s hallways echoed in her mind all the time now, and instantly she analyzed it. He did not ask about the vallaslin. She considered it a blessing. Perhaps he knew? Word had spread through the clans. But he still believed in the gods, still thought they kept her safe. So he knew and still believed?

Why was he conveniently at the same inn as her, at the same time, why had the conversation gone so easily, why had they slipped so easily into old familiar ways?

She banished the thoughts. It was fine. This was fine. She had moved on. She could move on. She carried on to Kirkwall, got settled in to her estate, had dinner with Merrill. Tried to stay in the same skin she'd found briefly with Varlan. Back to Ellana, just Ellana.

“About time!” Dorian said when she called. “Now, perhaps Mae and I can start finding someone eligible for you here in Tevinter. Make me a list and you know we'll make it so. I already have a house picked out for you in the countryside near my villa.”

His words were so bright and so brittle they might snap if he forced himself to be any cheerier. Ellana let out a dry laugh, tried to come up with a witty reply, and found her throat closed. What did she want?

“So I can't just move in alone? Varric gave me a whole house and a key to his city without insisting I have a partner.”

The crystal crackled. She thought maybe she heard a sigh.

“Of course not. Shall I send you the contract? Right after I get this bill passed about elves being able to own property of course.”

“Ah yes, that pesky little thing. Tell me how that's been going.”

“Oh, my friend,” Merrill said that night when Ellana recounted the conversation. How she had not even been able to make a list of what she might want in a future partner. “I don't think I could, either.”

Because Merrill had spent the last eleven years waiting and longing, too.

But Ellana kept trying. What would she want? She looked around Merrill’s table whenever there was a group for dinner. Most of her friends were elves from Kirkwall's alienage. Ellana had always envisioned herself with a fellow elf - but that was when she was young and living with her clan, so of course she assumed she'd bond to someone Dalish. Did that have to be true now? She'd always been with men. Did that have to be true now?

She tried to feel a sense of wonder and possibility. She was arguably the most privileged elf in Thedas, with money, power, and connections in every country. She could envision whatever life she wanted for herself.

The sense of wonder never came.

But Charter did. Back from a teahouse in Hunter Fell, after months of searching and gathering information and coordinating a meeting between spies of every conceivable faction.

“I have news of the idol,” she said. “If you wanted to go get Mistress Hawke.”

She and Merrill both perched, tense, through Charter's tale. It confirmed much of what they had suspected. It was back in the Dread Wolf's hands. That was how Charter referred to him the whole time. Merrill interjected occasionally and called him Fen'Harel. Ellana pretended it was all a story.

“One figure comforting another,” Merrill murmured. “Mythal comforting Fen'Harel himself, if his tales of being her right hand are to be believed? I am more certain now than ever that it was a tool of Arlathan that was blighted, like my eluvian. Perhaps related like the arulin'holm, something used in rituals of creation, lyrium stored directly within to power the spells? One of the implements he used to create the Veil? I never laid hands on it myself. I didn't go into the Deep Roads with Marian, and the fight with Meredith - it was not my focus. I wish I'd had time to see it, study it…”

“That window has certainly closed,” Charter said, shifting her weight, settling into a stance, like she was expecting a blow. “Solas assured me of that.”

Ellana stood.

“He what?”

And then Charter told the end of the tale. The moment she realized the Orlesian bard was not Orlesian at all. How only she and Solas walked out of that room.

The untouched tea.

Her mind circled that detail over and over again until she could smell the fresh plaster in the rotunda, hear the caws of Leliana's ravens, feel the warmth of a hand on her back -

“So he still doesn't like tea?” She finally managed, when she realized Merrill and Charter were staring.

“No, my lady,” Charter said, lowering her eyes.

Ellana hated Charter suddenly. She'd been in the room with Solas. Close enough to touch. She'd heard his voice. Did he look well? Did he look tired? Did he -

“And - Inquisitor, he told me to tell you - that he is sorry.”

It was meant to be a mercy but it felt like a deathblow. Like bleeding out, lungs collapsing, praying there was a healer nearby, eyesight fading.

“Thank you, Charter. That will be all for tonight.”

He is sorry?

“Lethallan,” Merrill said, and let the word hang in the air.

“It’s fine, Merill. You should go.”

“Lethallan.”

He is sorry?

She couldn't talk about this with Merrill. Couldn't ask the woman whose wife she’d left to die to comfort her because the man who willingly left her had sent her a message via a spy, and it was that he was sorry, but he was still going to rip the world asunder.

“Tomorrow. Let's hike to the summit of Sundermount.” The words came from someone else who happened to have Ellana's own voice.

Merrill left. Ellana sat down. She took a breath, then another. She closed her eyes.

He is sorry.

And suddenly, he was in the room with her: Solas Solas Solas Solas. So close she could touch him. She could see him, the sadness in his eyes, hear the hitch in his quiet voice.

Tell the Inquisitor - I am sorry.

Varlan had been on top of her, in her, fingers in her hair, and he was not as real to her then as that image of Solas was now. As she sat there, choking on the unfairness of his words.

He was sorry, but he was still gone. And she was never going to be the same again without him. All the Varlans in the world couldn't change that. All it would take was one word, one dream, to bring her back to the way he looked at her, the way he shook his head, kissed her again. To come, while the music plays, dance with me.

Ellana went to bed and allowed herself to imagine that Solas was down the hall, painting. That she had called for him already, sleepily, that he said he'd be there in a moment. That right when she was on the edge of sleep, he slid into bed, threaded an arm around her waist, and kissed her. He would be warm, solid, large behind her, but he would melt into her too, lean his weight against her - each of them leaning on each other, sheltering each other. And as she imagined it, she felt it - wonder. Bright as midday sun.

She woke alone, flecks of red in her smalls warning her that soon another chance would be gone (even though Varlan had pulled out and she had taken her brew because she knew, knew she couldn't be a mother now, not now, not without him). She went downstairs, saw the letters that had arrived overnight, all addressed to the Herald and the Inquisitor. The final reminder that, Solas or no, there was no way back to that summer field twelve years ago. The world had destroyed Ellana Lavellan and raised up something else instead. Harding said it in the Frostback Basin. Once you are more than a person to someone, you're also less than a person to them. So there was only forward. Deep breath in, out again. Just keep going.

Merrill was already at her door, bags packed, ready for the long day. Smiling even though her eyes were sad. The path up Sundermount felt longer, Ellana's footsteps heavier than usual. She could go anywhere she wanted but home, could have her choice of lovers but not the man she loved. Everyone knew her name but she hardly knew herself anymore, some days.

But then they were at the summit, looking out over Kirkwall and the sea, and if her footsteps didn't feel any lighter, she at least felt equal to their weight again.

“Varric will want to know about the idol,” Merrill said at last.

“Yes. I'll go see him tomorrow. I think he'll be even more involved now that we know for sure Solas has it. It will be even more personal.”

“You are his friend. It has been personal from the beginning.”

Ellana sighed. There were ships out on the sea. What if Solas was on one of them?

“I wish it was only about duty. Only about serving Thedas. For all of us.”

“Would you really wish that you had never met Solas? Never loved him?”

I felt the world change.

“No.”

“It's a good thing he is sorry. That means there is hope.”

A bitter laugh rose in Ellana's throat but she swallowed it down. Hope was a meager thing to live on, year in and year out. But Merrill knew that better than anyone.

“Yes. There is hope.”

They sat up there, breathing hope in and out together, and then they carried it back with them to Kirkwall.