#ishal mahariel

[queen-scribbles]

Highly tempted to make the Guardian ask Trinne about something else, bc her getting "did you fail Jowan when the templar caught him while you were helping him escape?" feels like real small potatoes next to

Wynne getting asked if she ever doubts the core of her beliefs

Alistair getting asked if he wishes he was dead instead of Duncan

Harvey getting asked if he failed his parents when he left them in a situation where he knew they would die never mind they told him to

but the only other options that would be a comparable knife twist for her are not being able to heal Bryce during the escape from Castle Cousland and not being able to heal Harvey after That Damned Ogre(the latter more than the former, that messed her up), and idk it would feel weird to use either of those with Harvey right there. xD

[dellamortethelesser]

putting some of my favorite shots from the dao cutscene before you start the tower of ishal. includes 1) the chantry sister with her incense amidst the soldiers 2) the soldier beginning to turn coward before he is stopped 3) the archers preparing to fire at the hordes 4) duncan and cailan's wince when one of the dogs is killed 5+6) alistair and mahariel witnessing the first fall of the ruins from two angles. also some of these were def mentioned to me by @zevsurana so i made sure to pay attention and grab them lol

[bisexualalistairtheirin]

I'm so unused to not having the Mabari that I straight up forgot to give it the flower and only noticed something was amiss when we were arriving in Lothering.

[heniareth]

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 3: The Battle Begins

(Full chapter on AO3 or continued below)

Wordcount: 4046

WARNINGS:

general darkspawn hivemind weirdness

some body horror (screaming blood)

death, description of death

the horrors of war (anxiety-inducing)

canon-typical violence

Sulri returned a while after, walking straight towards them. She looked solemn and somber, as if bearing bad news. Astala saw her expression with a twinge of worry. Were they in big trouble?

Sulri tapped Khêd on the shoulder. Khêd didn’t look up and flipped her off. Sulri let out an exasperated huff, crouched down in front of him and started signing away. Khêd avoided looking at her, but Sulri was insistent Finally, something she said made Khêd pay attention. Sulri said something more. Khêd’s mouth was a tight line, but then he relaxed. Forcefully. Astala had no idea someone could be relaxed in such a tense way.

“Fine,” Khêd said, shrug casual and not. “Let’s hear it.”

Sulri gave him a sweet smile and positioned herself so that all three of them could see her. As she started talking, Khêd translated:

“The battle is looking bad. The strategy they will use is solid, but the king’s armies are severely outnumbered, and he refuses to retreat and wait for reinforcements from his uncle in Redcliffe. I tried to help him see reason, but it didn’t work. Tonight will likely end in a defeat for the king’s army.”

Astala felt the palms of her hands starting to sweat. She exchanged a glance with Ilanlas. Maybe they could still leave?

“Fortunately,” Khêd continued his translation, “we will be away from the battlefield- we will!?”

Sulri threw Khêd a scolding look, which he didn’t even acknowledge.

“I’ll throw my beard into the Ancestors’ graves, this is the best bit of news I’ve had in years. Hah!”

He jumped up and pumped his fist in the air. Sulri crossed her arms, evidently not impressed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, salroka,” Khêd said in a mocking tone. “I’ve seen enough 'locks up close for a lifetime and a half.”

“You are a Grey Warden,” Ilanlas said. “You will see many more.”

“Do you all have to dim the lights?” Khêd said and sighed. “I’m happy about this, okay? Let me have that!”

Ilanlas raised his eyebrows, but shrugged and said nothing more. Khêd shook his head as he sat down.

“I am glad to see the Warden-Captain didn’t catch you,” Sulri continued and turned to Khêd. “Although he will probably suspect it was you.”

Khêd sighed. “Of course he would.”

“Who is the Warden-Captain?” Astala asked.

“Duncan’s right hand,” Khêd said. “Pale. Bald. Tall, but all of you sods are tall.”

Sulri signed something, which Khêd didn’t bother to or didn’t want to translate.

“He was with us down in the Deep Roads and was the one to take over when Duncan left,” Khêd continued.

“You don’t like him?” Astala asked.

Khêd’s only answer was a shrug.

“Alright...” Astala turned to Sulri. “How do you know Teyrn Loghain?”

Surli made a shooing motion with her hand and shook her head.

Now that was forthcoming.

Astala leaned back on her hands to look up at the sky. Despite the strong wind, the dark, oily clouds above were progressing slowly. They crawled along like slugs, blocking out the sun and casting the world into an ever growing shadow. She didn’t like this weather. She’d seen a lot of clouds and storms—living next to the Waking Sea did that—but nothing like this. It felt off. The wind had a thinness to it that made her shiver.

“Aren’t they weird?” she asked Ilanlas, pointing upwards.

Ilanlas looked up and stared at the dark mass above them for a while.

“They look like darkspawn blood feels,” he said.

“Oh, great,” Khêd said with a wary glance upwards. “Now the void above our heads is acting weird.”

-

Shortly afterwards all wardens started to gather around the tent with the large map. Khêd suggested they keep to the back of the group, so they would be as far away as possible from the Warden-Captain. They sat down, mercifully overshadowed by a few wardens standing slightly in front and to their left. Alistair was in the middle of the group, being wrangled around by a huge blond warden saying something about ale and celebrating. The other wardens around him laughed. The air was filled with the dull roaring of mutliple conversations happening all over the group. When Duncan stepped up to the map, which had been hung up so everybody could see it, silence immediately fell over the whole fifty wardens.

She could feel it clearly now. The blood in every body answered to Duncan’s presence and the Blight in his veins. Behind Duncan stood the Warden-Captain, and the other warden with the brown skin and the grey eyes.

Duncan explained tonight’s strategy in quick, precise terms. King Cailan, along with all Grey Wardens, would meet the darkspawn horde at the front of his armies in the gulf that cut the hill in two. The king’s armies would feign weakness—and hopefully they’d have to put effort into their feigning—and gradually retreat up the gulf. Once the darkspawn had been drawn in far enough, Teyrn Loghain would join the battle with the rest of the men, attacking the darkspawn from behind. So far, so good.

Duncan then went into detail explaining where specialized taskforces would be; the warden archers, for examples, of which there were twelve, and their mages, of which there was… one.

“If the Archdemon appears, I want everybody to focus on it,” Duncan said. “We are the only ones who can slay the beast. Even if the king himself is about to be overrun, or I am about to die, I do not care. You will focus on the Archdemon. Understood?”

A murmur of assent washed over the crowd.

“How will we get the Archdemon to land?” somebody asked.

Duncan nodded at the brown-skinned, silver-eyed warden next to him. “I leave this to Palla.”

The warden stepped forward and let their gaze sweep over the crowd. When they spoke, their voice was quiet, but carried far.

“In my time as a dragon hunter, we tried many things. Chains, big nets, magic. Best method? Cut their wings. Beasts can’t fly on broken wings.”

They looked over the crowd again, eyes wandering from face to face. When they landed on Astala, it felt as if someone was running the serrated edge of a rusty blade along her teeth.

“You’ve all seen the beast,” Palla continued. “You know what it looks like. As soon as it appears, Herán and his archers will scatter and aim at its wings. Mahieu, you and the Circle mages will also engage as long as it is within range. As will the soldiers manning the ballistae. We have some hope that the ombined efforts will injure it badly enough that it will be forced to land. From there, approach until you are within range and fire at will. Do not worry about the horde; they will want us others dead first.”

“With all due respect, if I may.” Onastas clambered to his feet from the middle of the crowd. “This is not a dragon hunt. This is a battle. Our placement on the field will see us surrounded and overrun within minutes.”

As soon as Khêd finished translating that bit, Sulri nodded emphatically.

“It’s also the position closest to the archdemon,” Palla answered with a shrug.

“You are correct, Onastas,” Duncan said. “Unfortunately, the king commands this army, and we are under orders to be front and center in this assault.”

“Well,” Onastas replied, “did the king ever say if all of us had to be at the front? Couldn’t we-?”

“I suspect I know where this is going, and your idea is appreciated,” Duncan said. “But I’m afraid we can’t loophole our way out of this. The teyrn already thinks us little better than Orlesian chevaliers. We cannot afford to even appear insubordinate.”

Onastas seemed to want to insist. In the end, however, he shrugged and sat back down.

“Remember,” Palla continued, “dragons are weakest along the throat and the belly. Once the Archdemon has been forced down, aim for those spots.”

“What about the neck?” another warden asked. “I once heard a chevalier tell he chopped a dragon’s head off with an axe.”

“That chevalier was lying,” Palla said flatly. “Regardless, do not climb onto the Archdemon unless it is no longer moving. And if anybody somehow manages to stab it in the neck, they better make peace with the fact that they just dealt the killing blow.”

Silence hushed over the group. Duncan stepped up again.

“Our newest recruits will not be with us on the battlefield,” he said. “They have been given the task of lighting the signal that will tell teyrn Loghain when to march. Alistair, you will go with them.”

“What!?” Alistair jumped up. “I won’t be in the battle?”

“It is an important task,” Duncan replied. “If the beacon is not lit, teyrn Loghain will not know when to charge.”

“So he needs, what, five Grey Wardens standing there holding the torch, just in case?” Alistair said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“If that is the only thing you can think of doing while you wait to light the signal, then yes,” Duncan said.

“But why can’t we be in the battle and just leave early?” Alistair pressed.

“No,” Duncan answered. “Once the darkspawn and the king’s armies have made contact, you will have one hour to enter the tower of Ishal and get to the top. Once we give you the signal, you will light the beacon. After that, you will stay with the teyrn’s men and guard the tower. If we need you, we will send word. This is by the king’s orders. Understood?”

“I…” Alistair hesitated, and then his shoulders slumped. “Yes, Duncan.”

“Good.”

“But,” Alistair added, lifting his head once more, “if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold, I’m drawing the line.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Khêd mumbled.

Astala set out to say something when the sunlight, choked as it already was by the clouds, became pale and sharp. A shadow fell over the camp—no. Not a shadow. It was more like a scream, or a call, vibrating through her bones. Her head snapped left, as did the heads of all the other Wardens. Something was humming in her blood, words that were none, an order: and her blood pulled.

Then it was gone again.

Astala let out a shaky breath. Khêd had gone pale, Sulri had grown still. Ilanlas had his hand on the pommel of his dagger, knuckles white as fresh ash. The other wardens exchanged uneasy and, in a few cases, knowing glances.

“Well, we have all heard that,” Duncan said. “Let us prepare for battle. The darkspawn are marching.”

-

Everything went very fast after that. People finished putting on armor and checked their weapons one last time. Somebody helped her with the chain mail after she’d pulled the fear-soaked gambeson, to which she'd add her own fear now, over her head. The metal rings dragged on her shoulders, heavier than any crate she’d ever carried, and Astala needed a moment to find her footing. Immediately, the breastplate was fastened to her. Her heart was beating a harsh thump-thump-thump in its new metal case.

People were saying goodbye: an embrace, a pat on the shoulder. Promises to stay safe and meet for drinks after the battle. Forehead pressed against forehead, eyes closed. Somebody was kneeling in a corner, praying quietly. A tear-streaked face; a tightly gripped shield; a dog scratched behind the ears as if it were the last time; shouts and screams and steps, marching, running, thousands of footfalls. The mass of people would’ve swept her away if it hadn’t been for Sulri grabbing her belt before she wandered off.

Astala took a deep breath. She had a sword, stolen as it may be. She had a dagger, taken from a corpse killed with the stolen sword. Maker preserve her family; she wished she could say goodbye to them again.

“Are you ready?” Ilanlas asked.

Astala took another breath and let it go. Shaky. It didn’t stop shaking. She shook her head.

Ilanlas gave her back a tentative pat. “It will be alright.”

“We don’t know that,” Astala choked out.

“Who’s the old ball of cheer now,” Khêd said. He knocked his shoulder into her back and sent her stumbling forward a few steps. “Shake yourself out of it, duster. Not the time to lose your head.”

Astala swallowed and nodded and rubbed her thumb over the pommel of her sword. Up and down, up and down, up and down.

The Grey Wardens left. Helmets on, so that their faces were obscured, they marched. The mage was passing his staff from one hand to the other, but his face was grim. Alistair stood at the edge of the wardens’ encampment. He got his hair ruffled once or twice, a squeeze on the shoulder, a nod, a few words. Duncan handed him something, which he tucked away. When Duncan turned around, Alistair looked like he wanted to run after him. He stayed. The wardens left. Alistair’s shoulders looked heavy. The expression on his face was downright miserable.

The blue and grey and the proud griffon banner disappeared into the gorge that split the hill in two. The rest of the army, grey and golden, or red, or green, each after their leader’s color, followed behind.

She hadn’t sent money back to Denerim.

Alistair turned around, and looked at the four of them in the middle of this now deserted camp. Astala rubbed the pommel of her sword. Should she do something? Say something?

“Right.” Alistair cleared his throat. “Well. We might be able to find a good spot from which to watch so we know when to start moving.”

Sulri signed something, which Khêd translated: “Will you be leading us?”

“Yes.” Alistair stood up straighter. “You all know me by now, and I know the way you fight. Not that we’ll encounter much to fight anyways, but…” He trailed off, looking down towards the bend around which the Grey Wardens had disappeared. He sighed, shook his head and continued. “Anyways, let’s go round once and see if we can get everybody’s skillset down. Astala, sword and dagger.”

Astala nodded.

“You’ll be with me at the front, then.” Alistair said.

“Me too.” Khêd heaved a big sigh and strapped his shield to his arm. “Should’ve learned how to handle a crossbow. My eyesight isn’t even that bad.”

“I will stay back,” Ilanlas said while he strung his bow. “But, should you have need of knives, I will step up.”

“I don’t think we’ll need that,” Alsitairs said with a small smile. “Surli has us covered, right?”

Sulri nodded and demonstratively held up a dagger and an earthen jar with a tight lid on it.

“Right,” Alistair said again, much more firmly. “Let’s move.”

 - 

They positioned themselves as close to the bridge as they could. One of the giant ballistae was about twenty steps to their right. Three soldiers were manning it, talking quietly amongst themselves. Despite all of the soldiers leaving, the camp was by no means empty. Servants, elven and human, were still running around. The sad-looking mage with the Andrastian sunburst on his forehead stood there. The infirmary was still up and running. It would probably be filled to bursting once the battle here was done.

Below them, the king’s half of the army, the Circle mages and the Grey Wardens were taking up position. The clouds had closed above them. The sky and the gorge both were dark; only the glow of thousands of torches and the slight sheen they left on metal armor told them were the army was situated. The wind shifted slightly. Astala caught a whiff of incense. From the darkness below rose the Chant of Light. The Revered Mother and her Chantry sisters were down with the soldiers.

Was this how the Maker saw the world? Terrified people, singing up to him from the darkness.

A slightly sour smell was the only warning they got. Shortly after, rain started falling down on them.

“Your void is crying,” Khêd said, almost accusingly so, and lifted his shield over his head.

The rain fell heavier, splattering against the stone, their armor, and onto the battlefield below. Fighting in the mud had to be exhausting. Astala was glad she didn’t have to wear anything in front of her mouth and nose though.

“Elgar’nan, wie la gus, anaris’ven haminfor,” Ilanlas muttered quietly.

As if answering him, a sudden burst of lightning illuminated the sky and the gorge below them, flashing over the armor of the king’s army. The roll of thunder that followed was deep, but still far off. The wind kicked up and blew the rain into their faces. Astala sought refuge behind a stone pillar.

Ilanlas, face turned up towards the churning sky, quietly sang to himself.

Another strike of lightning, this one much closer. The thunder crashed into her ears with a loud bang followed by a rolling as if of tons of stone. Shouts rang out behind them. A couple of elves were running to the nearest shelter, ducking and shielding themselves from the rain. At the infirmary, somebody was tying down the tents’ canvases.

Why were these people still here?

“Elgar’nan, pa-ada, din’heema elgara, ar dar’ara. Ma’en nan el.”

A third strike of lightning left her seeing nothing but white for a moment, and the following thunder roared with vengeance above them. Then Alistair peered over the crumbling balustrade, and Ilanlas did too. A heartbeat later, Astala could feel it: itching, creeping through her veins like a hum, her blood was singing.

Torches, small pinpricks of light, appeared in the darkness of the Korcari Wilds.

The darkspawn approached silently dragging some sort of mist with them out of the swamp. The torches tinted it a flaming red. The howling wind carried their stench all the way up to them. In the gorge, a dog started barking, then another. Then the whole pack joined in. King Cailan’s army greeted the darkspawn with a fierce war cry. Swords banged against shields and thousands of voices rose towards the sky: defiant, challenging, ready for battle.

The voices thinned as more and more torches rolled in, like a slow-spreading wildfire.

Her blood screamed.

For a moment, both armies stood still, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Astala felt it before she heard it: from within the darkspawn ranks came a deep, hoarse bellow of an order. Shrieks picked up, growls and howls pierced the air. Underlying it all was that faint, whispered gibberish she kept hearing in the back of her head. The deep, throaty laugh hummed through her bones. She pressed closer to the stone pillar, made herself small. Like a black wave, the darkspawn army surged forward.

A faint call from below. Something pulled, made her stand up straight again. Duncan. Another call, followed by sharp whistling as arrows rose into the sky like snakes and plunged down into the black mass of the darkspawn. Astala felt the impact. More arrows followed. A fireball drew a smoking arc through the sky and exploded in a cacophony of shrieks, sending darkspawn flying. More followed.

The darkspawn pressed forward.

Another fireball—but this one flew wrong. It detonated in the middle of the king’s army. Those people were dead. She could hear their screams, saw their bodies being flung up into the air.

Alistair cursed loudly. “Void take those emissaries!”

Hounds were let loose against the ranks of the darkspawn. At another barked order, the king’s army pulled itself together. Among fire and arrows, another battle cry rose into the air. The army moved. They followed their hounds into the ranks of the darkspawn army. The dark tip of their spear were the Grey Wardens. Her heart thundered in her chest as if she was holding the beating hearts of all fifty of them. Another strike of lightning, thunder, a fireball struck a nearby ruin.

More and more, the screams of the wounded and dying mixed with the clash of metal and the tearing of flesh.

“They’ve clashed,” Alistair shouted over battle, wind and thunder. “Let’s move! Across the bridge and to the tower, go!”

They ran. The wind hit them like a wave in the storm. Her hands started to tingle; she wanted to draw her weapons. Not now. Not while running. The bridge was lined with archers, trebuchets, ballistae. They ran past them. Something zipped past her and she only recognized it as an arrow when the soldier in front of her fell backwards, feathered shaft sticking out of her face. Astala’s feet carried her over the corpse before she realized it was a corpse, and then she ran for her life. The chain mail dragged her down.

She only stopped when she was safe in the shadow of the crumbling archway on the other side of the bridge, panting and gasping and tasting blood at the back of her tongue. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Astala leaned against the column. In front of her lay the long road by which they’d arrived at Ostagar only yesterday. It was covered in mist, beaten by wind and rain. Screams and the sound of carnage echoed up behind her.

She left the column, stumbled further away from the bridge, braced herself against her tree and fought to keep her lunch down.

At first she thought the two people running towards her through mist and wind and rain were her companions. Then she realized they were coming from the wrong direction; the bridge was behind her, the people in front. Astala drew her blades, backed away from the tree. The first was upon her. With a scream, Astala lunged towards the dark figure.

The man yelped and threw himself to the ground. Astala blinked and recognized the robes of a mage. The man hastily crawled away from her.

“Sorry!” Astala stepped away. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Maker preserve us!” the man whimpered, but stopped crawling.

Astala got a better look at his face. He looked like he was about a decade older than her, was soaked with rain, and deadly pale. His weird, pointy cloth hat was hanging askew, covering one of his ears while leaving the other along with the whole side of his head exposed to the elements.

Behind him, another figure approached—another soldier. Judging by the armor, he wasn’t part of the king’s army, or of any noble’s house. He roughly yanked the mage up, then fixed Astala with slightly wild eyes.

“You’re Grey Wardens, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Astala said and lowered her blades.

A slight hum in her blood, steps behind her, and then a rain-drenched Ilanlas appeared next to her. Alistair and the dwarves followed quickly after. Ilanlas looked past the two men towards the rampart that led to the tower of Ishal.

“Captain Walton,” the soldier said, pointing at himself. “The tower’s been taken.”

“What’re you talking about, man? Taken how?” Alistair yelled over the wind.

“The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers. They’re everywhere!” Captain Walton threw a fearful glance back. “Most of my men are dead!”

“Well, we have to get in,” Alistair said and set in motion. “Come with us, we might be able to save some of yours.”

That seemed enough for the captain and the mage. The seven of them made their way up the ramparts.

“Three close by,” Ilanlas said as they ran. He began to drift away from the group, pulled an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it on his bowstring. “Some others further in.”

“Hurlocks and genlocks, and one alpha at the door,” Alistair added.

Astala felt it now too: one pull, faint, towards the battlefield. The other, sickening, towards the tower.

Alistair drew his sword and readied his shield. “Astala and Khêd, keep close. Let’s show these bastards.”

They rounded a corner. Screams greeted them. There were two soldiers, about to be overwhelmed by several darkspawn. Alistair roared and charged, Khêd hot on his heels, teeth bared, shield high. Astala followed closely. Silver streaked around her. She didn’t know if it was rain or more arrows.

---

TRANSLATIONS:

- “Elgar’nan, wie la gus, anaris’ven haminfor”: "Elgar'nan, wrath and thunder, strike our foes down." - “Elgar’nan, pa-ada, din’heema elgara, ar dar’ara. Ma’en nan el.”: "Elgar'nan, All-Father, Sun-Slayer, here I am. Let me have vengeance. 

All bits and bobs of elvhen constructed with the help of Dalicious’ Elvhen Dictionary

[carinavet]

I'm re-reading The Calling and kind of loving the reminder that the Grey Wardens are ... a bit fucked up as an organization, actually.

Like, as an audience, our introduction to the Wardens is pretty heavily romanticized. It's just you and Alistair, with Alistair telling you stories of The Good Old Days of being with the other Wardens (for the like two whole weeks he was a Warden without you). And Duncan -- but even your own experience of Duncan is vastly different depending on the origin you choose. To Mahariel, Surana, Brosca ... he's a hero a saviour. To Cousland ... he is your captor, the man who forced you to leave your parents behind to die, whose mission doesn't allow for distractions like revenge.

And then we get to the Joining, For Mahariel, the Joining is salvation.

For Ser Jory ... not so much.

And all the secrecy! It's presented as a necessity, but is it really? "But nobody would join if they knew it was a death sentence!" Hate to break it to ya, bud, but joining any military usually is. Here it's just a bit more certain. And shouldn't people like Ser Jory get to make an informed decision? Is it really better for his life to be wasted right there in front of the chalice rather than letting him be another body in the king's army instead?

And I love love love that Loghain's initial motivations in retreating at Ostagar are always presented as hazy. Because from the Wardens' perspective, he abandoned us! The battle could have been won! His paranoia over Orlais has driven him to madness! His personal ambition will destroy Ferelden before the Blight can!

But ... could the battle have been won? Cailan cared only for glory, ignoring the practicalities of war. The Horde was larger than expected, coming up from behind through the Tower of Ishal. Decades before, Loghain had promised Maric that he'd put the lives of his soldiers above the life of the king. Was it really wrong to live to fight another day?

Even the expulsion of the Wardens from Ferelden makes sense in a historical context! Yeah, WE know it's a Blight and we need Wardens to fight it -- but even we don't know WHY Wardens in particular are so essential, thanks again to the Wardens' secrecy! But Ferelden has its own soldiers, and Wardens have betrayed Ferelden before. They claim to be a politically neutral organization, but Sofia Dryden DID try to overthrow the king, and even outnumbered something like 10:1 (I forget the actual numbers) she almost succeeded.

And then theres, y'know *gestures broadly at the Wardens in Inquisition*.

Okay this has gotten long and I'm getting tired, but I am gnawing at the many facets of the Grey Wardens as an organization. It's all so good! It's so complex! It's a military made entirely of people who have sacrificed their own lives to protect the world -- willing or not, current Blight or not -- but people are fucked up and complicated and the ways that idealism intersects with harsh reality is delicious!

[nanowatzophina]

OC Questionnaire! (Warden Edition as well)

Thanks to @dungeons-and-dragon-age for tagging me! I'm gonna do my Wardens as well since... like her, I don't wanna go on too long and... I really would go on too long if I did anything besides my wardens...

Even with just my wardens it's going to go for a while... so I apologize

This is my second time typing this all out-- so bear with me...

NAME: Rosal Surana

NICKNAME: Rose/Rosie? Not a lot of people actually use nicknames for her but those are an option.

GENDER: Female (she/they)

STAR SIGN: ((I don't know enough about Star Signs or Tarot cards so-- I'm just not going to answer these ones)

HEIGHT: Average for an elf

ORIENTATION: Biromantic Asexual

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Ferelden! Born in Denerim to be specific but her mother was a Dalish elf.

FAVORITE FRUIT: Peaches

FAVORITE SEASON: Fall! When the air becomes crisp.

FAVORITE FLOWER: Lilies and Lilacs

FAVORITE SCENT: Floral scents remind her of her mother, Firewood, Old parchment, new books, charcoal

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Hot Chocolate or Chai with honey

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Depends on if she has a new book she's trying to read... But usually like... 5? 5 hours sounds right...

DOGS OR CATS: Both!

DREAM TRIP: A historical trip around different places she's read about!

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: One really thick and fuzzy one.

RANDOM FACT: She can not do healing magic to save her life and yet that won't stop her from trying. That's how she got those scars, trying to heal herself in the fight going up the Tower of Ishal but just making it scar over really badly. But hey, at least it stopped bleeding.

NAME: Lannaris Mahariel

NICKNAME: Lan or Lanna

GENDER: Female (she/her)

HEIGHT: On the shorter side for an elf which makes her pretty short compared to humans.

ORIENTATION: Gay. Lesbian. Women.

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Dalish!

FAVORITE FRUIT: Plums or Blackberries

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring or Summer (before it gets to hot)

FAVORITE FLOWER: Geranium

FAVORITE SCENT: Woodsy, right after rain,

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Herbal tea

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 6. Schedules are important to her.

DOGS OR CATS: Cats, she's actually scared of dogs (which is why she never went to the kennel in Ostagar's camp)

DREAM TRIP: The Arbor Wilds, just to see the trees...

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1-2

RANDOM FACT: Her dream house would be a really cool treehouse. She'd love to live there with Leliana 3 cats and 6 nugs far away from other people... Just them and the forest.

NAME: Fen'nas Mahariel

NICKNAME: Fen!

GENDER: Male (he/they)

HEIGHT: Tall for an elf, around Morrigan's height

ORIENTATION: Bisexual

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Dalish! Was born in the Hinterlands

FAVORITE FRUIT: Berries! Favorite is probably blueberries or raspberries.

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring! He loves the flowers

FAVORITE FLOWER: He loves them all! Though loves Honeysuckle.

FAVORITE SCENT: Floral, Cedar and stronger scented herbs like rosemary and basil.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Chai for sure.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: You guys count? (probably like... 8-9, honestly he probably sleeps in a lot later than he should and stays up later than he should too)

DOGS OR CATS: Either! Doesn't have too much of opinion.

DREAM TRIP: Anywhere with Morrigan <3

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1

RANDOM FACT: He loves halla. He was really hoping that he'd one day get to be a caretaker for them. He loved to feed them and brush them whenever he wasn't off hunting or patrolling for the clan.

NAME: Alana Cousland

NICKNAME: Pup (her father is the only one allowed to call her that though) Rose (Alistair only)

GENDER: Female (she/her)

HEIGHT: Average?

ORIENTATION: Demi

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Ferelden!

FAVORITE FRUIT: Oranges and Pears (not together... just... depending on her mood??? or what's in season?)

FAVORITE SEASON: Summer

FAVORITE FLOWER: Doesn't think much of flowers, honestly.

FAVORITE SCENT: Stables and gardens. Which I guess is to say manure but that doesn't sound like a good scent even though that's what it is... Earthy smells like that.

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee... with a lot of sugar and cream.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 6

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs. 100% Man's best friend.

DREAM TRIP: Adventure off somewhere, anywhere. It doesn't matter... just away from Ferelden.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 3-4

RANDOM FACT: She would actively scare away suitors, much to her Mother's chagrin... She would be purposefully blunt and rude in social situations and tease people relentlessly until they left her alone. She used to see being married off as the most torturous future possible. She also dislikes dresses. And probably wears pants around the castle to everyone's horror.

NAME: Solan Aeducan

NICKNAME: Sol, Nug

GENDER: Female (they/she)

HEIGHT: Short? Considering she's a dwarf? But probably a normal height for them.

ORIENTATION: LESBIAN.

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Orzammarian

FAVORITE FRUIT: Strawberries

FAVORITE SEASON: Any of them but Winter. She HATES the cold.

FAVORITE FLOWER: Orchid, though she's come to love most flowers, she didn't know there was quite so many of them just growing everywhere you looked.

FAVORITE SCENT: Steel, Fire, the smell of home, but also the smell of a clear night, and the expensive perfumes Leliana wears

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee. Black.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 5 but she doesn't need that much.

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs

DREAM TRIP: The Deep Roads, she always dreamed of going deep and finding a new Thaig, finding long forgotten treasures and gold and being an adventurer finding lost places down in the deep.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: All of them. Why is it so sodding cold on the surface??

RANDOM FACT: She loves the stars. It took a little bit to adjust but the stars were likely the first things she found truly beautiful about the surface after being cast out of her home. She loves finding constellations and learning the stories of them. She feels more connected to them than she ever did the Stone, though she would never admit it... except to Leli

NAME: Iris Tabris

NICKNAME: Petal, Little Flower

GENDER: Female (she/her) ((look at all this variety I have right?))

HEIGHT: Tall for an elf, average for a human

ORIENTATION: Asexual

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Ferelden Alienage elf!

FAVORITE FRUIT: Grapes, sweet ones

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: Iris, it was her mother's favorite, which is why she was named after it.

FAVORITE SCENT: Floral scents, smell of fresh baked bread, cinnamon

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Hot Chocolate with lots of whipped cream

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 7-8. Sleep is important.

DOGS OR CATS: Cats, generally dislikes dogs though her mabari hound is a very strong exception.

DREAM TRIP: To big cities in other countries, like in Orlais or Antiva... She would love to see what their architecture looks like.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1, but only if it's very soft.

RANDOM FACT: Iris is really sensitive to textures and physical touch. It makes finding outfits a little difficult for her, considering Ferelden (probably) doesn't have a lot of great options in the way of textures, but because of that she got pretty good at making alterations to outfits. She is generally touch averse, though with permission, which Alistair is sure to always ask for, she's usually fine.

-----

blank meme:

NAME:

NICKNAME:

GENDER:

STAR SIGN: 

HEIGHT:

ORIENTATION:

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY:

FAVORITE FRUIT:

FAVORITE SEASON:

FAVORITE FLOWER:

FAVORITE SCENT:

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE:

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP:

DOGS OR CATS:

DREAM TRIP:

NUMBER OF BLANKETS:

RANDOM FACT:

[wren--bee]

Three DAO fics

@ithinkthiswasabadidea inspired/encouraged me to share my fics so… I am doing that!

 These were written during my last playthrough of Origins, where I came to see a few things about my character differently. They’re three quickly written moments from within the game, with a heavy spin of my Mahariel’s journey and shifting relationship with Alistair, and a little headcanon in there too.

 (Theron Mahariel, Dalish elf, blood mage with rogue/dual wield abilities- heavily modded game. Romanced Zevran, had something of a queerplatonic relationship going on with Alistair at the end.)

 (I might do the same with my Alistair-romancing Cousland, but that would be written from scratch, since I didn’t write fics for her last time I played her!)

Moment one- Theron, the ogre, and Falon’Din (Tower of Ishal at Ostagar)

Preamble

 Theron’s vallaslin is of Falon’Din, guide of the dead. I didn’t originally choose it for any meaning, but by the time I was attached to it I was also attached to the idea of the god. But I never quite understood Theron’s relationship to death- it was something he was comfortable with, for sure, and he was good at bringing it about. But beyond that I wasn’t sure- until I got to the animation of Theron killing the ogre, and I saw… something. And things clicked into place. (It’s also based off something I saw someone post about the tower.)

Warning- bit gorey.

The fic

 They were dead.

 Theron knew it. He suspected Alistair did as well. The tower guards accompanying them probably had known it too- briefly, before not knowing anything at all.

 Theron wondered if the darkspawn knew, when their time came- did they feel the clutches of death upon them, look upon the one who brought it, and find a peace in the end, however unfair?

 Probably not.

 His ribs hurt. His blood burned. His arms ached, his magic spent, his gloves a strange combination of slick and tacky with blood- some of it his own. 

 One last push- a leap of faith, literally, Falon’Din’s name in his heart and his lungs, to give him long enough for what was needed before guiding him from this place- he nearly fell from his blades, hanging from where he had sank them into the ogre’s chest, but the impact instead toppled it and he clung to his daggers and to it, it’s heat and stench rolling over him.

 It was dead, too. But it still moved, body not entirely aware of that fact, and he managed to wrench one blade from where the throat and the chest met- 

 There was a brief moment as he stared into it’s eyes. They were dead- not in the way that he had killed it’s body, but in a way that implied they had never truly been alive. No soul to be guided to any resting place, only darkness and taint, but he felt a connection to it anyway, a closeness, an intimacy.

 He slammed the blade into the eye socket.

 A small but violent upheaval in the ogre’s body and then it lay still; a small geyser of blood, blinding and vile, nearly splashed into his own eyes. He used his hand as a shield, looking down into the dead darkspawn’s face for another moment.

 He had killed before, of course- although recently it had mostly been creatures corrupted or already dead and reanimated. There was always something… special about it. To end a life to preserve that of his people was a sacred thing- how many times had he guided animals to Falon’Din to nourish his clan? Or ended a threat? Those were lives, real and vibrant- and the darkspawn were not. 

 And yet. It still felt somewhat… right. To do what needed to be done- to end them, by magic or blade. 

  He managed to yank both blades free while Alistair lit the beacon- he’d die with them on his person, not buried in some corrupt creature, his blades from his clan, all he had left. He staggered off the giant body of the ogre- barely keeping his feet- and stumbled over to where Alistair had collapsed next to the beacon, now lit, their job done. Every movement hurt- in places it should not, inside his chest, lower down, all blurring together in one blend of pain that was more distant than it should have been.

 He welcomed that. He managed to slide down the wall next to Alistair who looked up at him. Blood clogged one eye- the Warden (his fellow Warden, his mind managed to recall, I’ll die here with a shem as my brother)- the Warden managed to grin.

 “Hey, we did it. Guess now we wait for the good news, huh?”

 Theron took in a breath to reply and pain- sharp and unwelcome- cut through the fuzziness. He coughed instead. Each cough hurt. Each breath hurt.

 Finally he had enough breath to respond.

 “Right. Just… just have to wait for word from Duncan, right?”

 “Yep. Keeping me out the battle again. Hah.” Alistair’s breathing didn’t sound great either- better than Theron’s. He tried to sit up to look down at the sh- the hu- at his fellow Warden. The attempt didn’t work. The pain flashed again and he flopped back down, only serving to move closer to Alistair, head flopping against the armour on his arm with a donk.

 That was nice. He wasn’t alone. It wasn’t his clan- but if they were both Wardens, it sort of was, wasn’t it? Yeah. That worked.

 He started to recite a prayer to Falon’Din in his mind- not trusting his voice to finish it- asking for guidance to the Beyond, for peace. 

 To find Tamlen there.

 He didn’t get far- or get lost in his thoughts- before Alistair’s voice intruded.

 “Hey. I’ll look good with an eyepatch, right?”

 “Oh.” He wouldn’t wear an eyepatch. He wouldn’t get the chance. They both knew that.

  “Sure,” Theron said. “Very… dashing?”

 “Extremely convincing.”

 “I’ll w-” Another caughing fit stopped Theron’s words. “I’ll work on it,” he forced out once it stopped. “I’ll convince you when you have it.”

 Alistair laughed at that. “Great. It’s a deal.”

 “Yeah.” Theron didn’t have the strength to nod. It was easier to close his eyes and just focus on each breath, to ensure the next happened.

 “It’s a deal.”

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

 Footnote-

 the post that inspired this was talking about how much more effective they thought it would be if the Warden and Alistair weren’t suddenly jumped by darkspawn from below, but were badly wounded from the fight up the tower. This was partly because in their first playthrough Alistair was knocked out on the way up and had an eye injury. That little detail got lodged in my head, and- yeah, it’s how I see things now. (I really wish I could find it again!)

Alistair’s Light

Preamble-

 This takes place after Alistair’s personal quest, and after taking the option that hardens him. It largely follows the in-game conversation.

The fic

They were relaxing at camp- for a given value of “relaxing”. Or “camp”, but it wasn’t as if they stayed in one place for longer than a night- all they needed was enough to keep them warm and dry. Warm and dry enough. 

 Evenings were the time Theron missed the clan the most. Instead of being busy travelling, fighting or doing something else to- in theory- further their goals he watched, and listened. Sometimes he talked. He served the role of Keeper for a clan he had not chosen and cared for more as a sense of duty than a sense of affection. 

 He was sat apart from the others- as was not unusual- watching the group while he ate. Zevran often joined him, or Alistair- Zevran was in conversation with Wynne, a situation unlikely to leave either remotely satisfied, and Theron idly wondered if he should interfere. She would judge, or he would make a point of winding her up, or both.

 He glanced around and caught Alistair’s eye, and his fellow Warden decided his actions for him by getting up and ambling over to join him, looking completely nonchalant to anyone not paying any attention. 

 He sat next to Theron but watched the fire. Theron glanced between it and Alistair, seeing Wynne and Zevran separate- the former looking irritated, the latter looking as unbothered by the world as ever- an act which likely fooled Wynne, who Theron considered to be far less observant than she thought herself.

 “Alistair.” Theron gave him an opening before taking another spoonful of the unappetising- but edible- attempt at stew.

 “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

 “Mm?” Theron made a noise around his mouthful, but when it didn’t seem to be sufficient he swallowed in order to speak. “What have you been thinking about?”

 “Back when we left Goldanna’s, you told me I needed to look out for myself more than I do. I’m beginning to think you were right. I need to stop letting everyone else make my decisions for me. I need to take a stand and think for myself for a change, or I’m never going to be happy.”

 Theron swallowed another mouthful of food. “Don’t let me influence you, Alistair.”

 “No, what you said made sense. You were right. I should be looking out for myself more. Or did I not understand you?”

 Theron bit back a laugh. The topic clearly meant a lot to Alistair- laughing about it was not going to help, despite the irony of Theron encouraging him to look out for himself more resulting in him seeking approval for doing that.

 “You understood me fine, Alistair,” he managed when he trusted his voice. “But if you did it because I said so that would defeat the point- you don’t have to do what I say.”

 “I don’t have to do it, I want to. What you said made sense. I should have done this a long time ago.” Theron- mouth full of food once more- was unable to reply immediately, but Alistair took his nod as enough and continued.

 “I just wanted to thank you. You’ve been a great friend through all of this, the one bright spot in everything that’s happened.”

 It was good Theron had swallowed before Alistair had finished. He looked at the human- his fellow Warden, his brother in arms. For a moment the lump in his throat was too much to speak past.

 “Thank you, lethallin. I’m-” Theron swallowed again, turning his gaze unseeing to the camp. “You’re a good friend too.”

 “Huh. What does that mean? If that’s okay to ask.”

 Theron nearly laughed again- glad to be fighting that instead of the warmth he had felt choking him up.

 “It means- brother. One of mine, my people.”

 “Oh.” There was a pause- Theron glanced at Alistair only out of the corner of his eye. Alistair seemed to recognise the weight of being included as a Dalish elf’s people- or at least, recognise that it had weight. After a moment he continued.

 “Thank you. I- that’s an honour.”

 “Mm.” Theron had purposely filled his mouth so he couldn’t say anything more; and once he swallowed the topic shifted, to his relief. He didn’t want to say anything more about it- in case he said too much.

 But the truth was Alistair was- he was- Theron wasn’t even sure. But he was glad to know him- glad that they were brothers in arms, Wardens together. This was a path he could never have chosen for himself and he knew that he would have been uncomfortable at considering a human close, meaningful, someone he wanted to- what, carve a life with? They were Wardens together, after all. That could happen- for whatever they had left of one. 

 “Lethallin” was correct. Theron was somewhat shamed at how ashamed he would have been at the prospect- feelings which still lingered a little, despite how he felt. He would never want Alistair to know that- that it felt like a tie to his past and his people being severed to look upon a human with such fondness. But- it was also a tie to a future, and perhaps-

 Perhaps that was okay. To have a future with Alistair as his brother at his side.

And then it was over.

Preamble

 I headcanon that (as Theron’s romance) Zevran knew about Morrigan’s ritual- and the cost if she’d played them false… or made a mistake. This takes place at the top of Fort Drakon.

The fic

 

It was Theron. He was, Alistair had considered more than once, the strongest, the smartest of them. The most quietly observant- honestly, the most terrifying, in a way that had made him thankful all over again that he’d never become a full Templar, that he’d never had occasion to meet Theron as anything but an ally. 

 He’d known- as they entered Denerim proper, as they forged through the city- that if they succeeded at all, it would be Theron. It would be thanks to him they’d made it that far, of course, but it would be him- if Riordin hadn’t made it (and he had not) it would be Theron who would find the moment, the weakness, the brief, temporary opportunity to strike- and it would be Theron who would take it.

 He hadn’t even realised it had happened until it was too late.

 He’d heard Zevran cry out- glanced over, seen the anguish and fear on the elf’s face, realised that he knew, before his own grief and fear took over. Theron was- he had killed it and he was struggling, fighting, unable to free himself from, from something, something that was happening, that held him in his grasp- and it tore Alistair apart to see it.

 It should have been him. He hadn’t been able to save Duncan- only avenge him, but there was no vengeance here. No anchor for anger but it lashed out anyway, curling back on himself-

 It should have been him! He had found something beautiful in Theron- a friend, a brother, family beyond blood or oaths, he had been the best thing to come out of all of this and Alistair had not saved him.

 He tried to approach- to do something, to intervene, dully aware of Zevran trying to do the same but they were both buffeted backwards by the waves of magical energy emanating from Theron-

 And then the shockwave of an explosion knocked them off their feet, all of them, heat and light and pressure that held him to the ground like weights- and once it rolled over him, it was replaced by the weight of emotion instead.

 He would have to get up. Theron had believed in him… but at that moment he didn’t see how he could. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to check and see, didn’t want to hope for what couldn’t be—

 So he lay there, cold stone under him, numbness holding everything at bay while it could, hearing Zevran get up to do what he could not. Until finally sounds reached him and he managed to lift his head—

——————————————————————————

 No. No no no- Zevran forced himself up, bruised and sore and exhausted and unaware of it in the moment, knowing instead desperation and panic and a different, far worse pain. Theron lay, flat on his back- unmoving and still- it couldn’t, it couldn’t—

 He’d known, of course. The risk. To all of them but especially the Wardens- but Morrigan had said- it couldn’t be real—

 He managed to regain his feet, a moment of unsteadiness fooling him- he thought he saw movement-

 And Theron raised his head, lifting himself up, and Zevran broke into a run to reach him, falling to his knees to pull Theron into his arms. The Warden made a noise of pained protest but fell into his embrace, clinging back with arms that trembled against Zevran’s back. There were no thoughts- just relief, almost as painful as the prelude of grief had been, almost too much to bear.

 “It worked…”

 Zevran couldn’t reply to Theron’s choked whisper. He had thought he would lose him- that maybe he had lost him- and for now, for now it was enough that he hadn’t.

 For now they were alive. That was enough. It was more than enough. It was everything.

——————————————————————————

 Alistair couldn’t believe his eyes. If Theron moving and clinging to Zevran like a lifeline wasn’t enough of a clue, his mabari Da’Fen bounding joyfully around the pair was enough to bring it home.

 He looked at the archdemon. It was still- shifting as gravity took over, head lolling, but no movement of life. The darkspawn had broken the moment Theron had- well, Alistair had known from how the ‘spawn had reacted, fleeing. It was dead. He’d have put money on it. Theron had killed it.

 And he- he lived, they all did. 

 He climbed to his feet, feeling every ache in his body as if ignoring them during the fight had increased their power. He staggered, first few steps faltering, then breaking into a run, falling painfully to his knees next to Theron- unaware of how closely his actions mirrored Zevran’s–

 “You’re–” His voice caught in his throat but it was enough to get Theron’s attention- he pulled back from where his face had been buried into the crook of Zevran’s neck and instead turned to Alistair, green eyes bright and full of life, he was- he was–

 “You’re alive!” The words were barely more than a sob. Enough to elicit a smile from his best friend, his brother, and as he opened his mouth to speak Alistair reached for him- maybe to drag him into a hug–

 “Alistair!”

 The call cut through the moment. They all looked around- they were not alone on the rooftop. Eamonn was limping towards them- there was a small group of mages nearby, a few dwarves, Sten closest of all, sword still in hand, alert for danger even now–

 Whatever moment there was to celebrate the relief of their survival it would have to wait. Unlikely that they’d get another quiet moment like this. He looked back to Theron who simply gave him a small smile, and Alistair settled for letting his outstretched hand clasp his fellow Warden’s shoulder- a moment to really satisfy himself this was real- before climbing to his feet.

 He didn’t know what would come next… but he predicted that there would be little time to relax before a very different responsibility would be his, and his alone, to shoulder. He took a deep breath, straightened his back and turned to head towards Eamonn.

 This had been his choice- and doing it with Theron alive to support him gave him everything he needed to face the future. Whatever came next, he had that.

It was enough.

 It was more than enough.

 In that moment… it was everything.

[venvellan]

so, about ghilen mahariel,

he is so different tonally and characteristically to my lavellan (and tabris! but thats a post for later).

venathren lavellan who volunteers to trade in the city every year without fail, lets his voice carry over open courtyards, is bold, talkative, and curious. he hears about the conclave through idle chat with village locals and runs home to tell the keeper that he's going.

they weren't invited, of course, but lack of an invitation's never stopped him. he can smile his way out of damned near anything, and he knows it.

so off he goes, bringing little more than a goodbye kiss from his mother. at the conclave, he's no different. he mingles and wanders, ever bold and excited.

this time, he wanders too far.

and ghilen mahariel, who'd just turned 22 when he contracted the blight. he was preparing to bond with his lover of several years, had never once left the clan, and is suddenly both torn from it and kicked out of it in equal measure.

ghilen mahariel who's dead silent on the trip to ostagar, only speaking when spoken to. he spends days in a walking slumber that only breaks when they finally arrive and his eyes meet the very top of the tower of ishal. reality dawns on him, and an oppressively cold feeling of death and dread seeps through him.

he's eager to cure the mabari and excessively courteous with morrigan, but feels a twinge of envy at surviving when daveth is granted the luxury of death.

still, he finds reasons to push on: people that he cares about more than himself — people that depend on him.

ghilen mahariel who worms his way into each of their hearts without even trying. he is naive. he's indecisive and utterly ruled by his heart. he is meager and easily swayed. he's soft; weak, even.

he's also achingly gentle. he's never left his clan — never met anyone that didn't believe the same things as him — but he is nevertheless marvelously understanding. he gives without expecting in return (and how could he? the only thing he truly wants is a gentle death — and to be forgotten) and gives so readily that you wonder if he's ever once thought of himself. his voice is gentle and warm. it soothes and urges the others on, even as he is lost and alone.

becoming a grey warden was not his choice, and he is deeply resentful of it. the effects of the blight and the joining (which is to say nothing of the grief he carries) leave him chronically sore and tired. the very blood in his veins feels like its not his own. he is colder, paler. his entire body feels brittle at times. but he never forces this resentment upon anyone else. he suffers, silently, instead. mind you, his pain never goes unnoticed. he is loved, whether he sees it or not.

ghilen mahariel who cannot even return home when his job is done, because he barely feels dalish anymore. even if he knew where his clan was, he couldn't bear to face them. he lives in states of in-between with tabris and her family, half of him always stuck in his head, replaying the night tamlen came to camp in the horrible picture-perfect accuracy it burned into his brain.

after amaranthine, he finally begins to pick himself up. the world isn't perfect — it isn't even good, from what he's seen — but its innocents deserve charity and love. as he did, when he was younger. as his friends always have.

he travels back and forth amongst them, but he's always where they are — loving them the way he knows how.

his best and closest friend invites him to attend divine justinia's conclave. asks her 'dearest ghilie' to pretty please keep her company so she isn't 'bored to tears'. she's playful and flippant, trying to hide how badly she needs it all to go right, but he knows everything there is to know about her.

he goes, and none of it goes right, and by the end of the day he's back to work.

his gentle death can wait a little longer.

[perilegs]

im doing a rerun of my canon da:o playthrough and. does someone want to read my notes on my mahariel so far. bc here they are

ok so my canon warden is Atish’an Mahariel (it’s her name bc I'm finnish and Rauha (lit. peace) is a common old woman name here so i thought it'd be funny). she has a vallaslin representing Sylaise. (here’s her toyhouse for a pic but there’s pretty much no text there (at least not any that’s not written here anyways)

Origin:

Killed one of the humans as an example. She can be very distrustful of humans near her clan.

Cocky, Brash, blunt, very sure of herself, kinda rude and a menace, loves her mom (Ashalle). 

Is protective of the clan but like, physically, not verbally. As in, she will eliminate physical threats or ruffle a kid’s hair for doing a good job or put in extra effort to ask someone how they’re doing and sitting with someone if they seem like they need it or whatever. She does care. But she’s not going to say how much she cares out loud. She prefers to show it in other ways. Ati would find herself flustered if she actually had to tell someone how much love she has. That’s embarrassing. She can sometimes be a bit less emotionally stunted around those she trusts. (this is something she improves on during the game a bit but it takes a long time)

“When mommy elf and a daddy elf love each other very much…” upon asked how the dalish came to be

Cannot bear the thought that maybe there was something that she could have done to stop Tamlen’s fate. “Why are you looking at me like that. It’s not my fault.” Very defensive about it.

Don’t cast me away, please

“I don’t want to lose you too.” Did the keeper have to say that. Ati already felt guilty about Tamlen. It would be later when Ati realized the keeper was right, it wouldn’t benefit anyone if she just decided to die in her clan. The keeper seems to hold the Grey Wardens in high regard.

Dragged out of the clan, kicking and screaming. Not really, she gave some very teary “I don’t wanna go, please this is all i’ve ever known” goodbyes. It was highly uncharacteristic of the overconfident Atish’an. She was always very sure of herself and raring to go and explore the world, and so very inquisitive, loving to ask questions about anything and everything from the clanmates who did trading with human villages.

Ostagar:

The trip to Ostagar made Ati a bit numb bc she realized there’s really no fighting her fate. More worn out than angry by Ostagar. Clearly unhappy. Still hostile to most, since i guess hostility and overconfidence are the only two acceptable emotions to show to the outside world.

I am no friend of yours, human lord

Finds Alistair alright, maybe a bit annoying (she does not realize they’re both Like That)

Alistair is a major history buff, knows everything about blights, grey wardens, and old gods. That’s cool! Ati WILL ask him about Everything

Definitely respected Morrigan at first meeting, she could see she was not like most humans, she felt closer to her kind than other humans. Morrigan is a random woman living in the woods and we were the ones who stumbled upon her area. Her mother seems alright albeit a bit. strange...

Tower of Ishal: confused as to tfs going on, she was dragged out of her clan to hold a torch so obviously she’s pissed but something’s not right.. The action is a nice change of pace and helps Ati forget other things. 

Seeing something like the darkspawn orge is enough to change a woman. If the blight isn’t stopped and darkspawn roam Ferelden. What if one of those showed up to her clan? Atish’an doesn’t even dare to think about it. 

Hearing Morrigan tell her the battle was lost, Ati’s stomach dropped. She felt helpless, but she wouldn’t give up on her clan this easily. She couldn’t disappoint them any more. It would have been humiliating to return now, all of her crying and anger in vain. She can’t yet again be the reason even more of her clanmates lives are lost.

Definitely respects Flemeth for reasons unknown. Ati thinks she has a strange, powerful vibe to her.

Seeing Morrigan’s mother cast her away in such a manner made Atish’an feel a pang in her heart. Morrigan was like her, yearning to experience what it was like outside her home, but not wanting to leave when it came to it. Ati admired Morrigan’s strength in how she handled the matter. Ati decided she’d stick close to Morrigan. Never thought a human could be so similar to herself. 

Lothering:

“yea might as well” type of attitude towards helping people. ati finds it strangely rewarding + it’s not like doing that is making the blight stronger

“Blood isn’t all that important” @ Bodahn :’)

Ati decided she might as well get to know her companions a bit at camp since she’s going to have to stick them for a looong time since they want to get help in stopping the blight. And she doesn’t want to feel any lonelier than she already does.

Morrigan dare i ask of your own mother - “I love her. What else do you want to know?” Why did she say that. She could have just opened her chest to bare her heart to a complete stranger as well.

Alistair is helping Ati have her silly moments. She sympathises with Alistair a bit, and is showing him compassion.

Atish’an appreciates the conversations she has with Morrigan. Morrigan seems nice in her own way, and she often says things that force Ati to stop and think. In the long run, it’s helping Ati mature a bit and Morrigan break down her walls.

Redcliffe:

The silly pathetic endearing human she’s been travelling with, who is her senior warden yet leaves all the important decisions to Ati, is technically the heir to the throne. She finds this hilarious

This bann is kind of a baddie, wonder if he’d be down to. We’re on a mission here. (Ati has licked her fair share of lampposts and then some).

Circle:

Jumping at any chance to defend the mages. WHY do these people keep their mages locked up that’s so fucked up??

Oh? Wynne’s here? She’s kind of annoying but DAMN what a healer. Atishan is thinking that she would be useful to have around to fight the darkspawn. Baby’s first rational work thought :’)

Loghain sent a fucking assassin after them? Atish’an is terrified but god if being powerful enough to have an assassin sent after you is ego boosting. For some reason beyond her, she doesn’t think Zevran is lying about what he’s saying. It could be because he looks like home. It’s been a while since she’s seen other elves around, and his tattoos remind her of vallaslin. Not that they’re the vallaslin she would regognize. Maybe they have different ones in Antiva, she thinks.

Ati thinks she found someone more whorish than herself.

The way Zevran talks so openly about his past is throwing Ati off. How can he just reveal these things to her? (Does Ati notice how Zevran is undermining his own experiences trying to tell what the crows did was practical and that there were benefits? Does she notice how he feels when Ati tells him what he went through was awful? I am going to cry about Zevran’t approval changes right this second.) 

Hearing Zevran be so very homesick and talking of his home he cannot return to broke Ati’s heart. At least she could eventually go back home. Right? But the chances of Zevran surviving Antiva are slim. It makes Ati sad. She finds Zevran finding comfort in the smell of leather endearing. (I have far more thoughts on Zevran but this is what Ati thinks ok)

Brecilian forest:

Ati can't help but feel relieved after being among her own people after spending so much time with human affairs

Seeing the members of her sister clan in pain pains her too, she's stopped a demon possessing a child, an entire onslaught of undead, and she managed to save a circle tower from abominations beyond what she could have imagined. Ati feels unstoppable. Everything she has done, has worked out so far. It does not help with her cockiness. "I am good at non-trivial tasks."

Seeing the hunters like this… It takes some effort for Ati to not let it show how much of an effect it has on her. She could almost cry

Ati is getting used to Wynne. Ati's missing her mommy disease makes it so that Wynne's presence can be a bit comforting. And she appreciates Wynne's snark.

Wynne with elves who are mistrustful of humans, especially humans in authority seems to be a theme.

Seeing Danyla was painful. Atish'an knows she must be killed to end her suffering. It doesn't make it any easier. It's something that won't leave Ati. She's seen her fair share of death and suffering but this was something she could have never prepared for.

Sided with the elves and the werewolves. Ati thinks Zathrian's actions were originally justified, but the clan is suffering and. Well. The current werewolves, though they are humans, they aren't the evil heartless creatures that originally assaulted Zathrian's children. They were just people who happened to be born from those people.

Leliana gets on Ati's nerves a bit every so often. "They are serfs. There is no slavery in Orlais." mkay sure. But. Leliana actually listens to Atish'an when she challenges her beliefs. It's refreshing.

Oh… Leliana also has a dead bio mom who had a friend Leliana considers a mother figure.

Denerim:

Ati got Sten at 100% approval after questioning him about qunari children. Her inquisitive nature and snark are a HUGE hit. They were already at super high approval with each other bc Ati LOVES asking questions (i love how she’s both like cocky sure of herself rude & snarky but also so very cunning and inquisitive. you can be smart and a bit of an asshole)

Ati approves after Alistair defended her to Goldanna. She was about to go off but Alistair's firm response was enough to not make her loose her marbles.

Denerim market district is a lot to take in. Ati has never seen a city this big so full of life everywhere. It's a bit overwhelming

Ati heard there was some Howe leading a purge in the alienage. She would show him no mercy would they ever cross paths

Haven:

"Kadan" Atish'an does not know what the word means, but she can feel its weight. Kadan. She thinks she feels the same way about Sten. Sten said he trusted her with his life… Also Ati appreciates someone who will challenge her decisions. Their bond is strong. (Starts calling Sten lethallin? idk how that works. is vhenan romantic only?)

Also Ati’s specialization is druid. Sten understanding how intelligent mabari are and talking to Falon (i love dumb names) in such a regular manner is something Ati does too. I can’t believe i forgot Ati and Sten are besties before this rerun.

anyways this is all i have so far. does anyone have any thoughts? some suggestions for improvement? does anyone have a similar warden

[thebloodychampion]

MUSE LIST

My muses are CANON MUSES, ORIGINAL CHARACTERS and PLAYER CHARACTERS from the following franchises: DRAGON AGE, MASS EFFECT, HARRY POTTER, THE ELDER SCROLLS V: SKYRIM, THE WITCHER and FANDOMLESS MUSES

Important Stuff:

INTEREST TRACKER MUSE LIST BLOG ASK

Main Muses (Those that I am actively playing or trying to play more actively)

• Archer (Fjorta) Hawke (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Cyrion Hawke (Original Character/Player Character - Dragon Age) • Dreag Hawke (Original Character/Player Character - Dragon Age) • Lia Tabris (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Sethius Amladaris/Corypheus (Canon Character - Dragon Age) • Lucius Veridio (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Etienne DeLechanger/Petyr Gallus (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Nicolas Belmond (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Lyon Amell (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Jerker/Hakkon Wintersbreath (Canon/Original Character - Dragon Age) • Eric Vanhallen (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Ishal Cyprias (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Armadiel Mahariel (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Elgar'nan (Canon Character - Dragon Age) • Irius Sparatus (Canon Character - Mass Effect) • Karnesh (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Clavius Tarxis (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Renius Sparatus (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Jurdon Madadh (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Haral Nyras (Original Character - Mass Effect) • SAM (Canon Character - Mass Effect) • Quentius Zuris (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Ahnas Afaa Kjama (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Iorveth (Canon Character - The Witcher) • Moony (Original Character - Fandomless) • Danny Fernandez (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Belle Instance (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Fenrir Greyback (Canon Character - Harry Potter) • Pamina Siemens (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Sharleen Siemens (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Amelia Fernandez (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Connor Montgomery (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Ben Chaplin (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Lewis Watson (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Vortula Portocalos (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Deidre Mikealson (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Daniel Speedman (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Richard Holmes (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Yartnar Loreian (Original Character - The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim) • Carolus (Player Character - The Elder Scroll V: Skyrim)

------

Side Muses (For those that want something else)

• Than Mahariel (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Elgan Lavellan (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Diran Lavellan (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Hjarrandr O Bearhold (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Malcolm Hawke (Canon Character - Dragon Age) • Tomey Surana (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Solona Amell (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Talar Adaar (Player Character - Dragon Age) • Jarida Adaar (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Kieran (Canon Character - Dragon Age) • Lorenzo Calcagnini (Original Character - Dragon Age) • Fergus Cousland (Canon Character - Dragon Age) • Torana Sparatus (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Ganar Drealav (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Raik Cagar (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Oswin Shepard (Player Character - Mass Effect) • Noah Shepard (Player Character - Mass Effect) • Maron Hinom (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Shaela'Riel vas Tonbay (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Lorik Qui'in (Canon Character - Mass Effect) • Marius Nyras (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Andrew Ryder (Player Character - Mass Effect) • Tayus Draxas (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Tachyus Nyras (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Macen Barro (Canon Character - Masss Effect) • Yaora V'Loar (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Yandra Nyras (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Urdnot Wreav (Canon Character - Mass Effect) • Adrien Victus (Canon Character - Mass Effect) • Steven Hackett (Canon Character - Mass Effect) • Sidoria Aterius (Original Character - Mass Effect) • Septimus Oraka (Canon Character - Mass Effect) • Eleasar Cohen (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Leslie Woodstock (Original Character - Harry Potter) • Carlisle Eastwood (Original Character - Harry Potter)

[tamlenlovedmahariel]

zevran be like sNeAk aTtACk 

(i dare you to tell me mahariel has any sense of modesty whatsoever. my girl says free the nipple and you can quote her on that)

this is a few years after the Bligh is over, Shalin and Zevran are travelling with Morrigan because they don’t want to stay in one place and they all miss each other after years apart. kieran and ishal are getting along like a house on fire.

morrigan, in the background, face hiding in her hands: when did this happen. when did i become an aunt. tis but a nightmare and i shall wake up now. kieran, patting her on the back: it’s okay mom. it’s gonna be okay. i promise you, you’re a wicked witch and everyone is afraid of you. ishal: kieraaaaaaan, play with me! kieran: well, that’s all for me, hope you’re good now mom.

[dimancheetoile]

Past-Mahariel/Tamlen ; Mahariel/Zevran

“Greetings, Eshalinjune. It is good to see you better,” Duncan says, bowing his head slightly. Shalin grits her teeth, the familiar hatred for the shems fuelling her grief and rage. 'My name is Mahariel,' she signs harshly, movements quick and sharp.

or

a story of forced enlistment, shem hatred and revenge. Mahariel takes one look at Duncan and decides she will be the fall of the human world.

big thanks to @lvllns for convincing me to write this. big thanks to @mouseymightymarvellous for supporting me over and over. lots of love to the both of you <3

[heniareth]

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 4: The Tower of Ishal

In which they race to the top of the tower of Ishal, have a nasty encounter with mabari, fight an ogre and nurse the growing suspicion that this is a trap.

(Full chapter on AO3 or continued below)

Wordcount: 4199

WARNINGS:

- minor character death

- death by being bitten in half

- animal death (dog)

- character gets attacked by dog

- canon-typical gore and violence

- darkspawn hivemind shenanigans (prickling blood, screaming in the mind)

Captain Walton got two of his men back in front of the tower. One died as soon as they set foot into it by an arrow to the throat.

The tower of Ishal had indeed been overrun. Astala lost count of all the hurlocks and genlocks they faced in the main hall on the lower floor—which was in flames—and fought the darkspawn there, only to then get ambushed by more darkspawn streaming out of the rooms that lined the hallway leading towards the stairs. Astala found herself fighting back to back with Alistair, keeping the screeching and roaring beasts away from her by hacking and slashing and kicking everything that got too close to her. Khêd was at Alistair’s shield side; they blocked a good deal of the passage, but Alistair’s sword side was completely exposed. Astala got knocked in the back by his elbow trying to stop a genlock from skewering him—and thank the Maker she only got hit by the elbow. Sulri was behind Khêd, doing the same job as her, but much better. At one point, when the darkspawn had completely surrounded them, she lobbed a flask into their midst. Green liquid sprayed onto the twisted bodies, and Astala could smell the burn from here. Leonard, the mage, gave them the rest with a well-timed blast of fire. Ilanlas and captain Walton, one with his shortbow and the other with a crossbow, gave Leonard some cover.

She would still take this over being out in the open with balls of fire raining down on you.

When they reached the stairs to the second floor, they found the darkspawns’ entrance: the floor had collapsed, revealing a huge, gaping hole leading down into the hill and slithering out of sight. Nothing moved down there. Not for now.

“What a coincidence,” Surli said via Khêd’s translation.

Even without a voice to drip with sarcasm, Astala understood Sulri all too well: this coincidence was too well-timed to be a coincidence.

“We should close it,” Ilanlas said.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Alistair warned.

“The tables,” Astala said, gesturing towards the wall. “Those should be long enough, right?”

“There were supposed to be no darkspawn at all,” Khêd added. “Really don’t want to have them behind me.”

Alistair cast an anxious glance towards the stairs, but he nodded. “Let’s make this quick.”

They squeezed the tables into the room and laid them over the hole. Then they piled the dead darkspawn up on top. It’d make it easier to burn the beasts later too. captain Walton, Leonard and Walton’s one remaining soldier were checked for wounds or any signs of the taint. Astala had time enough to come to the conclusion that the tower had probably served as a barracks of some kind: there were bunk beds, drawers and chests probably holding clothes and whatever personal artifacts the soldiers might’ve brought with them. Astala didn’t touch them. When Khêd took an interest in one of the chests, she held him back.

“Come on,” Khêd said. “The people this belonged to are dead.”

Astala made a hopefully significant nod towards captain Walton, Leonard and the soldier. Khêd sighed, but let the chest be.

“Well, okay, yeah. Chest could be trapped,” he muttered. “This already stinks. And I don’t mean the darkspawn.”

Astala was starting to mull that over when Alistair called them all together. Astala briefly peeled off to collect Sulri, who was doing her damnest to make sure the hole was shut. Ilanlas abandoned his conversation with Leonard in one corner of the room. They checked their gear—Astala knew she at least was doing that to delay the inevitable—and exchanged looks that wanted to say something but didn’t say it out loud. Finally, there was no more delaying to be done. Alistair opened the door to the second floor.

-

The stench was getting worse. There were pools of blood and gore, and the darkspawn had apparently found time to decorate. Idols like the ones they had found in the Korcari Wilds were mounted along the walls and in the middle of the thrashed storerooms and sleeping quarters.

“How long have the darkspawn been here?” Astala asked as they carefully made their way past broken furniture and open fires.

Khêd knocked over one of the constructions with a swing of his shield. It made a horrible squelching sound as it fell.

“Enough time to make themselves comfortable.” He stopped and turned to captain Walton. “Alright, fancy breastplate. Game’s over. It was fun, but all good things come to an end. Now, explain.”

Everybody stopped. Sulri was the last one to do so, skirting around the group to find a spot from which she could see both Khêd and the captain. Ilanlas casually plucked another arrow from his quiver.

“Explain?” captain Walton looked around, bewildered. “What is there to explain?”

Sulri signed, and Khêd pointed at her. “Hear that? Tower was closed today. Why?”

“I don’t know,” captain Walton said. “My men and I were stationed here.”

“By orders of Teyrn,” Khêd said, translating Sulri’s signs. “So you fancy people think you can just, what, seal us in here, have the darkspawn do your dirty work? Is that it?”

“Ser, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” captain Walton vehemently said.

“Nugshit.”

“Careful, dwarf,” the remaining soldier said, hand on the pommel of his sword.

“I’ve beaten better men than you,” Khêd answered.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Alistair said. “We have a mission. Betrayal or not, we have to get to the top of that tower and-”

Several things happened at once. There was a screech, the soldier screamed and fell, dagger in his back, and darkspawn burst forth out of the shadowed corners of the room. Alistair bellowed orders. They formed a tight ring, Leonard and Sulri at the center. The skirmish was short, but brutal. Adralen’s armor was serving her well. Without it, Astala would’ve eneded up skewered by a genlock who stabbed her straight in the belly. As it was, it merely knocked the air out of her.

When the darkspawn were dead, Alistair turned to the group once more.

“As I was saying,” he panted. “We have a mission. We get to the top of that tower. We light the signal. And if we have to fight our way through the whole horde to do that.”

“Or we could just leave,” Khêd said.

“Are you insane?” Alistair gestured wildly at the door. “They are depending on us!”

“Alistair…” Astala ventured. “If this is a trap… and it sure looks like one… maybe leaving is the smarter choice. We could tell Duncan.”

“Duncan and everyone else are fighting down there to end this Blight,” Alistair said. “We can’t leave. We just can’t. We don’t know what’s going on. We stick to the plan, and it will work.”

Because if it didn’t… the consequences were left unsaid.

Khêd didn’t even shrug anymore. He just glared. “Alright. Fine by me.”

Astala gave Alistair a nod.

Alistair nodded back. “Let’s get a move on.”

They walked on through the ruined tower. Khêd sidled up to captain Walton.

“Don’t think I’m not watching you, sunlicker,” Astala heard him say. “If we’re biting the dust, you’ll taste it with us.”

-

They cleaned this floor of darkspawn as well. The bodies were left to rot where they fell. Now that she knew what she was looking for, Astala noticed more and more odd things. There were no dead soldiers lying around; the food stored in one of the rooms ad been quietly rotting away for some time; the beds had been stripped bare, and almost all chests and drawers, from which neither Khêd nor she held back now, were empty. The few tokens they found looked like they’d been forgotten in a hurry, as if the tower had been cleaned out a while ago. And she doubted the darkspawn would stockpile pillows and blankets anywhere.

Alistair, however, was hurrying them along as fast as he could, and left them no time to further question captain Walton or Leonard. At least, the captian’s face showed real fear whenever they encountered darkspawn. That was assurance enough for her to keep going. For now.

They entered the third floor. Right away, Astala heard the growling and barking of dogs, muffled by the surrounding stone wall.

“Who left mabari up here?” Alistair said, caught off guard and stepping forward.

The screeching of darkspawn answered.

Alistair rushed forward, Khêd and captain Walton hot on his heels. Arrows whistled. A line of genlock archers fired at them from the back of the room, arrowheads snapping and screeching over the shields. The dogs were barking and howling. Astala hesitated. She hesitated enough to miss her chance to run forward under the cover of shields.

From behind crates and broken furniture, crawling out of the mounds of viscera strewn about, more genlocks appeared.

“Watch out!” Astala screamed, but their group was already split in two.

One genlock jumped onto Alistair’s back and rammed the pommel of its dagger into the side of Alistair’s head. Alistair stumbled, the darkspawn clocked him over the head again and Alistair landed on all fours. The darkspawn bit. Alistair screamed. Khêd slammed his shield against the beast, but the damage had already been done. Alistair was down. The darkspawn laughed. The dogs went crazy.

“Cover him!” Astala screamed, and then risked a glance at the dogs’ cages.

There were thick ropes, levers, a system of pulleys to lift the gates of the cages. She couldn’t cut the ropes, they were too thick. Astala ran, past the genlocks, to the cage, sword and dagger in the same hand. The stench of dog fur made her queasy. She tried to remember the sad brown eyes of the mabari they’d helped today. With a scream, she pushed the first lever down. The cage bars rattled. The dog squeezed through, throwing himself against a genlock that was running straight towards her.

Somewhere, Leonard whooped.

“Keep them busy for me!” Astala shouted. “Someone get the other side!”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Sulri sprint off. Astala reached the next lever, pulled it down. Next, pull, next, pull. The bars of the cages rattled with each free dog, and the howling of the hounds mixed with the screeching of the darkspawn. Alistair’s voice was sounding over the chaos again.

Astala was two steps from the last cage when something slammed against her back, sending her to the floor. Her chin scraped against the rough surface, her brain rattled in her skull. The weight on her back shifted, pressed into her lower back and shoulders. Hot breath hit her neck, the stench of dog fur her nose. The beast growled.

Astala held very still and squeezed her eyes shut.

A shrill whistle. The weight on her back shifted. The dog let out a bark. The whistle sounded again, closer.

Suddenly, the weight left her back. Astala drew a full breath, inhaled dust, the smell of dog and blighted rot. Tears welled up in her eyes. She stayed on the ground until steps approached.

“Are you injured?” Ilanlas asked above her.

Astala shook her head and clambered to her feet. Alistair and everybody else was standing there, watching her. captain Walton was holding back a huge mabari, and speaking to the damn thing as if it was a baby. More mabari crowded behind the group, gingerly stepping over the dead darkspawn.

“Hey! We match!” Alistair said with a grin, pointing at the streak of blood at the side of his face.

Astala wiped blood from her chin. The wound stung. And her blood was dark.

“That was quick thinking,” Alistair continued, pointing at the cages. “Good job.”

The mabari barked, and Astala flinched. Alistair’s expression turned thoughtful.

“So, I was thinking it might be a good idea to take the mabari with us,” he said and scratched at the drying blood. “Buuuuut given what just happened, it might not be that much of a good idea.”

“So long as we stay between the hounds and the elves, there should be no problem,” captain Walton chimed in.

Alistair looked at her, as if seeking her approval.

The motion, unexpected as it was, made Astala look inward. There were a lot of feelings in there. She wanted to be as far away from those dogs as possible, or, even better, log them back in their cages. Having them at her back would be the worst. At the same time, there was no way in the Void she’d beg these shem to lock their dogs back up.

Alistair waited patiently for her answer. She couldn’t determine which option he’d rather have her take.

Suddenly, one of the dogs yelped pitifully. Everybody turned around. The dog was on the ground, writhing and yowling. All the other dogs backed away, and more than one turned around to them as if waiting for orders, or reassurance. The dog on the ground tried to stand up, spasms running through its body, only to collapse again. Its movements got weaker. Then it lay still.

One of the other dogs whined quietly.

"The Blight," Alistair told the horrified captain. "Poor bastard…"

If the dogs went up first against the darkspawn, they'd all end up dying. They'd probably all swallowed darkspawn blood already.

"Let's take them," Astala said with as much surety as she could muster. "If they're gonna die, let them die fighting."

Alistair nodded. He and captain Walton gathered the hounds and directed them into the next hallway. The big hound who had thrown her to the ground looked back once. Astala stayed close to Ilanlas, Khêd and Sulri.

"I've always wanted to have a mabari," Leonard said and sighed. "All great heroes have a mabari."

"I won't keep any of them from you," Astala answered.

At a shrill whistle and a handwave from Alistair, the hounds bolted up ahead through the narrowing hallway. Soon enough, the barking mixed with howling and the screeching of darkspawn.

-

All dogs except two died before they reached the stairs to the fourth floor. Most of them were directly killed by darkspawn. The rest perished to the tainted blood they swallowed. Those were painfuk passings. Ilanlas or Alistair cut them short after captain Walton had hearded the rest of the dogs away, and then they had to hurry onwards. Time was running out.

"We've probably missed the signal already," Alistair said while running up the stairs two steps at a time. "Hurry! We have to light the beacon!"

He opened the door and ushered them up more stairs. The fourth floor was not wide, circular. Was it only one room? Astala ran behind Khêd, Ilanlas, captain Walton and the dogs, and almost ran into Ilanlas when he stopped at the top of the stairs.

"Mythal beylan!"

In the middle of the room crouched a true beast of a darkspawn. It was easily three times as big as Astala. Its leather armor had burst at the seams, as if the beast's body had undergone a fast and violent growth spurt. Rough metal plates had been bolted onto the armor. Two huge horns portruded out of the darkspawn's forehead, wound their way backwards and up again. When it turned towards them, there was fresh blood dripping from its chin, and in its fist it held an unrecognizable mash of gore. Beady eyes assessed them. The creature made Astala's blood hum.

"Maker's Breath," Alistair whispered. "An ogre."

The ogre stood up tall, every step booming through the floor. Glance left, glance right; they were all standing there like dumb and staring at the thing.

"Move, move!" Astala yelled and ran to the side, away from the growling dogs.

Her companions came to their senses and scattered. The dogs, however, charged straigut at the ogre.

The ogre roared.

The roar made her ears ring, spittle and blood flew through the air like rain. A yelp: the beast grabbed the first dog as the second latched onto its throat and help on. The ogre shrieked in pain, then flung the first dog away. It crashed through the wide, stained-glass window and disappeared. Alistair shouted something. The ogre ripped the second dog off and tore into its throat.

Astala took a deep breath and readjusted her grip on her blades.

Alistair was rushing in at the ogre. Captain Walton was close behind. Everybody else was spread out. The dogs were dead. She could move freely again.

The ogre swatted Alistair away like a fly and turned to Leonard who was standing next and behind her.

Leonard went pale and extinguished the light atop his staff. The ogre kept staring and snarled.

"Hey! Over here!" Astala screamed at the top of her lungs and stepped into the ogre's field of view. "Your breath stinks, you ugly wanker!"

Suddenly, her weapons burst into flames, and that did the trick; the ogre screamed and picked up a piece of debris. Astala wasn't about to wait for that. She charged. Alistair stabbed the ogre's leg, gave her the opening she needed to get close, and then Astala found herself between Khêd and captain Walton, hacking and slashing while the ogre swung its big, meaty hands after them.

"Hit the legs! Bring it down!" Alistair screamed.

The ogre roared and smashed both fists down, making them all stumble back. There was a terrible scream. Captain Walton had gotten caught under the blow. Astala scrambled to get to him—too late. The ogre picked him up like a ragdoll, dangled him over its open maw. Astala looked away just in time to miss the jaw snapping shut and the worst of the blood. The crunch was horrible. The screaming stopped.

She looked back just in time to see something smash against the ogre's face. It howled. Astala smelled acid. The ogre palmed around blindly, wiping at its face and howling. Astala ducked past the swinging arms and stomping legs and ripped her sword through the ogre's forearm. The ogre yowled, saw her and lowered its head. It slammed against her chest, sent her flying. She landed hard. The chainmail dug into her shoulder. A shout rang out.

"Ar gwil-nan elm sina!"

Ilanlas had made it on top of the ogre's shoulder, dagger lifted, buried it deep into the darkspawn's throat and ripped it out. Again. The ogre swatted at him, but he jumped away. Blood dripped out of the ogre's throat, like rain off a roof in autumn. The beast tried to breathe. It gurgled. Khêd stepped closer, shield and sword at tge ready, the ogre reached out for him… It didn't get far. Its legs gave out under it. The ogre collapsed and didn't move.

Sulri came out from behind a mound of debris, another bottle of acid in her hand. She tucked it away as soon as she saw the ogre was dead.

"Everybody alright?" Alistair called out.

"Captain can't answer any questions," Khêd said and glared at the mangled lower half of captain Walton's body. "So, no. Let's leave."

"What? We can't leave now." Alistair snapped back into his anxious state. "Where's the beacon?"

Ilanlas leaned put of the broken window. "The darkspawn are at the mouth of the valley."

"The king has pushed them back?" Alistair asked, surprised, and hurried over to the window.

"No." Ilanlas pointed to the right. "They are at the other end of the valley."

Alistair stared into the darkness for a moment, then jumped into action with a curse. "Blast it. We're so late. Where's the beacon?"

Sulri waved from one corner of the room. The beacon was a basin set on a pedestal, in front of a circular window with inlet glass. The raindrops chasing down the glass were huge—it had to be a magnifying glass, like the one mother Boann had on her desk when they went to get her marriage permit signed. Astala spotted a thrashed crate, pulled the wooden boards onto the pedestal. Alistair stuffed dry kindling into the mound of wood. Leonard stepped closer, but hesitated.

"May I light the-"

"Yes, Maker's Breath, please!" Alistair said.

Astala stepped away when the heat of Leonard's conjured flames sent the wood bursting. The flames licked up high. Alistair immediately walked back to the broken window, where Ilanlas was still peering into the darkness.

"How's it going? Can you see them?"

"They are down there." Ilanlas pointed out of the window.

A soft pull called Astala to the window. Now that the darkspawn were gone, it was noticable again. Astala risked one glance over Ilanlas' shoulder and saw clouds, and no rain. The wind chased the noise of battle up. Astala stepped back again.

"That doesn't look good," Alistair muttered. Then he quietly counted. "Sweet Maker. That's a lot of ogres."

A faint roar echoed up towards them.

"Are we done here?" Khêd called from behind them.

Alistair kept staring into the darkness.

"Right." Khêd readjusted his grip on his shield. "Good fight. I'm leaving."

"What? Wait." Alistair turned around. "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere that's not a trap," Khêd said.

"We have lighted the signal," Ilanlas said and sheathed his dagger. "Let us go down and join the army."

"No!" Alistair turned to him. "No, wait-"

"You go fight your darkspawn," Khêd said. "I'm out."

"You are leaving us to fight alone?" Ilanlas frowned.

"I've told you twice already." Khêd sighed and made his way for the stairs. "See you later."

"You can't leave!" Alistair hurried after Khêd. "None of you! Duncan told us to wait here, so we will wait here."

"I thought you of all people were going to fight," Ilanlas said, arms crossed. "For your companions."

"I-" Alistair groaned. "Look, Duncan gave me the treaties, to protect them! I want to fight, but I-"

A slight shift whispered through the air.

No. Not through the air. Through her blood.

It was a soft shift, like a sigh. The pull towards the window slackened and dissipated. Astala shifted her weight, reestablishing her balance after unconsciously leaning against the pull for the length of this conversation. Then she looked at Alistair and froze. He was wide-eyed. Pale.

Even Khêd and Ilanlas had fallen still.

Something terrible had happened.

"No-" Alistair rushed towards the broken window and looked outside, leaning out far, way too far. Astala inched closer.

Below them, in the gulley that cut the hill in two, the darkspawn were dissolving the ranks of the king's army. The people further back were fleeing.

"No, no, no, no, no!" The wind snatched Alustair's breaking voice away. "It can't- The teyrn. Where are they!?"

There was no army at the back of the darkspawn horde.

Khêd looked around, gaze hanging at Alistair’s bent back, as if he wanted to say something. In the end, however, he shrugged and started marching down the stairs.

Sulri looked from him to the group.

Suddenly, Alistair and Ilanlas both tensed, as if they were hearing something. Ilanlas whirled around, stared towards the stairs.

"We have to leave."

"What-" Astala began.

Khêd bolted back up the stairs, wild-eyed, sending one angry curse in the direction of captain Walton's corpse.

"What's going on?" Astala asked.

"Darkspawn," Ilanlas said, turning towards a crate. "We need rope."

"I sodding knew this was a trap," Khêd growled and kicked another crate over.

Astala grabbed the one closest to her: empty. Sulri looked from one tot he other, Leonard opened a crate in the corner.

"Here!"

He pulled rope out and threw it blindly towards them. Astala grabbed the coil. There were two ropes. Not long enough.

"We need more!"

They gathered five ropes that Astala tied together best she could. Ilanlas slung one end around the metal frame of the broken window. Astala checked the knot. Ilanlas threw the dope down. In the back of Astala's head, gibberish started to filter in once more.

"They're coming!" Ilanlas called.

Khêd grabbed the rope, shield on his back, and hauled himself down. A spike ran through Astala's blood.

"They're at the door!" Ilanlas called.

Astala grabbed Leonard and shoved him towards the rope. "Climb!"

"I can't-"

"You gotta!"

Another shove had Leonard on the floor, scrambling for the rope and scooting over the edge. Astala whipped around.

"Alistair!"

Alistair was standing between them and the rope, shield at the ready. Sulri was behind him, taking cover.

"Get going," Astala told Ilanlas.

She ran to grab Sulri and Alistair. Alistair shrugged her off.

"Get moving!"Astala screamed. "This isn't the time for-"

The door burst open. Darkspawn poured into the room, licking up the stairs like the swelling tide.

"Come on!"

Astala managed to avoid the first arrow thanks to the taint in her veins. The impact of the next made her stumble backwards. It sank deep into her shoulder.

Two more hit her and sent her to the ground. The darkspawn screamed, Alistair screamed, and her blood screamed with them.

That's not good, Astala thought, looking at the three black shafts sticking out of her. And then: Shouldn't this hurt more?

And she hadn't sent money back home.

The roof above her was torn open. The archdemon reached down with its maw and swallowed her whole.

[clavicuss-vile]

wait,,,, dalish warden/companion means,,,, all three elven lads,, we got the surana, the tabris, and the (mahariel),,,, together,,,,, effervescent,,,,,

[dragonswithjetpacks]

The Tower of Ishal

I was going to crop this but decided not to for obvious reasons. It’s possibly one of the best screens I’ve ever taken.

First of all, we have soldier #1 who looks like he shit himself.

Second, there’s Faryn looking like he’s never taken a bad photo in his life.

Third, Alistair just came from Baywatch. Hot. Off. The. Beach.

Fourth, I’m pretty sure the mage is trying to find a way back down the stairs because he did not sign up for this shit.

[atomic-lola]

Tower of Ishal: Ogre