#is isseya dealt with??
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Okay, quick question. If you show the feather to Isseya, does she just…roll over and die? Like, what happens there? Davrin just walks away with Assan after and the questline ends? Does anyone else find that really odd?
#don’t misunderstand#I love this game#I’m just so confused#maybe most people don’t get this ending since I assume most people punch the first warden?#but it feels so random#like#is isseya dealt with??#she just says I’m sorry and rolls off Assan and that’s it#datv#dragon age#da4#dragon age the veilguard#dragon age veilguard#Davrin#assan
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Why the Dragon King Sucks: an Exploration of What Makes a Good Villain and a satisfying Story Conclusion
Dragon Age as a franchise has some of my favourite villains, and also villains I think kinda suck. DATV is not immune to this; Ghilan'nain joins the ranks as one of my favourite villains of the series but there is one villain I can't stand. I get mad just thinking about him. And so I thought I'd share my thoughts.
So firstly, before we can unpack why a villian sucks, we must first unpack what makes a good villain. Contrary to popular belief I don't think a villain needs to be a fully dimensional person to be compelling, but I do think good villains generally fall into one of three categories:
Interesting because of the relationship to the hero/protagonist
Interesting because we understand their point, or because of moral complexity/ambiguity
Interesting because they're scary as all hell
Dragon age has dabbled in all of these types of villians.
The example of a villian who is interesting because of their relationship to the hero/protagonist is Danarius. Danarius is flat out evil with 0 redeeming qualities. His main motivation is to a) experiment on his slaves and b) recapture his favourite escaped slave. We know he regularly tortures and kills people. We don't even meet him until act 3! BUT his relationship to Fenris makes him work. He is everywhere in Fenris's narrative; from the house Fenris lives in, to the actions Fenris takes (he won't even be with you until hes dealt with Danarius), to the feeling that Fenris is being constantly hunted. Danarius is terrifying to Fenris, the things Fenris did FOR Danarius is terrifying to Fenris (killing the Fog Warriors), all of this makes both us AND Fenris angry. When he shows up he's menancing because he's been built up the WHOLE game. He works because of his relationship to Fenris.
Let's move onto a villian who is interesting due to their moral complexity. There were a few to pick from here, but I think ultimately I'm going to go with the Arishock (but shout outs in particular to Calpurnia, Zathrian, Illario and Isseya). The Arishock undoubtedly does some pretty evil stuff, and yet we UNDERSTAND him. He does not want to be in Kirkwall, yet he cannot leave until he gets what he needs. He wants to be peaceful, but is being pushed by the constant way that his people are being agitated; stolen from, blamed, tricked and manipulated by chantry zealots. He doesn't understand why kirkwall is allowed to function as it does when it leads to such misery/pain for everyone. He's very reasonable with a Hawke who is reasonable back and respects them. The thing that tips him over the edge is the fact that he's unwilling to hand over elves that the guards refused to bring justice for, and most people agree that the guards were in the wrong there. Nobody thinks the Arishock should have tried to take over Kirkwall, killing the Viscount and trying to take Isabela. But we UNDERSTAND why he might be doing what he's doing and THAT makes him compelling.
Final category; when a villain is scary. I think writers sometimes confuse this for the villain having a lot of power (*cough* Elganarn *cough*) but that's not what scary is. Scary is usually invoked by feeling that the hero/protagonist is under genuine threat if they were caught or feeling that this person will do fucked up things and has no line; even about people they care about. Absolute main dragon age villian to sit here is Branka who went so mad in her pursuit of the anvil she was willing to let her house be turned into Brood Mothers so they could pump out darkspawn who could test the traps. Ghilan'nain is also in this category.
To make an EXCELLENT villain you probably want to take a few strands from each collum; Loghain stands out here as someone who has a connection to our of our heros (Alistair's revenge quest) but also is morally understandable/interesting.
So now I've laid all that out...tell me. Where does the dragon king fit?
The dragon king doesn't really have a connection to Taash. They want Taashs blood sure but they only make two plays for Taash the whole game and Taash never seems scared of them. We don't find out why or what they want to do to Taash. Taash just. Doesn't know this guy. Like until the very end when he kills their mum, they don't have a reason to hate him.
The dragon king is not morally complex either. He is just. An evil guy working for an evil god who wants power. He's not got a particular point; he's not even like the red templars who at least had the motivation that the chantry had abandoned them and led them to be addicts for no reason. Theres no talk of that being the case with the antam. There is just. Nothing. He's some evil guy.
And finally, he's not scary. He's in fact so un-scary that our protagonists never ever get to fight him because he'd make a shit boss. I think this is a WILD choice. what I think happened was the Devs realised that as the other Taash quests had involved fighting dragons that should be their boss fight but like. What? I literally was so confused when this happened; I wondered if the dragon king could turn into a dragon for a moment or was riding the dragon but it's not that. We kill a dragon and don't even throw so much as a single spell or punch at the dragon king.
AND to make matters worse, we don't meet him until the very end and Taash doesn't really talk about him until then either. Varric narrator style mentions him and that's it. If you're not going to introduce your villian until late in the game you NEED to have build up like what we get for Denarias or Branka or Meredith. That's the whole issue with Corphyeus that everyone bangs on about; he's just not in the narrative enough to carry the feeling that he's an undefeatable big bad.
The dragon king is so boring. There's just. Nothing there. There's no relationship, there's no complexity. Just an evil guy.
And that makes me so annoyed considering that I love Taash and also that the voice acting when Taash's mum dies is so stunning. Taash deserved better than most of the plotlines they got, they deserved a better villian and they deserved choices beyond those that demonised multiculturalism. They don't even need a villain if you do their story right; many dragon age characters have no central villain and are still incredibly interesting: Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, Cole, Wynne, Bull, Bethany, Carver, Sten to name just a few.
Tblr; the dragon king SUCKS
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It's very interesting (and meaningful, to me) that once we learn Isseya's name, Davrin insists on referring to her by name, and corrects other people still calling her the Gloom Howler. It's much more common for people (and therefore characters) to try and dehumanize things they see as evil; it's much more common to see the "that's not a person anymore, that's a monster" response. I'm interested to see if and how Davrin's insistence on viewing her as a person first, and reminding other people that she's a person under all that monster, will affect how she's dealt with in the end
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I have too many for these to be in the tags so... (Please bear in mind that all of my OCs exist in one giant messy worldstate so)
Overall - most of them have had some good years but none of them are having a very good time right now.
Wardens
Varta Aeducan: After the events of Origins she returned to Orzammar where her status was officially restored, but was not named a Paragon. She worked with the then Warden-Commander Mahariel to rotate Grey Wardens in and out of Orzammar, giving them valuable experience fighting darkspawn and providing support to both Orzammar and the Legion of the Dead. In a weird twist of fate, she ended up with Rica Brosca, raising her nephew Endrin II. Together they have another son, Dailan, and three daughters, Rishan, Kalatha, and Jacha. Young Endrin is already a favorite to succeed Lord Harrowmont. For the most part things were relatively quiet and stable in her life until the events of Veilguard begin.
Ellendre Amell: Ellendre followed Mahariel to Amaranthine after Origins, where she met Mhairi (who doesn't die because fuck you, bioware, I loved her). While Mahariel dealt with the events of Awakening, Ellendre and Mhairi traveled Ferelden and into Orlais recruiting Warden hopefuls. When Mahariel chose leave with Velanna to search for the Architect and Seranni, Ellendre Amell became the new Warden-Commander of Ferelden. She has remained as Warden-Commander of Ferelden ever since. As they are both Wardens, she and Mhairi have no children. While Ellendre felt the false Calling during the Inquisition, she and Mhairi refused to abandon Ferelden even as many of their Wardens fled to Clarel in Orlais. As of the start of Veilguard, she is still Warden-Commander of Ferelden.
Herra Brosca: Herra became Teryna of Gwaren after the Fifth Blight. She and Leliana were happy in Gwaren for a while, before Leliana was called to serve Divine Justinia. For several years their lives drifted between Val Royeaux and Gwaren. When the Mage Rebellion broke out, Herra left Gwaren in the hands of a steward and went in search of a cure for the Calling. When she heard news of the Inquisition, and the death of the Divine, she did make her way to Skyhold. And while she never found a cure for the Calling, she was nonetheless cured of the Blight in 9:41. Leliana ascended to the position of Divine in 9:42 and Herra remained at her side. Their daughter, Cecilie, was born in 9:46. With the events of Veilguard, however, obviously all of that is in danger. The Divine no longer commands an army of Templars, and being forced to abandon Val Royeaux has taken a harsh toll on both of them. Gwaren was also lost to the combined efforts of the Blight and the Antaam.
Jaine Cousland: Jaine married Queen Anora mac Tir in 9:31 Dragon, becoming Princess of Ferelden. With the survival of Fergus, she was able to devote her time to helping Ferelden rebuild. She and Anora have three children - Duncan (9:33), Celia (9:34), and Eleanor (9:43). Jaine resumed her role as a military leader during the Inquisition. In 9:41 Jaine was cured of the Blight after hearing the False Calling.
Serona Mahariel: Serona became Warden-Commander of Ferelden after the Fifth Blight, and saw Ferelden through the events of Awakening. It was here that she was reconnected with her childhood crush, Velanna. After letting the Architect live in the hopes that it would make it possible to save Seranni, Mahariel and Velanna left into the Deep Roads to hunt him down. I haven't decided what all happens to them during that time, but they resurface in Isseya's camp of Wardens during Veilguard (no, they don't die. Maybe. We'll see.)
Isene Tabris: Isene Tabris became Bann of the Alienage after the Fifth Blight, a role in which she lingered in for only a few short years. She ultimately abandoned the position, turning it over to her cousin, Shianni, to pursue Morrigan into the Dragonbone Wastes. Isene went through the mirror with Morrigan, where she helped Morrigan raise their son, Kieran. Isene also resurfaced in Inquisition, but did not reveal who she was. She masqueraded as a servant in Orlais (which she hated doing) and slummed around Skyhold pretending to be a random soldier. Until Herra recognized her. Like Brosca and Cousland, she was cured of the Blight in 9:41 Dragon, and disappeared back into wherever with Morrigan after the defeat of Corypheus. She is not at all participating in the events of Veilguard, by choice, and is spending her time with Kieran.
I only have the one Hawke thankfully lol
Agnella Hawke: Agnella and Merrill have remained in and around Kirkwall over the years. Merrill wanted to help the elves there, and Bethany wanted to help the Circle mages, so even though Agnella wanted very much to leave, she stayed. After Inquisition she never reported to Weisshaupt, despite saying she would do so. Instead she disappeared, resurfacing in Kirkwall again a few years later. In actuality, she was just hanging out an estate outside Kirkwall trying to get some damn peace (yes, Merrill and the others knew where she was and visited regularly). She and Merrill did not have children of their own, but they have taken in several orphaned children and are raising them. With the escape of the elven gods, Hawke is back to just trying to keep her family together as best she can. Bethany was in Rivain visiting Isabela when Kirkwall fell, and Hawke insisted she stay there. She and Merrill have evacuated Kirkwall with Aveline and the rest of the refugees. Hawke's very bad no good life continues.
My Inquisitors (Only Lavellan is actually Inquisitor in this)
Imekari Adaar: Imekari and Sera have spent the last 10 years bouncing around Thedas as Red Jennies, righting wrongs, causing mayhem, and gathering information on Solas and his operatives as best they can. They have no children and have no plans to have children. With the events of Veilguard, they are just doing what they can to survive and help others, operating mostly in Rivain and what's left of the Free Marches. She joins in the final battle against Ghilan'nain and Elgarn'nan.
Jesi Cadash: Jesi and Dagna have stayed connected with what remains of the disbanded Inquisition over the years. Dagna's insight on magic was helpful as new magic continued emerging around Thedas. Most of the last 10 years they spent in Nevarra, where Dagna studied the different magics there using connections Cassandra Pentaghast helped her to make (with some complaint). They have children, but I haven't decided how many or how old. Their family was one of the first to relocate back to Skyhold following the events of Veilguard, as Dagna was able to immediately make use of its forge to help the resistance.
Lindiranae Lavellan: After disbanding the Inquisition, LIndiranae and Josephine went to Antiva and stayed with her family for some time. They spent the next several years gathering information on Solas, and traveling between Wycome - where Lavellan's clan now had a permanent home - and Antiva City. They married in 9:46, in two separate ceremonies - one Andrastian, and one Dalish. They do not have children yet, but have discussed children several times. It has been a source of tension that Lindiranae would prefer to have either elven or human children, but not half-elven children. Lindiranae was drawn back to Orlais and Ferelden with the events of Veilguard, while Josephine remained in the comparatively somewhat safer Antiva City. Lindiranae is the one who appears to Rook and the Veilguard.
Sabine Trevelyan: After the Inquisition, Sabine chose to remain in Orlais to assist Cassandra in rebuilding the Seekers. They married in 9:43 and have one child. It has been a political tense, but mostly quiet ten years for them. At times they have come under fire as staunch allies of Divine Victoria (even if they at times do not agree with her reforms). There have been frequent trips to Ostwick to visit Sabine's family, as well as Nevarra to visit her sister and some limited members of Cassandra's own family. With the events of Veilguard they have both been pulled back into the chaos. Cassandra has done her best to lead the Seekers against the invading forces of Venatori and Blight against Orlais, and Sabine has served and fought at her side.
Tell me about your Dragon Age OC babies. Like does ur Warden/Hawke/Quizzy have kids with their partner? I need to know!!!
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Bound by Choice ― II.ii. Behold, the Dawn
PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)
⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽
⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽
Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.
Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].
Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.
*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!
⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽
The armies of the faithful purge the catacombs with fire. Serafine uses that light to discover the darkness hidden at the heart of their community.
[READ IT ON AO3]
This the chaotic dance with which he is all too familiar. This the slaughter of his kind — his kind, but not his people. They will never be his people. This the bloodshed that has consumed him, fueled him, ignited the flames of war at his heels ever since the Crusades.
All around him motions of life, motions of death; that he cannot even stand the briefest moment to appreciate the beauty of it is beautiful in itself.
Behind him; rusted metal coiling tight, creaking wood struggling to hold together, the sheen of sharpened blades scraping against one another as the bolt is drawn—loaded—fired.
Cynbel waits until the last possible second to catch the bolt before it sinks home in his heart. He would kiss it for luck had he the inkling — but he doesn’t need luck.
Metal-tipped crossbow bolts; fashioned tough and as tempestuous as to whom they belong. Designed to puncture even the finest of armors — meant for the enemy.
Because he wants to savor in the first of his victories for the night Cynbel makes sure to rip off the breastplate first. Casts it aside no better than maiden’s veils in what good it does the knight; in how effective it is in stopping his adversary from spearing him through with his own weapon.
The helmet goes next. Young eyes wide in panic and young lips stained with blood and spittle yet he feels nothing for this child on the cusp of manhood. Why would he? The butcher does not feel for his supper.
Cynbel smears his tongue flat and wet across the young man’s chin. Tastes the salt and fear in his blood brimming near to a boil and it makes him hard.
Though most of it is wasted — spills on flagstones beside the slick shine of oil. The color, though, is a welcome accent on his damned finery.
Victory runs red along his teeth and he pulls his hand free from the bled meat. Lets him collapse to the floor to join his blood. Unlikely that he’ll live unless the Knights have discovered a miraculous way to shove ones organs back inside their bellies.
But they are only as fun as they are alive. So he moves on to the next. The crossbow yields, splinters apart underfoot.
A high-pitched cry sounds to his right — Cynbel turns just in time to see the youngling from earlier, Marcel, launch himself with bared fangs and eyes that match the blood staining his coat at another Knight.
The Knight braces for a light impact, perhaps even to catch him mid-flight. But what collides is much heavier than they anticipated and the pair go flying across the ballroom.
The chaos is stifling. The smoke clinging to the Gothic ceilings is, too. A sign of fires raging somewhere in the distance and, knowing the Holy Knights, growing closer. Meant not to choke them but to burn them alive; to trap them in with the rest of the dead here.
Beautiful, rapturous carnage.
And it means nothing without them at his side.
Cynbel doesn’t have to call for them — his heart leads him bound and chained to where it belongs. To his lovers; to the reason all this has come to pass.
To Isseya — who rips a head clean from its neck helmet and all. Who stands in perfection among a growing pile of bodies of the dead and dying without a stain on her.
To Valdas — the thrill of the hunt ignited like the burning catacombs despite all of his past protests. Whose nails and frilled sleeves drip ichor where two hearts beat their last in his unyielding clutches.
The distance between them all ceases to exist when the Trinity look up — when they find one another in the fray. Fascinating; how the look of a lover can bend the very laws of reality like that.
As glorious as they look naked, he’s starting to prefer them drenched in the blood of their enemies. As if he didn’t already.
But any hope of union is quickly dashed at the echo of battle cries on hollow bones. As many Knights as have already been dealt with there are more on the way. More than he accounted for — but hindsight meant nothing to the dead.
Masques scatter the floor, the ashes of their owners kicked up in the frenzy. Cling to boot heels and skirt hems and catch on their tongues. The last wish of the fallen to be carried with the victors into battle.
No rest for the wicked — a new wave of clanging iron erupts and Knights pour in from all sides. Faceless foot soldiers frantic for fame. For the glory that comes with their oh-so-noble purpose of ridding the world of vampire kind one by one.
The Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn have come ready for war.
And war they shall receive.
Isseya dances aside, the breeze of a blade missing her just so. And hellion that she is the vampiress grabs the sword by the opposite end and wrenches it from its owner’s grasp — returns it to them generously and all the way to the hilt.
She kicks the fleshy sheath astray, shouts “Cynbel!” with barely restrained delight, and tosses him the weapon. Caught with the ease of a master of both the blade and her love given with it.
He decapitates the nearest Knight with his back turned.
It is a dance the guests know as well as—if not better than—the Prestige Waltz. One that consumed many of their mortal lives — and their mortality with it. And one that follows them now in death. With the collective experience and knowledge of the battlefield in this room alone how could the Knights even imagine victory?
“Seal the West! Let none flee!”
There was fleeing? Who would be foolish enough to flee from such decadent bloodshed?
Only when the words finally ring in his ears as more than another wail of death does Cynbel turn and see a huddle of vampires being led to safety by none other than Serafine herself.
Though blood has saturated the oil spilled it still ignites when a Knight tosses their torch to the ground. A towering blaze alighted that races in winding tendrils from one end of the hall to the other and claims two of the doorways.
He can feel the heat licking at his skin even from a distance. Watches the cries of shock, anguish; agony when those unfortunate souls trapped in the midst of escape are consumed in the threshold. The rest forced back.
Well that’s a new development.
By the time they realize the Knights plan to corral them inside the ballroom like a tomb it’s too late. It’s already happening.
Serafine directs those left to staunch the flames as best they can. Capes and cloaks and skirts torn carelessly to smother what they can. But that leaves them open — vulnerable. Three felled by one Knight alone in a cloud of ash.
And with no time to savor the victory; not when the Godmaker tears the human in two with his bare hands.
“Monsters! All of you!”
The sight is stunning enough to still Cynbel, momentarily taken aback, before a crack and the clatter of armor sends him staggering backwards to avoid being toppled by the dead Knight.
Valdas, glare now too close for comfort; something that makes him feel like a scolded child, joins him in standing over the fresh corpse.
“You seem to have underestimated your adversary, darling.” Says his god through gritted teeth.
“What,” so cocky, so certain, “not having any fun?”
He knows the anger is not for those who have been lost but for the overwhelming number surrounding them. For two of their exits blocked by fire and their chances of escaping before the fight is done now all but dashed.
With a grunt Valdas pulls them together; the kiss as nourishing as it is reassuring. Tongues tangled, tasting the blood of their enemies in each other’s mouths until only pleasure is left.
“I forbid you from dying tonight. Forbid you from denying me the satisfaction of punishing you for your arrogance.”
Oh the things that voice does to him. “Yes, divine one.”
“You choose now to fuck, of all times?!”
Both heads turn as Isseya spits a chunk of the enemy’s throat to her feet. Cynbel erupts in laughter, staggers when Valdas pushes him back and has to quickly gain balance before he trips over another body.
“Jealousy does not match your dress, beloved!”
“Nor desperation, yours!”
Even in the fray she is as sharp of tongue as she is of wit. In times like this it feels like the old days; where bloodshed and war are as common as regalia and waltzes.
Easier, then, to forget that they are not alone.
“We must retreat!”
“One step back, Westbrook, and I will take your head myself.”
“My love…”
“I will not abandon our people!”
A trio of their own; the Godmaker, his Bloodqueen, and the soldier. That they could even consider retreating in the middle of all this sours the blood on Cynbel’s tongue. But even he would be fool to deny this… this is more than he expected from the Knights.
Perhaps he may have miscalculated a bit.
“Gaius, mon cher! Everyone! Allez, viens!”
The sacrifices of the lessers have not been in vain. Flames staunched by cloak and foot, Serafine calls from the blackened doorway with soot in dark stains across her face and blood dripping from her red lips — the body fresh at her feet still twitching in vain.
A hand closes tight around his upper arm, makes Cynbel look back to see the stern face of his Maker resolute.
“If we run now, they win! This could all have been for nothing!”
“If we stay, it surely will be.”
But the decision is already made for him as Isseya speeds to their side and takes each of them in bloody hands. The look she gives him nothing less than frustrated desperation.
The memories it brings back haunt him still; nightmares like reliving the terrible past over and over again.
Ash grinds like glass against their foreheads come together; tastes harsh on her lips in the bruising intensity of her kiss. “You cannot control everything,” she echoes, far more important now than in the innocence of mere hours ago, “but you can control this.”
This. Their escape.
“Rragh!” He whips the sword in hand with blind fury. Watches it lodge itself in the stone and sink deep.
They comfort him because they know his choice. They know him; his mind for strategy, his acute sense for war. And they know he would never risk their lives for the sake of his war.
They already have him spirited away from the center of the carnage by the time he realizes his feet are moving.
A look back—only the bodies of the enemy remain before they, too, are consumed too bright in fire. Flames leaping from table to table, catching on long tapestries woven in recognition of a victory they assumed with naivete.
The ashes of their fallen mingle with burned wood. He watches until he can no longer; sees the dark shapes of those still left to pursue them begin to amass at the other end of the hall.
His victory — gone up in flames.
“We can lose them in the labyrinth!” cries Serafine from up ahead, where the voices of the desperate meet her; their shepherd.
They will have to. The rattling sound of armor-clad footsteps grows louder with every wasted moment. The acrid smell of burning oil curls his lips back.
Even in the flames Cynbel had nothing to fear. Not with his beloveds in his eye and at his side. But when the chaos becomes too much, when he feels their hands slip from his grasp, fear takes her opportunity and slips into the dual voids left behind.
No. No no nonono—
“Valdas! Valdas! Isseya!”
“Cynbel?!”
“Cynbel!”
The threat of breaking his neck — head whipping back and forth to see them hoarded down different passages — means nothing. Let it snap. Let him pass through this terrible loss unconscious; unaware.
Bring them back to him. Bring them back!
His height; a blessing and a curse — keeps them in his sights but he can do nothing through the throng of panicking survivors as they are each pushed in different directions. As they become just another movement in the mass of darkness.
Smoke burns at his eyes but he keeps them open for as long as he can. Knows the tears are not for his own pain but for the pain that comes when the cord that keeps them as one strains, frays, and threatens to snap.
“—sieur! Monsieur!”
High-pitched panic breaks through the thundering of his three hearts. Draws Cynbel down with a small pale hand to the face of a cherubim’s devil.
“Monsieur!” The child Marcel cries again, this time it works to bring him from his own pit of despair.
They are not dead yet.
“I cannot find him!” he wails, “I cannot find Banner!”
“Wh-Who?”
Tear-tracks break through the soot on his round cheeks and really, really he does not have the time for this. Yet as he looks around they are nearly alone — left behind in his panic to rip himself in two and carry each part of him to where his lovers now wander.
They will endure. They have always endured.
And should his pride, his hubris be the reason they are taken from him in this life then he would not hesitate to seek them swiftly in the next.
“Marcel, petit!” A familiar voice calls from the other end of the skull-lined corridor; turns both heads to where Serafine beckons them from around the curved path.
At the sight of her the young vampire’s eyes alight, a cry of “Serafine!” leaving wet on his lips as he rushes to her. Tugs Cynbel along with.
There is no ignoring the suspicion that clouds the woman’s face when they meet. Darkness in her eyes, on the downturn of her lips where blood dries and flakes around her mouth.
He doesn’t have to ask what makes her so. Their brief moments leading up to the climax of the night still hanging, unfinished, between them over the child’s head.
A thousand questions, accusations unspoken. Pushed aside by the urgency of the hour.
“They mean to seal us off in the crypts. We must find a place to surface.”
“Banner—Kamilah—Serafine I cannot find them!”
She gently pries his grip from her skirts and cradles the boy’s cheeks. “No doubt Gaius protects them both, petit. Come, we must go now.”
Were the boy not between them Cynbel isn’t certain Serafine would not have left him behind. Yet with both of their hands in his he now leads the charge with fervor.
The farther they run from the grand hall the less they should smell the blood and smoke. Or so reason would dictate.
But this is not a reasonable time for anyone trapped beneath Paris; alive or undead.
With every turn the smoke chokes them harder; grows blacker and more like a disease than the omens before it. The gaping eyes of the skulls that witness their escape seem to bear down on them larger and larger with every step. We see you, they say, we welcome you — whether you want it or not.
But this—this flight of theirs—goes against his very nature. He can only succumb to it for so long. And when they catch sight of gleaming silver armor at the end of the corridor, when Serafine pushes Marcel behind her with a cry for him to double back, to change their direction, it is no longer a nature he can deny.
“Go,” he snarls, and does not rush to meet them, “get him to safety. Yourself, as well.”
“As much as I am growing to desire your true death…”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Martyrdom does not suit you, Monsieur D’or.”
“I find too much pleasure in survival to be a suitable martyr.” He throws a look back her way; sees the resisted smile on her lips. Offers up one of his own…
“Go.”
They both know he hears the falter in her footsteps at the end of the passage. The rustle of her skirts as she turns to watch the collision between them. But there is no savoring this victory without them at his side — he can’t imagine even the thought of it.
The way he tears into them is animal. Cracks and crumbles the skeletal walls and leaves their bodies to rot, decay, and soon bloom new skulls to join them. Save the one he takes in hand and crushes with a wet noise between his palms.
What did she expect to see?
“You tackle them as one with experience.”
He blows a strand of hair from his eyes. “Mademoiselle, may you learn this lesson soon; experience is the only thing that separates the likes of us from those already dead.”
But even as he shoves her back the way they had come, he can feel the burn of her gaze. “The Knights and I have tangled before, yes. Their order changes names, locations, ranks; but they are always the same. Always with the same holy doctrine.”
He follows her turn — the scent of their companion caught but waning fast.
“The eradication of our kind.”
“Most ardently. Their resources are vast, those who line their coffers may not even know to what end their gold meets. I assume you know of the oh-so-charming King Coppernose.”
Serafine’s eyes widen. “Truly?”
“There was a reason he chose such a… publicly gruesome execution for dear Queen Boleyn.”
His left hand closes tight on instinct. Craven for the beloved that is not there. But just because he cannot see Isseya does not mean she is back beneath the sword. And only because it is here — only because she has seen his weakness firsthand, Cynbel allows himself a shuddering exhale. “The influence of the Knights at the height of their control of England. Though his death led to a division of funds and they turned their sights to Spain shortly after.”
Weak are they who gossip like follies in the midst of the chase. The silence that follows stretches out — but only their rustling footsteps fill their ears.
“You speak as if they have come close to —”
“Once —” —the acrid air burns through his nostrils; pain a startlingly useful motivator— “— and never again.”
With as much as humanity has changed in the past centuries it’s not unlikely someone of the Lady Dupont’s age has come across their persistent enemies. Maybe not in name, maybe not en masse, but somewhere along the line surely.
Cynbel, however, refuses to lie in wait for their inevitable collision. He seeks them out; has done to the protests of his beloveds for decades now. In England — now here in Paris.
“I would hardly be surprised if there was not an alliance among them—those feeble rulers. They’re so easily frightened of anything that might protest their power. Power they claim is theirs by divine right — the arrogance…
“And our very nature calls that divinity into question, does it not?” He waits for an answer but none comes. Fine with him. Valdas and Isseya — they’ve grown bored with his constant complaints of the Knights and their machinations. Fresh ears to help pass the time.
“And in that fear… came the numbers to bolster their forces. Masses desperate for something to believe in. For answers to reach out to them; a light in their dark, pitiful years.”
“A congregation for your sermon then…” she mutters under her breath, but luckily such things are easily ignored.
“What we lack in numbers our kind makes up for in strength. You saw the ballroom — you partook in it! Glorious battle, victory against the multitudes of dispensable faithful.”
“What victory is there in the losses we suffered?”
“No doubt their losses were far greater in number.”
“So callous, your regard for life.”
“Why would I care about a few meager vampires?” Cynbel’s grin is wry. “Especially those who were so easily struck down.”
The shape and breath of their masques meant nothing. They were always insignificant. Would always be so. Extinguished wicks in comparison to the holy flames of his god and beloved.
Serafine; only under his protection for the consequences possible. Proving herself less and less the more she fixates on the means rather than the end.
“I just don’t understand how they could have known…” says she eventually, and he sees the way the wheel turns in her mind even through the darkness of the smoke. “Do you think the Knights have one of our own held imprisoned?”
“Does it matter?”
“How else can we ensure this never happens again?”
“We leave as many bodies as we can. That tends to send a message.”
“Even to those as vengeful as the Knights?”
Cynbel doesn’t answer right away. A grave mistake on his part — one that skids Serafine to a halt. He continues—stops only because she is obviously familiar with Kamilah, because the Godmaker might find some way to punish his lovers should she perish.
“Unless your intention is to turn back and clear the rest of the righteous horde I suggest we keep moving.” Regarding the now soot-stained skulls near the ceiling with disdain; “Who knows how many of these passages have been sealed off — they’re learning.”
But she and he are of a similar ilk; Turned in those years when doing so was a rare honor, not the desperate means of procreation it had become. Such power did not underestimate easily, surely. One look at the blazing wit behind her eyes and he, too, would have been taken with the mere potential of her.
In another life perhaps.
“I am well-versed in the depths of the depravity of Les Trois Amants… but this…”
Which makes him have to choke back gagging on the guilt she tries to push at him in torrents. How could he do anything else? How could he have thought she would understand?
“Is now really the moment for this?”
“No — and the fault lies with you for it.”
“Your point?”
Her eyes widen. “Those dead — and those yet to die — they were unnecessary.”
“War is not war without casualty.”
“This so-called war is none but your o—!”
Her words end in breathless lungs and chipped bone fragments falling and catching in the finer embellishments of her dress. Such things tend to happen when one is shoved against a wall.
Fury brims forth — Cynbel’s strength holds her firm but there is no denying the tension coiling in the muscles of a huntress.
The crossbow bolt hisses through the smoggy air and sinks home in a different kind of dead; straight through the eye socket. Were he not facing her he isn’t sure he would have seen it coming, seen the glint of light reflecting on dirtied armor.
Utterly silent — but how?
Wordlessly the vampires agree for a stalemate in favor of their mutual enemies. They charge like a wall, crossbows cast aside for close-range swords and daggers. Yet they are fools — children playing with toys. Their feeble minds unable to comprehend the sheer number of years between their foes combined… how small they are in the grand design.
Their fall is nothing like their arrival. Noisy and impossible to ignore how they pile upon one another in the corridor’s confines. The dirt beneath their feet has seen too much blood already and refuses to take more; splatters their heels as the vampires continue their flight.
It is not enough to discuss war lest one forget the war never ends.
At the end of the passage they come upon a metal rod dug and rooted into the ground. A lantern hangs from a rusted hook; the candle inside dim and near close to consuming itself — no wick left to sustain it.
He watches as Serafine unlatches the lantern with interest. Sees the silent words on her lips as she runs her fingertips over the waxy bottom until they find whatever she was looking for. A set of grooves dug into the metal.
“Rue de la Mortellerie,” she says finally, as though it’s supposed to mean something to him, but her relief is explanation enough; “up ahead — no more than a hundred paces. Enfin, la liberté…”
Yet even with the tears brimming in her eyes—relief given form—there’s no mistaking the way she looks Cynbel up and down. Saving her life has, apparently, meant nothing. Thoughts once thought cannot be removed from the mind.
And were he in her position, were the tables turned and it was he mere strides from freedom with a dead weight behind…
No; there’s no question. He would strike her down without a second thought.
But perhaps he is lucky the lady is not as selfish as himself. That she waves him to follow with a rasped “Allez!” and gathers her skirts with dried blood flaking from underneath her nails and leads the way to freedom.
The least he can do is take the first steps from the lowly chapel basement into the freedom of the night to ensure the Knights aren’t there to meet them.
But the streets of Paris still slumber, still dream. When a noise sounds distant he stills, blends himself into the shadows and watches the lumbering journey of a mule and her master none the wiser that the world is burning beneath their very feet.
Cynbel ducks his head back inside. “All is clear.” And watches her as Serafine takes great care in sealing the entrance to their secret court with an entire coffin as guise.
As far as he is concerned their alliance ends there. Is already well into the fresh night, getting his bearings on the unfamiliar part of town she has led him to when she notices he no longer stands at her back.
“Arrêtez!”
Her cry stills him though likely not as she intends. His eyes flicking this way and that to reassure himself they are still alone.
“Louder, perhaps,” he snarls low, “I fear the remaining Knights may not have heard you, since you mean to lead them to us!”
“Such is not an unreasonable course of action, as I am quickly beginning to learn.”
If her intention is to get his full attention—it works. “What did you just say to me?”
“I am no fool.”
“A fool’s proclamation.”
“Remorseless even now…” He would be lying if he said this was the first time he has been looked upon with such disgust as Serafine does now. It drips from her every word, from the blood that stains her chin. “But you said so yourself. You take this as a victory — even in the wake of all that has been lost.”
The river must be close, he can hear the lapping of the current against the banks. Foul and putrid as ever but with it, faint but very much there, the smell of burning flesh.
Likely it will cling to Paris; her streets, her people, her dead, for years to come.
With a single step Cynbel crosses the distance he had tried to put between them. Cups her face in broad hands and tilts her up to the light of the nearest lantern. Beautiful now even more than below; the blood-red dress splattered on her cheeks and throat… lingering in her eyes…
“Let us dispense with these games Mademoiselle Dupont,” he croons close, breathes against her lips with a lover’s intimacy, “I abhor them so. I see it there—you think it hidden in your eyes but not as well as you would hope.
“You have a question as I have an answer. But… you cannot have one without the other.”
The same performance on a different stage. Still surrounded by the dead as they were in the crypts like no time had passed. Fulfilling, almost.
And with the knowledge that should she even attempt to wrench herself away the woman would only succeed in snapping her own neck.
But her hesitation is an insult. Cynbel tightens his hold; feels the scraping grind of her jawbones together like music to his ears.
“Paris is my home, my love; my life. Were the ranks of the faithful closing in on our people… I—I would have known.” Though it sounds awfully like she’s trying to remind herself rather than tell him. “I would have known if the Knights knew of the catacombs. I would have known.”
“Apparently not.”
“You brought them down upon us.”
“I did.”
“Upon your own kind.”
“A debate of philosophy for another time.”
And when she finally—finally—asks it is broken, strangled. The strength of her swept out in a single tear rolling down her cheek.
“Why?”
“Because he loves us as much as we love him.”
Serafine takes advantage of his immediate relief; pulls herself free. Maybe even means to flee, to find other survivors and maybe even the Godmaker himself to announce his deeds with violent condemnation.
But however fast she is Isseya is faster. Strikes down their hostess with the back of her hand and rides the high of conquest (that he gave her, though he doesn’t expect to hear thanks any time soon) with a well-placed foot.
Crack. Her lower leg shatters within. Her screams fill the air loud enough to wake — well, the dead.
Cynbel’s eyes flutter shut when he feels the familiar permanence at his back. Turns his head unbidden and offers his neck into the vice of Valdas’ grasp. Feels the familiar shape of Isseya’s body molding against his side and feels complete with it.
Serafine looks up at them through grit fangs and bloody spittle. Her eyes a torch ablaze on a stormy night; the passion—rage—fierce but flickering near-dead.
“You risked…” blood dribbling down her chin, “all our lives… Lives you do not know—the very existence of our kind here…”
“True enough.”
Everything — every death a debt paid, every fight a test — was worth it. For this.
For them.
“But your lives are a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
#bloodbound#bloodbound fic#kamilah sayeed#gaius augustine#serafine dupont#oc: cynbel#oc: isseya#oc: valdas#oblv: bound by choice#oblv: new chapter
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9. why were you drawn to each one of your characters?
Blue Surana:
Blue is my first OC ever in any fandom so she’s very near and dear to me. She was from when I first played Origins and was micromanaging with guides (like 6 Wiki tabs open) every steps of the way. She was “perfect” and “overpowered” in the amount of people she was able to save and the things she was able to do and somehow figure out, but still socially inept (like me irl..) with her relationships (luckily I had DLC gifts to buy everyone’s affections). She was remarkable capable as an Arcane Warrior/Spirit Healer/Battle Mage but still awkward, quiet, detached from everything (in the end she ended up alone because Alistair broke off their very brief romance). When I left gaming for a while then came back, I started head-canoning stuff for her. A lot.
That’s when I realized she reminded me of someone important to me. A non blood-related cousin still in his teenage years. He’s high-functioning autistic and just..one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. He doesn’t talk much but does well in school and athletics. A lot of inspiration of Blue when I was getting her “Tumblr ready” came from him. She’s her own person now and someone I do actual research for sometimes to get her correct, and she still stumps me. Which is what I love about her. I feel like she’s my OC who most shows/tells me who they are rather than the other way around. I’m still figuring her out.
Isseya Mahariel:
I have a crush on her. Hands down. While Blue was capable and quiet, she cared what people thought about her. She wanted to do the right thing to please everyone, or as many people as she could, and she usually succeeded. Isseya doesn’t give a fuck. She’s self-reliant, efficient, and she gets the job she thinks should get done the way she thinks is best to do it. Lazer focus, fiery temper, but resolute, strong in her beliefs and her self confidence. She’s a hero people write stories about. She could step on me and I’d thank her. Isseya is definitely not perfect, she’s prideful, impatient, slow to form bonds and cut ties quickly, and honestly, yeah she’s a bitch. But she’s good at what she does, embracing Warden Commander and Arlessa life and adapting quickly to succeed in both (in kind of a ruthless way but still). A contrast to my Surana who walked away from both roles.
Alyss Amell:
My third and final play-through of Dragon Age Origins (for now) and I realized I wanted to shake things up. My Surana and Mahariel both are arguably great heroes. They can hold their own in battle and make tough decisions. I wanted to try something a little closer to home. Alyss was the OC I was sure no one would like but me. She’s not the hero type at all. Soft, cowardly, cries easily, a terrible offensive fighter. She has a good heart but makes bad choices based off of fear or other emotions. She made deals with demons to learn blood magic, she took sides (werewolves over elves) when she could have saved everyone if she had more confidence, and she could never speak up (even to ask Alistair to do the Dark Ritual). Her only Redemption was in death when she slayed the archdemon (Alistair did most of the work but she dealt the final blow). She wanted her life to mean something even if she was such a screw up.
When I started writing my Multi Warden AU the first thing I was happy to do was save her. After Origins, if given the chance to live, she grows so much. More than any other of my OC’s she has the most character growth between Origins and Inquisition in both skill and personality. I’m really proud of her.
Kieran Tabris:
Ah my angry son. He was the first of the 4 Warden Companions I made for my Multi-Warden AU and my first male OC. He originally was based off a mix of two guys I’ve known closely and his general description was “idiotic, self-important asshole. He’s really pretty and loves himself and fighting things”. He’s actually stayed fairly close to his original character, but as he kind of deepened into his own person (and people were really receptive to him. He’s probably my most popular OC) I grew such a soft spot for him and his struggle to learn Common Tongue, his love for his mother, his almost desperate effort to connect with people as friends and his inability (or so he thinks/so i thought) to be more than friends (a lot of my love for him comes from his relationship with @dickeybbqpit Darrian Tabris).
Ronan Aeducan:
Shortly into starting to plot out my Multi-Warden AU I noticed something… They were all a bunch of kids. Blue was 18, Isseya was 19, even Alyss was only 21 (now that I’m 24 I realize how young that still is). I needed someone to be like a “big brother”, a “Wise mentor”, a “voice of reason” to these disaster children. And then 27 year-old Ronan was just like “…nah”. He took up a personality of his own: detached, unmotivated, capable but uninterested in dealing with things. He will rise to the occasion when he absolutely has to but most of the time just hangs back and tells everyone they need to chill (which they do). I respect that. Also he understands Blue Surana better than anyone (probably better than me) and can speak for her and take care of her. I love him for that.
Nora Brosca:
I’m honestly really biased towards mages, then elves. So it’s not what she is but who she is that draws me in. Nora is just so full of jokes, and laughter, and will to live despite everything that’s happened to her. All of the Origins are pretty sad/tragic, and most of my Wardens carry it with them. But she doesn’t. She only looks forward and I like that.
Cassian Cousland:
I may have mentioned before that Cassian was built last to fill in where my other OC’s were lacking. But then he just became such a good guy on his own merits (and a good boyfriend to other OC’s) that I just became enchanted with him too. Some people have lamented to me that they wish he was bi because he’d be so sweet to their female OC’s or that their female OC has a crush on him anyways, and honestly, same. I started feeling towards him what me and my female Inquisitor felt towards Dorian Pavus when we first met him. A wistful *sigh* “if only…”Then that’s when I knew I wrote a good character if he’s so likeable even I sigh that I can’t have him. But like Dorian Pavus, he remains completely strictly gay and perfect just the way he is :)
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MultiMuse Asks
#red warden squad#answered asks#thank you for asking <3#mocha-writes#my ocs#my muses#long post#i got carried away writing this thank you so much for asking though
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