#jean-marc Stroud

[wylldebee]

Alright hear me out

You're playing Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, and you come across a shiny collectable during on the main quests. It's a shard of a Eluvian. A side-main quest begins stating you must collect a certain number of mirror pieces. It's your choice if you want to put in the hours of finding them. If you do, you'll eventually find the location of a cracked Eluvian. You put the pieces together and it activates. It's a portal to the Fade. A demon barrels through and attacks you and your group. You defeat it and collect the treasure. Quest done, enemy dead, now it's time to go. Except. The Eluvian glows and just when you're expecting another demon to come out—you instead watch as a human is thrown out. They stand up and there, injured and bruised but alive, is the person the Inquisitor left in the Fade. If it's Alistair/Loghain/Stroud you get a thank you letter from Romanced!Fem!Warden/Anora/the Wardens respectively, and either an Tiered/leveled weapon/armour or schematic. If it's Hawke, though? Varric sends you a thank you letter, a signed copy of The Tale of the Champion (which you can read completely in the codex), weapon/armour, a unique schematic, and also a bag of gold to "help cover the costs of whatever Hawke broke while they were in your care".

[animezinglife]

He deserved so much better.

[walk-the-fade]

Watch Dreadwolf pull some SHIT and whoever you leave in the Fade is actually alive and whoever stayed behind and went to Weisshapt died in whatever tf is going on there.

[thiefbird]

Hey. Question for the DA community.

Does, like, anyone care about Stroud??? Is there anyone who has blorbofied him?

[crackinglamb]

Chapters: 143/? Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Solas|Fen'Harel, Rogue Inquisitor, Varric Tethras, Cassandra Pentaghast, Vivienne (Dragon Age), Sera (Dragon Age), Gereon Alexius, Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Blackwall (Dragon Age), Leliana (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford, Josephine Montilyet, Lace Harding, Cole (Dragon Age), Sky Watcher (Dragon Age), Wisdom (Dragon Age), Female Hawke (Dragon Age), Male Mahariel (Dragon Age), Morrigan (Dragon Age), Ameridan (Dragon Age), Felassan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Modern Girl in Thedas, not a self-insert, Non-Canon Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Diary/Journal, Alcohol, Swearing, Snark, Pining, Emotional Slow Burn, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Solas Being Solas (Dragon Age), Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Additional Characters to Be Added As They Show Up, NOW WITH VISUALS, Pro-Elf, Pro-Mage, Anti-Orlais Series: Part 1 of Wicked Things Summary:

Imogen McLean is glad she's played the series before. She's read the novels, she's flipped through the comics. She knows what's going to happen. She's got secrets to spill and canon to break. Now if she could just keep her hands off the Dread Wolf, this might all go a bit easier. Besides, he's got plans of his own. He's not the staying kind, and she knows better than to get attached.

You hear that, Thedas? She's not going to get attached. She's not.

 Beta'd by Iron_Angel. NSFW will be marked with **. Updates on (sporadic) Wednesdays.

*This fic now has embedded images. More will be added as I take/receive them. Most chapters have something in them, some have several. Screenshots were taken by me, any art is credited to its artist.*

Chapter 143 - The Void Awaits

Mythal killed a Titan, she thought.  Was this where it was when it lived?  Is this why they call it the Abyss?  The Void?  For sure no one knows what lies at the bottom of this trench other than darkspawn.  

She couldn't look away from the scene in front of her.  No carrion birds flew overhead, nothing moved, it was silent enough to hear the sibilant whisper of sand on sand.  There wasn't even a smell.  Or at least, there wasn't the smell she would expect from such a battlefield.  The back of her throat closed up, reminding her of how the air tasted and felt in the future Redcliffe.  She'd thought then that it was because of the red lyrium.  But no, it was the Blight that made each breath itch in her lungs.

The others caught up and Stroud dismounted next to her, looking at the other side of the canyon, his expression both bleak and knowing.  He glanced at her in the saddle for a moment before his eyes returned inexorably to the vista.  “You have the look of one who has never seen such a thing, Inquisitor.”

“I...haven't. There's really no way to prepare for it.  Knowing isn't the same as seeing.”

“I suppose that is true.”  His lilting voice seemed out of place, too gentle and soft for such a grisly location.  “It is little comfort to know that this is victory.”

DAFF Crew Tags

@warpedlegacy, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @theluckywizard, @nirikeehan, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @mogwaei, @melisusthewee, @blarrghe and @agentkatie.

[roguerambles]

Listen, do I always sacrifice Stroud? Yes.

Would my Inquisitor have climbed him like a tree? Also yes.

[silver-horse]

honestly I think the argument between Hawke and the warden contact only exists to add drama and a meaningless choice where the player can say “Hawke is right” or “warden contact is right”. And it’s representative of what is wrong with Inquisition’s writing. 

Hawke and warden contact are always in the Fade with the Inquisitor, therefore the scene plays out between them. And it’s already dumb that Alistair, Loghain and Stroud behave the same way constantly.

If they insist on someone showing outrage, they could have wrote unique lines for the companions. We have a fuckload of religious companions, it would make sense for a lot of them. Yes, the scene would always play out slightly differently. But it’s a short scene, so different variations shouldn’t cause a huge problem.

DA2 famously had rushed development and yet... there are completely unique moments which depend on the companions. If Fenris is in the party when meeting the arishok, Anders in the deep roads etc. countless examples. In the Fade each companion had a different temptation, different lines had to be written. They didn’t use a cop-out where 2 characters always have the same confrontation (even though one of them can be 3 different people and the other one...also at least 3 different personalities). In DA2 there is a scene where humorous Hawke can distract guards but Merrill screws up and asks “there isn’t really a fire, is there?” which is just a funny moment, not needed for the plot, but it’s there because it makes sense for her to do this. That's what it's like when characters drive the events. Meanwhile in DAI the characters are usually empty vessels molded into whatever the plot needs. (Not that the first 2 games don't ever make this mistake, but it's much less prevalent.)

Hawke is a prime example of someone who is regularly mischaracterised in DAI. No, I don’t think this is just because Hawke is a player character and it's difficult to account for everyone’s version. Hawke in da2 was already unlike The Warden. Hawke had voiced lines, often said things that we had no control over. Or the only control we had is which of the 3 personalities we played. And they made sure to carry that over and the romance choice and if Hawke approved of the chantry boom etc. There aren’t that many variations and Hawke is only present for a short time. And yet they couldn’t even get these few dialogues right.  Ugh.

another thing that cracked me up abt da:i andersmance hawke is hawke getting all mad abt the wardens being responsible for the divine’s murder! gasp! how dare they! babygirl the last time a warden caused a massive explosion and killed a major religious figure you married him so let’s maybe get off that particular high horse

[deedeemactir]

You ever think about how not just Loghain, who started as a rogue, but also Alistair and Stroud all wear the rogue warden armor in DAI? You ever realize that, of the unique warden armors, the rogue version is the one named In Death, Sacrifice?

[pirateofrohan]

So I fixed some Inquisition whitewashing I haven't seen anybody else really talk about/do anything with.

[mako-designated-driver]

Codex Entry #62: Hard in Hightown: Chapter ???

By Varric Tethras

Donnen wiped spilled ale off the bar, listening to the cries of the birds and the crashing of waves outside. Another slow day on the Amaranthine Coast. The tavern didn't get many visitors—just a little too far south of the Antivan border to catch the caravans—but he hadn't opened it to make a profit.

If Jean-Marc Stroud was left behind in the Fade during the main quest Here Lies the Abyss...

He poured a glass of plum brandy from a chipped decanter and carried it out to the patio, where an impressive Orlesian mustache was keeping company with an old Grey Warden playing a minuet on a lute.

Donnen handed the brandy to the Warden, in some deference to his mustache, and the gentleman accepted it with grace, placing the glass on the table before finishing the last measure of his song.

"You have my thanks, guardsman." The Orlesian set the lute on a nearby chair and allowed the brandy to approach his mustache. The mustache did not appear impressed with the vintage.

"It's just Donnen these days," he replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"I spent so many years in and around the City of Chains," the Warden sighed. "We're both lucky to have escaped her clutches."

The sun was setting behind them, drawing long shadows on the ground that stretched toward the sea.

"Maybe." Donnen shrugged, watching the waves turn dark in the distance. "Some days, I'm not sure all of me made it out."

"To what we've left behind." The Orlesian raised his glass in a toast, and the two men watched the light fade over the ocean in peace.

If a male Hawke was left behind in the Fade...

He poured some noxious Ander stout from an oak cask into a heavy tankard and carried it outside to a dark-haired nobleman on the patio idly strumming a lute so out of tune, it sounded like some other instrument, perhaps a tuba or a kettle drum, trying to invent music from scratch.

Donnen handed over the tankard, only half-hoping it would stop him from playing any more.

"That's very kind of you, guardsman." Thankfully, the gentleman set aside his lute and took the tankard, putting his feet up on the table in front of him.

"It's just Donnen these days," he replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"It's never really gone." The nobleman smiled. "Kirkwall. It finds its way into your soul, and once it gets there, you carry it always."

The sun was setting behind them, casting long shadows from the tavern down to the water. A flock of cormorants took advantage of the fading light to dive for fish making their way back out to sea.

"Maybe so." Donnen smiled, too. "But the world can always use a Champion or a guardsman wherever they happen to go."

The gentleman raised his tankard. "I'll drink to that."

And the two men watched the last of the light disappear in peace.

If a female Hawke was left behind in the Fade...

He poured a glass of red Orlesian wine and carried it out to the patio where Lady Marielle sat, playing a lute for the benefit of a distant flock of cormorants and a sleepy mabari hound.

Donnen handed her the glass with a smile. "Can I get you anything else, your ladyship?"

"That's very kind of you, guardsman." Marielle set aside her lute; the sleepy hound looked up, annoyed at having its lullaby interrupted.

"It's just Donnen these days," he replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"Is it?" She smiled slyly over the glass. "You don't think naming a tavern The Watch was a sign that perhaps you can take the guardsman out of Kirkwall, and even out of the Guard, but he never... quite leaves?"

The sun was setting behind them. The hound stretched and ambled over to the table to lay his head on Lady Marielle's knee and beg for table scraps. In the distance, the cormorants took off in a single motion to return to their roosts up the shore.

Donnen smiled back. "Maybe you're right. But tonight I'm off duty, your ladyship."

"Marielle," she corrected. "And to answer your question, you can get me some company. One guardsman might suffice."

And the two of them watched the last of the light disappear together in peace.

If Alistair was left behind in the Fade...

He poured a glass of smoky Fereldan whisky and carried it out to the patio where a sandy-haired fellow was attempting to play the lute. Or murder the lute. Or murder the concept of music itself. It probably didn't help that the man was holding the lute straight out in front of him as if he feared it were a snake that might bite him.

Donnen offered the fellow the glass, fervently hoping it would make the playing stop.

"Guardsman! You came to my rescue just in time!" The blond man took the glass with a sheepish laugh and all but threw the lute into a nearby chair.

"It's just Donnen these days," he replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"Retirement is grand, isn't it? No more responsibility, no more senior officers yelling at you, no more Kirkwall..." The other man looked wistfully out at the birds diving into the waves down the coast.

The sun was setting behind them, turning the Amaranthine Ocean a deep sapphire and sending the seabirds back up the cliffs to their nests.

"Kirwall's still out there. Along with all those other things. I just didn't bring them to the bar." Donnen grinned. "So what did you retire from?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." The man gave him a lopsided grin in return. "You want to hear a badly told story about a bastard prince with an unholy love of cheese?"

"Why not? We've got time."

And while the blond man spun his unlikely tale, the two of them watched the last of the light vanish in peace.

If Loghain Mac Tir was left behind in the Fade...

He poured the last dregs of a pale Fereldan lager into a mug and headed out to the patio where an old soldier sat strumming a particularly battered-looking lute.

Donnen held out the mug like a peace offering.

"Thank you, guardsman." The soldier set aside the lute in favor of the mug with a businesslike efficiency. The grizzled mabari curled up at his feet flicked one ear, dreaming.

"It's just Donnen these days," He replied, looking out over the waves. "My time in the Kirkwall guard is over."

"Is it?" the soldier sighed, looking down at the sleeping dog. "If you don't still wake up from dreams about patrols, you're luckier than most."

The sun slipped down another notch in the sky behind them, and the wind coming in off the sea turned cooler.

"You know what I miss?" Donnen said. "The smell of the Lowtown Bazaar in the morning. Two dozen bakeries with loaves of bread and sweet pies in the oven."

"There are worse things," the soldier laughed, "to remember about home than the smell of pies baking." Then he sighed again. "You really are luckier than most."

Donnen smiled. "Maybe so."

The old soldier raised his mug. "Here's to home."

At his feet, the hound twitched her paws, chasing rabbits in her sleep, and the last light faded from the sky in peace.

[dragonagekeeper]

Disclaimer: This is not directly recorded in the keep, but is a part of the world state depending on if Alistair is alive/remains with the wardens or if Loghain is alive/recruited by the wardens, or not.

Act 2 / Dragon Age Inquisition Polls

[dragon-age-codex-entries]

Codex entry: Ser Stroud

"Born the younger son of a minor noble family in the Fields of Ghislain, Jean-Marc Stroud had just finished training at the Academie des Chevaliers when he received word that his family had been killed, ostensibly by bandits. In reality, they were victims of the Orlesian Great Game. Ser Stroud's plan to find his family's murderers was cut short when the Grey Warden, Clarel, recruited Stroud on the advice of the Academie trainers, who did not wish to see a promising young chevalier throw his life away in fruitless pursuit of vengeance. Unable to refuse such a request honorably, Ser Stroud joined the Wardens and left his old life behind.

Warden Stroud has served the Grey Wardens with honor for decades. He is regarded as one of the finest swordsmen in the Order, combining his study at the Academie with years of fighting darkspawn alongside dwarves in the Deep Roads. Warden-Commander Clarel has tasked him with recruiting and training new Wardens; most young Warden warriors owe their skill to Stroud's mentorship.

Stroud prefers to travel in the Free Marches rather than Orlais, knowing his family history could cause him to become caught up in the Game, leading to accusations of political interference among the Wardens. He also has no strong opinions regarding mages or templars, although he believes both groups wrong to turn their back on the Chantry, which Stroud holds in some esteem."

—An intelligence report delivered to Leliana

[randomnonsensedragonage]

Chevalier No More

Avenie Caron & Jean-Marc Stroud - 1464 words

CW: Canon-typical violence

Summary: Avenie, a trainee at the Academie des Chevaliers, discovers the dark side of the path she's chosen. Then a mysterious Grey Warden offers her a new way forward.

A/N: Slowly working on uploading some of my Ao3 only fics to Tumblr as well. This one was originally published in 2019.

Read on Ao3

“No,” Avenie said. “I won’t allow this.”

Her hand rested on the hilt of her blade. Behind her lay the gates of Val Royeux’s Alienage, and ranged in front of her were several of her fellow trainees at the Academie. Her friends. Or so she’d thought.

“Come off it, Avenie.”

“Allow this? Is she serious?”

“It’s just a bit of fun.”

Avenie gritted her teeth. Chevalier training may have been a lie, but it hadn’t been useless. She was surveying the situation as she’d been taught, looking out for ways to defend herself and get the upper hand if they decided to fight their way past her. The street they were on was open, big enough for fighting, and though many of them were tense as though ready for battle, they seemed caught off guard, not as ready to attack as she was. But the fact remained that it was six against one, and most of them had had more training than her. She might be able to stop one or two of them, but the rest would either overpower her, or simply leave her to fight while they ran to the Alienage. She would have to talk them out of it.

“Attacking elves is not the purpose of our training,” she said, heart racing. “We-we must protect the weak, not prey on them.”

A few of her companions exchanged looks. There were titters. Eyes were rolled. Ariel, the tallest and most charismatic of the group, spoke.

“Avenie, it’s tradition,” he said, voice reasonable. “Practice. Elves today, Orlais’ foes tomorrow. Generations of Chevaliers have done the same.”

“The tradition is wrong,” she said. How could she make them see? She was a fighter, not a diplomat, and her voice shook even if her hands didn’t. She could only think of one more tactic.

“Julien, please.”

He was at the back, almost hidden in the shadows and head hung, but he looked up when she spoke. His black curls framing his face, eyes that same blue that always made her heart pound.

“You cannot agree with this. Please, make them see reason!”

He looked at her, blinked. Then, he looked at the ground. Her heart felt like it would tear into pieces.

Ariel drew his sword, the ring of steel echoing on the quiet street.

“This grows tiresome. Chevaliers, with me!”

Avenie drew her own blade, a noise echoed by the drawing of five others. They ran at her.

Avenie ducked, dodging out of the path of the sword that had been aimed at her chest. She came up and rammed into the nearest attacker’s chest, knocking him back. Someone tried to grab her from behind, and she spun, catching them in the chest with the flat of her sword, then lashing out at fighters to her right, to her left. She spotted Karine, one of the only other women in the group, attempting to get past her, but she leapt to the side and blocked her, at the same time kicking the man who tried to stab her in the side.

Bad idea. He grabbed her leg, pulling her to the ground. Her face hit the dirt, and she struggled to free herself as he dragged her across the dust. With a roar, she twisted, turning herself on to her back and jumping to her feet, knocking Ariel back at the same time. Righting herself, she wiped the blood from her nose, spat out the dirt, and held out her sword. But they were surrounding her, coming from all sides. Ariel’s grin was wolflike, and even Julien’s gaze was intense and cold. She stepped back. She would keep fighting them as long as she could. Even if they killed her, at least she would die defending others.

Then Karine cried out, doubling over in pain. Someone had slashed her in the back, and used the opening to break through the circle surrounding Avenie. A man ran to her side. All she could tell about him in the dark was that he was tall and solidly built, and he had a sword.

“With me,” he said. “We can take them together.”

Avenie nodded, not really having any other choice. He moved so he was at her back, facing those who were behind her. They separated.

Swords clashed in the night. Avenie was taking on Ariel and Julien, the strange man the three others. Karine was nowhere to be seen, must have stumbled off back to the Academie. Avenie hoped this meant she’d learned something.

As she knocked Julien’s blade aside, she glanced over her shoulder at the battle behind her. Though he was outnumbered, the strange man was fighting well, expertly dodging the three trainees’ thrusts and slashes. She saw him knock big Octave aside, slash a wound down his breastplate. The man stumbled and fell.

Before long, the battle was over. Several of her former friends lay on the ground, and the others had run back to the Academie. Avenie wiped her sword and re-sheathed it, noticing that Julien was not among the dead. She felt numb.

“Come on.” The man’s voice. He reached for her wrist, holding her steady. “We ought not to linger here.”

Too exhausted to do anything else, Avenie went with him.

The man’s name was Stroud. He was a serious looking fellow with dark hair and a handlebar mustache. Not the type you’d forget, but Avenie didn’t realize who he was until they were already speaking over drinks at the tavern.

“Jean-Marc Stroud?” she said. “The former Chevalier?” No wonder he had fought so well. “I thought you were exiled from the empire.”

Stroud took a sip of his drink, then shook his head.

“No, not exiled. I left by choice. But I do return from time to time.” His eyes twinkled. “You likely don’t remember, but I was among the Grey Wardens who visited your class at the Academie.”

Avenie did remember. Several weeks back, when they’d been learning how to fight Darkspawn, the Warden Commander had visited along with several others, who’d remained at the back of the hall. Stroud must have been among them.

Stroud set his stein down and wiped foam from his mustache. He was looking at her seriously.

“What are you going to do now?” he said. “You fought with your fellow trainees, and not, from the Academie’s point of view, over a point of honor. Things will be difficult for you after this.”

Avenie nodded. She ran a finger along the rim of her wine glass, but didn't lift it. Her stomach still felt too hollow for drink.

"Do you regret it?” Stroud said.

“No,” Avenie said immediately. “What they were trying to do was wrong. I’m just… disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

“In the Chevaliers,” she said. She reached for her glass. Perhaps she needed the alcohol after all. “I thought… I thought Chevaliers fought for others, not just themselves. I thought they protected people.”

“Some do,” Stroud said. “Not all participate in the so-called tradition your friends were emulating. But protection is not a priority of the order.”

Avenie blinked away the blurriness that was starting to obscure her vision. “I… I don’t know what I’m going to do now. But I will not go back. I will not serve an order that places honor so highly above anything else.”

“So, you became a chevalier because you wanted to protect people?”

Avenie nodded.

“And because of that you stood up to your comrades in arms, your friends, even though you knew they might kill you?”

She nodded again.

“May I make a suggestion?” he said. “The Grey Wardens would welcome you as a recruit. Bravery and tenacity are things we admire. Not to mention the desire to protect. And we could use someone with your combat skills.”

Avenie took another sip of her drink, thinking.

“Is the training difficult?”

“Not nearly as difficult as training at the Academie. But it does require sacrifices. Your life won’t be the same after you join.”

“But I could do good.”

“Our purpose is to fight Darkspawn and stop Blights. So, yes, you would be doing good. You would also be able to move much more freely and widely.”

Avenie didn’t answer, so Stroud cleared his throat. “Well, perhaps you should take time to think about it. I’ll be—”

“I’ll do it,” Avenie said.

Stroud blinked. “Really? You’re sure?”

“Yes. I can’t be a chevalier anymore… but as a Grey Warden my skills wouldn’t go to waste. I’ll do it.”

Stroud smiled. He reached out and shook her hand. “Welcome, Avenie Caron,” he said. “The Wardens will be glad to have you. I’ll speak to the training master, and we can go to Commander Clarel in the morning.”

Avenie nodded. A Grey Warden. Somehow it felt right.

[spinstrackingsystem]

The 28h Annual USA Songwriting Competition Kicks Off, 2022 Winners Announced

Entries are now accepted for the 28th Annual USA Songwriting Competition. Win a top prize of $50,000 worth of cash and merchandise. Also, have your winning songs played on radio! Enter in Pop, Rock/Alt, Folk, R&B, Hip-Hop, Jazz, Instrumental, etc. Entrants come from all over the world: Australia, Canada, Japan, Brazil, Germany, USA, South Africa, etc.   USA Songwriting Competition is sponsored by: Michael Kelly Guitars, Hartke, Samson Technologies, Acoustic Guitar magazine, Klevgrand, Music Gateway, Fiedler Audio, PreSonus, New Music Weekly, Loggins Promotion, Airplay Access, Hal Leonard, Jamstack, Nembrini Audio, Melda Production, FL Studio, Discmakers, School of Rock, Singer Express, Songcraft, Berklee College of Music, etc.   Here are the winners of the 27th USA Songwriting Competition (2022): Overall Grand Prize “The Line” by Sav Buist; Nashville, TN Overall 2nd Prize “Dance In Heaven” by Kevin Stroud & Marc Alan Barnette; Wichita Falls, TX Overall 3rd Prize “Sleepless Summer” by Matty Gottesman; Los Angeles, CA Category Prize Winners (First Prize in each of the 15 categories) DANCE/ELECTRONICA “We’re Lucid Dreaming!” by Jon GK; Los Angeles, CA FOLK “The Line” by Sav Buist; Nashville, TN ROCK/ALTERNATIVE “HIGH3R” by Trent-Jean Michel; AUSTRALIA LYRICS ONLY “Cheap as a Kiss” by Michael R. J. Read the full article

[crackinglamb]

WIP Wednesday Whenever

Tagged by @noire-pandora, thank you! 💕

Tagging @mogwaei, @bdafic, @shretl, @lilbittymonster, @ir0n-angel and @fiadhaisteach. No pressure!

I've reached the penultimate arc of WG, y'all. I'm both excited and overwhelmed to finally get to this point in the writing. From the very earliest parts of the draft (now going on two years old, holy crap), I knew I wanted the main storyline to end this way. Now all I have to do is not fall apart in the middle of it.

Imogen has reached the Western Approach...

(Under a cut for mention of dead bodies and Blight related existential dread. I've been told this scene is very evocative.)

---

In the distance the heat made the black patches shimmer and waver, but she could still find the places where the dead lay, desiccated into grotesque postures where they'd fallen. Their armor and weapons were as shiny and sharp as the day they died, nearly a thousand years ago. She remembered reading somewhere that the Second Blight had so thoroughly ravaged the Approach that the dead didn't even decompose, because nothing survived, not even bacteria. It was why this region was now a desert, in fact, although she had other theories on that, considering the rest of Thedas seemed to bounce back well enough from the Blights.

Mythal killed a Titan, she thought. Was this where it was when it lived? Is this why they call it the Abyss? The Void? For sure no one knows what lies at the bottom of this trench other than darkspawn.

She couldn't look away from the scene in front of her. No carrion birds flew overhead, nothing moved, it was silent enough to hear the sibilant whisper of sand on sand. There wasn't even a smell. Or at least, there wasn't the smell she would expect from such a battlefield. The back of her throat closed up, reminding her of how the air tasted and felt in the future Redcliffe. She'd thought then that it was because of the red lyrium. But no, it was the Blight that made each breath itch in her lungs.

The others caught up and Stroud dismounted next to her, looking at the other side of the canyon, his expression both bleak and knowing. He glanced at her in the saddle for a moment before his eyes returned inexorably to the vista. “You have the look of one who has never seen such a thing, Inquisitor.”

“I...haven't. There's really no way to prepare for it. Knowing isn't the same as seeing.”

“I suppose that is true.” His lilting voice seemed out of place, too gentle and soft for such a grisly location. “It is little comfort to know that this is victory.”

“Yeah...”

“Come, Inquisitor, let us make sure this ritual site is as empty as it should be, and then we can leave this place.”

Imogen watched him turn away from the view as if he was struggling to do it. She wondered how the physical presence of so much Blight affected him, a Warden who'd served long enough that his Calling could have been real. She turned Squirrel away and her gaze landed on Hawke, watching them from the meager shade of the tall stone columns that marked the site. Elly's eyes were sympathetic when they met hers as she dismounted.

“You all right, Genny?”

“Yeah, just...a little overwhelmed.”

“C'mon, the sooner we check this out, the sooner we can leave.”

“That's what Stroud said too.”

Hawke scoffed. “At last we agree on something.”

The trio walked along the bridge that suspended the ritual tower over the edge of the Reach. The site stood on a spur of rock that seemed to simply hang in the air. Imogen was sure that was an illusion, though. The ground itself was simply so saturated with the Blight that it absorbed all the light that shone on it. There was a lingering feeling of wrongness about the place, but it was empty and sand-swept. There was no blood, no demons, no Venatori. As she'd hoped.

Hawke shuddered. “This place is fucking awful.”

[newmusicweekly]

The 28h Annual USA Songwriting Competition Kicks Off, 2022 Winners Announced

Entries are now accepted for the 28th Annual USA Songwriting Competition. Win a top prize of $50,000 worth of cash and merchandise. Also, have your winning songs played on radio! Enter in Pop, Rock/Alt, Folk, R&B, Hip-Hop, Jazz, Instrumental, etc. Entrants come from all over the world: Australia, Canada, Japan, Brazil, Germany, USA, South Africa, etc.   USA Songwriting Competition is sponsored by: Michael Kelly Guitars, Hartke, Samson Technologies, Acoustic Guitar magazine, Klevgrand, Music Gateway, Fiedler Audio, PreSonus, New Music Weekly, Loggins Promotion, Airplay Access, Hal Leonard, Jamstack, Nembrini Audio, Melda Production, FL Studio, Discmakers, School of Rock, Singer Express, Songcraft, Berklee College of Music, etc.   Here are the winners of the 27th USA Songwriting Competition (2022): Overall Grand Prize "The Line" by Sav Buist; Nashville, TN Overall 2nd Prize "Dance In Heaven" by Kevin Stroud & Marc Alan Barnette; Wichita Falls, TX Overall 3rd Prize "Sleepless Summer" by Matty Gottesman; Los Angeles, CA Category Prize Winners (First Prize in each of the 15 categories) DANCE/ELECTRONICA "We're Lucid Dreaming!" by Jon GK; Los Angeles, CA FOLK "The Line" by Sav Buist; Nashville, TN ROCK/ALTERNATIVE "HIGH3R" by Trent-Jean Michel; AUSTRALIA LYRICS ONLY "Cheap as a Kiss" by Michael R. J. Read the full article