#ladies of thedas week

[ladyinthebluebox]

[fenharel-is-so-swell]

While I’m on my ✨Race in Thedas✨ rant let me just explain why the blending of Dalish and City Elves bothers me personally.

As I said previously, I’m mixed. I’m specifically black in the ‘descendants of enslaved people’ way. I grew up in a predominantly white area but finished out highschool in a diverse school with a high number of first gen African immigrants.

(I promise this is pertinent) My relationship with race has always been complex. I benefit from a proximity to whiteness due to being mixed, but I of course still experienced rampant racism and an identity crisis.

In elementary school we had to do a yearly genealogy project. In some ways, mine was easier than the few other black kids in my class. While their families were nearly untraceable past 2-3 generations, I could just focus my effort on my mother’s side. Though, I faced ridicule because OBVIOUSLY I wasn’t white, so obviously I couldn’t be German. While I may have shared DNA, I felt much less experientially connected to the ‘family tree’ I did my reports on because their lives could look nothing like mine. They walked through world without the color of their skin first. So, of course the next year when a culture week came up and we were encouraged to wear clothing representative of our heritage I went the other way—I asked my dad to buy me a dashiki. I still I faced ridicule and still it felt foreign. I had no cultural ties to the patterns, my family never wore them, I’d never heard of the foods we looked up that were mainstays on the Ivory Coast. I may have shared DNA, I may have shared racial trauma, but my culture was different. I was black I wasn’t African.

Playing dragon age origins as a City elf I saw myself for the first time. I saw a woman divorced from her original culture, ripped from her roots by an imperial force but still incredibly steeped in a rich world created by survival and painstaking effort to hold onto oral tradition and what blended history the alienages could. I saw my grandmother singing gospel on the weekends, the church ladies in their outfits, the greens, the pecan pie, the stories of struggle the community shared, the village it took to raise all my cousins and get our older family and friends through chemo and childloss and hard financial times. In hearing about different alienages I saw the distinct cultural differences between Harlem, Oakland, Birmingham, Houston, Atlanta.

Playing as a Dalish elf I saw a facet of the African-Immigrant experience I came to know in high school from my friends who immigrated. I saw the culture more closely connected to the various countries they came from, but still scared by the vestiges of imperialism and colonialism. They were all unique, just as Dalish clans are. My Nigerian friends ate different food, had different rules, wore different clothes, had different cultural practices than my Kenyan or Nigerian friends. I had a couple of North African friends from Morrocco and Egypt that still felt grounded in the history of Africa but were so different. I saw the physical differences in them like I saw them in further DA entires in the Dalish from Antiva or elves from Tevinter.

(And better yet to see this dichotomy in culture I didn’t have to face more trauma porn on black bodies)

As I continued digging into elven cultures in southern Thedas I saw even more complexities of the diaspora that matched my experience. They way both city and Dalish elves looked down upon each other one for ‘assimilation’ and being ‘weak’. The other for holding on to ‘strange’ cultural practices and being ‘primitive’.

Growing up at a crossroads of many racial and cultural experiences I relished in the nuance, the way both cultures were painted as a people just trying to survive and hold onto themselves. A people distinct and resilient, a people not too unlike from each other and while aloof still marginally less wary in solidarity. They were both full of individuals that interacted so vibrantly with the world and life they lived in.

Flattening that in Veilguard initially devastated me, then enraged me. That’s not just poor writing, that’s borderline racist. It indicates that the differences don’t matter, the pain, the struggle, the culture, the history none of it matters because ‘an elf is just an elf’ at the end of the day. And that’s fucking gross.

[seeker-ophelia]

HAPPY DRAGON AGE DAY

Conniving Crows, Wicked Watchers, Lustful Lords, Vivacious Veil Jumpers, Wild Wardens, and Shrewd Shadow Dragons!

Me: THANK YOU SO MUCH EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU FOR FILLING OUT MY SURVEY! You: Lady, what are you talking about? Me: A couple weeks ago you filled out my survey! You: Oh yeah, whatever happened with that?

Well, let me tell you, good internet people!

Dragon Age: The Veilguard in “One Word”:

If I had a nickel for every "Fun, but..." or "Pretty, but..." responses, I would have a lot of nickels. "Fun but not Dragon Age" was my personal favorite.

If you don't see your verbatim response here, that's because there was 650 of you. And I had to take some liberties with verbiage here.

What were your Overall Impressions of Dragon Age: The Veilguard?

What did you like the MOST about Veilguard?

What did you HATE about Veilguard?

Ho, nelly, you guys.

186 (>28%!) of you used the “Other” box to expand on your ideas (which is part of why this graph is so uhgly) but I appreciate every single one of you sharing your thoughts with me.

19 (2.9%) of you said something pertaining to “The Writing” even though that wasn’t an option

112 (17%!) of you mentioned (at least one of) the words: shallow, pale, child-locked, darkness, nuance, choice, conflict, empty, sanitized, or (my personal favourite) toothless.  

Some “Hated” Honorable Mentions:

“Neve’s Hat”

Fuck off her fascinator is fascinating

“Not Being able to Swim”

I read it before and I still laughed; this one is the real MVP

The Death of Varric

☹

The one person who said “Harding”

I will fight you

The TWO People who said “Too many puzzles”

Bitch is this Taash? How did you get access to this???

**Shout out to the people who pointed out I spelled DIALOGE wrong, yeah I know sorry I’m an idiot

If Veilguard were to have a DLC, which Companion Characters would you want to see return the most?

I find it SO interesting that I asked for 5, and there were 5 VERY CLEAR winners...

(Cole, Dorian, Fenris, Merrill, Zevran, by a veritable landslide; there’s over 100 votes between the lowest – Merrill (284), and the next highest – Cassandra (177))  

To those of you who can’t read: the HoF, Hawke, and the Inquisitor are NOT Companion Characters.

Also, to the one person who responded: “No one deserves to be dragged through that” I see you.

*I did not have time to collate the data supplied in “Other” but I think there’s a pretty obvious winner here

And now, if a “Keep” DLC were to be made, which choices do YOU think are the most important to have?

Before we jump into that, I would just like to say how little these answers differ; despite my open ended question a LOT of people wrote the same things.

Some of you, bless your little hearts, explained your choices like im a dumb bitch who hasn’t been living in the wiki and played each game 2/3/5 times. Like I would be doing this and not know what Orzammar or the Architect is.  Bless your little worm spirits you’re so adorable.

Every person who said “Inquisitors Class” followed it up with (weird I know sorry uwu im so weird im sorry) like… guys. You know…. You are ALLOWED to have OPINIONS. And you’re not weird there was like 6 of you. You're not alone.

To the EVERYTHING/ALL OF IT people; I see you.

Four people were brave enough to admit they couldn’t remember anything, and 55 people didn’t write ANYTHING.

Behold, Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat:

Circle Fate: Fate of the Chantry Circles after DAI

DAI Wardens: Wardens exiled/accepted in DAI

Divine: Who you chose for the Divine (DAI)

Fade Fate: The Fate of the person you left in the fade in DAI

Mage/Templar: The outcome of the Mage/Templar conflict (not differentiated between Inquisition/2)

Southern Rulers: All three Rulers of Southern Thedas; Ferelden, Orlais, & Orzammar

The Well: Who Drank Mythal's Bathwater (dont kink shame me)

Any answer with less than 5 responses got taken out for brevity and are listed below:

(2) Nothing Cuz they destroyed the South, (1) ANYTHING!!!!!, (1) fuck you (bioware) for disregarding the entire lore of the first few games, (1) I think the most interesting things are the smaller stuff you don't expect to carry over.

(2) Andraste's Urn, (2) Avernus (research), (1) Awakening companions fates, (2) Calpernia's Fate, (3) Cass/Tranquility, (2) Clan Lavellan Status, (1) Cullen/Lyrium, (2) DA:O Dalish Clan, (1) DA2 Isabela, (2) DA2 Qunari Plot outcome, (1) Dagna (Magic School), (1) Danarius, (1) Disband/Keep Inquisition, (2) Faded for Her Result, (3) Hawke Siblings Fate, (2) Inquisition disbanded actual consequences, (1) Inquisition Support of Nevarra or Tevintrer (josephine war table quest), (4) Inquisitors Class, (1) Iron Bull, (1) Isabela, (1) Paragon of her Kind (Golems), (1) Prisoner at Ostagar, (1) Rule of 3, (1) Save/Stop Solas, (1) Sha-Brytol dwarves, (1) Shale, (4) Solas/Inky Approval, (1) Solassan Implications, (1) Solavellan Vallaslin, (1) Soldier's Peak, (2) Sten, (2) Zevran/Darker Crows.

To the one person, who commented: “I think the most interesting things are the smaller stuff you don't expect to carry over.” I see you. And I am percolating.

If the Devs/Anyone at BioWare happens to see this, the last question I asked was this:

If you could ask the Devs/Writers of Veliguard one thing, what would it be?

A lot of responses are focused on the lore. More are questioning the narrative & lore decisions & implications of VG. Some are begging for DLC. Some are flat out rude. One is a proposition. But there are a fair amount of people who want to ask you;

‘hope you're okay’

‘How are you holding up?’

‘I hope despite everything you know that your creation is loved and adored.’

‘THANK YOU!!!’

Intelligent fans know the development Hell VG went through to be born. They know corporate culture. They understand there's often more than meets the eye. Fans of Dragon Age know what heavenly good delicious golden content BioWare can make. And they're hungry for it. Take some well deserved rest, and then come back to the table with us, because we cannot wait for more.

A Sappy Little Note:

I have Zero online presence and really expected to get about 100 responses total, and I got 650 (*mind blown emoji*), I wasn’t even able to share it to reddit main (bc of the fvbjvks mods). Most of these responses are from YOU GUYS on good ol’ tumblr.com and Im so weepy about how you all got involved and shared your thoughts with me Thank You SO MUCH.

For those of you who messaged me about the DLC, you are not forgotten. Believe it or not, I have a plan. Watch your inboxes over the next couple days, because I’m going to be prickling your creative brains over the Holidays.

Once more, Thank You All, so so so much for participating. Bare your blade, remain vigilant, and keep an Eye out for The Agents.

[dragons-and-ages]

As much as I usually prefer playing mages and elves… reading The World of Thedas vol 2 in preparation for a new playthrough is actually getting me hyped to play a Cousland.

Reading about my soon-to-be Amalthea Cousland’s parents is simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking:

Her mother, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, was raised on the deck of a ship and was a fierce rebel raider known as the Seawolf during the time of the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden. After Maric retook Denerim and mobilized the northern banns to defend against Orlesian retaliation by sea, she met her future husband:

I considered the name Dane, from Fereldan legend, but I think Amalthea’s mabari will have to be named Mistral, after her mother’s ship.

After the war, when Bryce returned to Highever:

“Teyrn Bryce spent four months receiving oaths and taking possession of his ancestral home, and every day without fail he sent a letter to Lady Eleanor - sometimes more than one a day.”

The shanty in question:

I think that, even if this was something Eleanor “never shared with her children” they still learned about it from other sources. I have a feeling that a young Amalthea (or “Theo”) got in trouble when she learned the song and got caught belting it in the castle.

Years later, as Highever mobilized to assist King Cailan at Ostager, Theo would have a few notes stuck in her head, plaguing her as she couldn’t remember what song it was from… Until several weeks later, when she would hear the song played in a brothel in Denerim and the enormity of the loss of her family would finally hit her like a meteor.

The book has this to say in the section about Arl Rendon Howe:

Bryce was his friend during the rebellion against Orlais. They, along with their friend, Leonas Bryland, survived the massacre that was the Battle of White River together. Bryce was still his friend after Leonas cut contact with him. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland were at his wedding. They were the only people at his wedding. They were his friends.

They were his friends and he still slaughtered them.

I’m so unwell about this.

[thatapostateboy]

we all have a hunger

Pairing: Rook & Lavellan (platonic), brief hint at Solas x Female Lavellan

Word Count: 1675

Synopsis: In which Rook and Lavellan finally get to talk.

Prompt: Day Two: Rebellion from the Veilbound challenge by @/nympthi and @/citadrells on Twitter

Warnings: Mentions of slavery, Veilguard mild spoilers/speculation

Crossposted: Here on AO3

Rook wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Lavellan. She’d heard the stories of course, from rumours whispered amongst slaves and nobles alike in Tevinter to hearing it straight from Varric’s mouth, and yet none of them were quite able to do the fabled Herald of Andraste justice. Solas had painfully little to say, often cutting that line of questioning short whenever she so much as hinted at a connection between them. Harding had been the most honest, telling her that yes, she was a hero, that she had walked in the Fade and slayed would-be gods, but that she was a woman, a person, same as the rest of them.

Rook found that all but impossible to believe when the legend herself had strode through the Eluvian like she owned the place, demanding to know what was going on and why the Evanuris were rampaging across Northern Thedas. She looked like one of the illustrations in Varric’s books come to life, minus the flowing hair and waving standard of the Inquisition planted behind her.

She had not taken charge, though Rook would not have protested to someone more qualified taking control of the situation, but there was a respect and reverence around her. When she so much as entered a room, everyone paid attention, even Assan.

It took weeks of hard-fought battles at each other’s side, even harder fought conversations as the two differing personalities attempted to work together, but Rook finally saw her.

It had been the early hours of the morning, or whatever counted as morning in the Fade, but as the other members of the Veilguard had found sleep, Rook had found none, and it seemed that neither had Lady Lavellan. Rook found her already sat at the kitchen island, a cup of tea in her hand, staring contemplatively down into the steaming liquid.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Lavellan looked up at her, letting out a sigh, “Is it that obvious?”

“I hate to break it you, but the circles under your eyes give it away,” she pointed out, pouring her own mug of tea and leaning against the counter to look at her, “Does it ever get easier? Finding rest after everything we see?”

“I’ll tell you when I know,” she gave a soft snort into her mug as she took a mouthful.

Rook sipped at her own mug, humming at the taste, “Is that honey… with hints of dragonthorn?”

Lavellan’s eyebrows rose, “You have quite the palate. It’s my own special blend. I guessed there wouldn’t be much tea here so I’ve been mixing my own.”

“No, the Dread Wolf doesn’t seem to be a fan of tea,” Rook noted, “Or most things, I’ve found.”

“Not entirely true, he does have a taste for tiny cakes.”

Rook smiled at that, “And what about you, Lady Lavellan? What do you have a taste for? Aside from excellent tea blends.”

“Honey cakes,” she admitted, “I used to make them all of the time when I was young, my papae’s family recipe… I can’t remember when I last had the time to bake. Everything just been so…”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “It has… Y’know, I never thanked you.”

“Thanked me? Whatever for?”

“Coming out of retirement, being here to keep my ass out of the fire,” she said.

“Sweet as it is for you to say, I never actually retired,” she pointed out, “Keeping people’s asses out of the fire is what I’ve been doing since the Conclave exploded.”

Rook examined her for a few moments, then gave a resounding nod, “Breakfast.”

“What?”

“I’m going to make you breakfast.”

“I couldn’t impose-”

“It’s the least I can do, all things considered. Besides, I enjoy cooking, so c’mon, what do you…” she trailed off, eyes landing firmly on the one unused pan that still hung on the rack, “How about an omelette?”

A smile spread across Lavellan’s face, “They are my absolute favourite, how did you know?”

“What’s with the one omelette pan?”

The conversation had occurred within the first week of living at the Lighthouse, not long after the full team had been recruited and they had truly begun to explore what the Dread Wolf had to hide away. And for all of the mysteries and magics here, there was only one thing that truly bothered Rook.

The irritation in Solas’ voice was palpable as he turned to look at her, “I’m sorry?”

“You have the most depressing kitchen setup, you own one fork, spoon, knife, plate, bowl and cup, all which look like they’ve never been used… and yet you have a top-of-the-line Orlesian omelette pan.”

He huffed, “Of all of the inane queries you have used this tenuous connection for- How do you know it’s Orlesian? And that it is designed for omelettes?”

She put her hands on her hips, “I know my way around a kitchen with my eyes shut. So, what does a god who doesn’t eat need with an omelette pan?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Very well,” she nodded, “Lucanis was looking to use it, I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t some hidden magical art-”

“No!”

She glanced up at him with a mirthful smirk at his protest, “No?”

“It’s…” he regained his composure a little, “I was saving it for a special occasion.”

Her smirk only grew, “I’ll tell Lucanis to get his own. The omelette pan will remain untouched until you can escape the Fade and treat yourself to breakfast.”

Oh that old wolf had it bad.

“Educated guess,” Rook smiled.

“I’ve had a love for them since I tried them on my first trip to Orlais, back when the Breach had just opened. I had to adjust to shem food, but the omelettes, I fell in love with them.”

“Then you’re in luck. Omelettes are my signature dish.”

“You’re sure it’s no trouble?”

“As I said, it is literally the least I can do.”

Rook grabbed the pan that had sat untouched for Maker knows how long, setting it to warm up on the stove as she gathered ingredients out of the cold storage. She set to work, cracking three eggs and whisking them through a sieve, creating a smooth mixture.

Lavellan watched her, still nursing her tea, “I have to admit, I’m impressed that you got the dragonthorn on the first try. I thought it was quite subtle. I didn’t realise I was in the presence of a connoisseur.”

Rook hummed as she whisked, “Hardly. I spent the better part of my youth being trained how to cook by only the finest of Orlesian slaves. My master wanted nothing but the best when we prepared his meals, so I was taught very young how to taste test everything.”

Lavellan met her gaze, “Varric told me a little of your past when he said that you were working together, but he mainly brought up the Shadow Dragons.”

“I can only imagine the spin he put on it,” she rolled her eyes a little, slicing off some butter to melt into the now hot pan, “The slave breaking free from chains to rebel against the system and bringing freedom to the Imperium.”

“Is that not the story?”

“It a version of the story. I’m just… doing what I can.”

“It’s more than most do.”

Rook turned, pouring the egg mixture with care into the pan, hands steady as she guided it to fill every part of the surface, wanting an even cook, “Do you know why I enjoy cooking? Despite my past?”

“Tell me.”

“My master hated eggs. He wasn’t allergic, but he had a distaste for them so bad that he would physically strike us if there was even an egg in the kitchen,” she said, eyes fixed on the omelette as it began to take shape, “So I decided that I would learn to cook every egg dish that I could cram into my head. I would learn them, cook them, and perfect them. And I would feed everything I cooked to the others in the household.”

“You took that risk?” she asked.

Rook grabbed some of the cream cheese mixture that Lucanis kept pre-made in the cold store, piping it delicately through the centre of the omelette, “When I was a child and was first sold to him, I knew that I couldn’t fight him. I was too young, and even if by some miracle I could kill him, I had nowhere to go. So I took solace in my little acts of rebellion. It kept me alive, gave me a reason to never truly give up on the idea of freedom… And the fact it brought joy to the others? That small act that was just for us? It gave us hope.”

She missed the smile on Lavellan’s face as she folded the egg over the cream cheese, the Inquisitor finally realising why Varric had chosen her as his second in command, just as Lavellan couldn’t see the soft look in Rook’s eyes as she told her story, finally opening up to someone.

She slid the omelette delicately onto a plate, finishing it off with some quickly chopped chives and some black pepper, placing it in front of the former Inquisitor.

Lavellan looked positively ravenous at the sight and dug in as soon as Rook handed her a fork, devouring it one messy mouthful at a time. She glanced up at Rook, tears pricking at her eyes, “This is the best thing I have ever eaten.”

Rook snorted, “Shut up, no it’s not.”

She swallowed down her mouthful, “Rook, I’m telling you, I’ve eaten at the Orlesian royal court itself, but this blows their chefs out of the water. This is so good,” she shovelled another forkful into her mouth, “Thank you.”

“Eva.”

“What?”

“My friends call me Eva.”

She smiled at her, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Eva, I’m Brenna.” She lifted her mug of tea towards her, “To small acts of rebellion.”

Eva grabbed her mug and tapped it against hers, “May they see us through.”

[ghostwise]

checking to see what they think or feeling a flutter after something they've done dozens of times for the what are we? moment prompts

“I don’t know, Varric,” Harding says. “This archipelago isn’t on any of the maps I’ve sourced. We’ve come so far—what if it’s another dead end?”

The table in front of them is covered in nautical charts, along with tools and a roll of parchment full of notes. She has stared at these charts for countless hours. She feels intimately acquainted with the monstrous little creatures drawn at the edges of the maps, but it’s gotten her nowhere.

They’ve been aboard the Siren’s Song for weeks now; long enough for both of them to acclimate to the weather and settle in.

Harding had hoped that the local maps would serve them better than the old charts from Ferelden—certainly, the Lords of Fortune had the truest telling of the Boeric Ocean’s most distant reaches—but she’s seen nothing of the mystery archipelago mentioned in so many Venatori missives. It is beginning to worry her.

“Isabela says we’ll soon reach a point where the Siren can’t maneuver. Too many sand bars, too narrow for the ship. We’re running out of time. We’re going in blind.”

“Good thing we have a scout on the case, then,” Varric says. “The finest in Thedas.”

“You think very highly of me,” she tells him, in stern disapproval.

“It’s warranted.” With a rumbly laugh, Varric rises to his feet and walks over. He rests a broad palm on her shoulder.

“Why do you think Lady Lavellan put us on the job, kid? I can see the narrative. But you can see the path.”

Harding sighs at those words.

She cannot help but feel nostalgic when he talks like this. The lines on his face and the gray in his hair certainly don’t help. She has spent a decade devoting herself to this cause.

Before she can dwell on it further there is a knock on the cabin door.

“Lunch,” Lirio Laidir says when he walks in. “For my favorite guests.”

“Aw, you didn’t have to!” Harding says, instantly brightening. “I’m sure glad you did, though. I’m sick of looking at these.”

“Trouble?” Lirio asks.

“We can’t find an archipelago matching the descriptions we’ve gathered,” Varric says, taking the wooden bowl from Lirio’s hands. “What… is this?”

“Caldeirada,” Lirio says.

“Fish stew again,” Harding clarifies. “Hooray!”

“Well, mostly fish.”

“I’m getting a taste for this mostly fish,” Harding admits with a smile. Then, she pauses around a mouthful of stew, and waves a fluttering hand at Lirio. “Actually—since you’re here, think you could have a look at this? Maybe you’ll see something we’ve missed.”

Varric glances at her over his stew. The notes are not exactly a secret, but they detail Venatori movements and communications they have shared with no one, not even Leliana. And Lirio seems all too eager to help.

Varric would find it suspicious, if he didn’t know better. If he didn’t see the narrative.

“You know,” Lirio hums as he and Harding pore over the charts and annotations, “I heard a rumor from a Dalish friend of mine. He said he once saw a volcano that had formed new islands around it. He said this happens from time to time, but when there is a lyrium vein inside the volcano, curious things start to happen. The islands pop up fast. The Fade gets weak around them. There is a lyrium trade in the area.”

“So… look for volcanoes on islands?” Harding suggests.

The idea is compelling. It seems so unlikely, but it’s a route they hadn’t explored, so she quickly takes to the idea. Her frustration and fatigue from before seem to vanish.

They carry on that way, hunting for volcanoes in the charts and swapping stories, until Lirio is called to tend to the sails.

In the silence that follows, Varric sets his hands on the table politely. He gives Harding a knowing look, and a slow, inquiring smile.

“Well,” he says.

Harding sputters for a moment, a light blush on her cheeks.

“What?”

“Nothing. That was a very enlightening conversation, is all.”

[felassan]

this post is under a cut in case anyone would consider it to be DA:D spoilers. (the things it mentions are not new information and it's minor stuff only)

a few weeks ago it was noticed that on this website, a new VA was listed as the voice of several named characters in DA:D - 'Olen', 'Marek’, 'Lord Borgiani’ and 'Templar Captain'. [source] like I said in the tags on that post, I'd guess that these are more minor-type of characters, like sidequest chars or quest-givers, -type of deal. (so this is overanalyzing for sure ik, its just a bit of fun). I was thinking about this again today, wondering what type of characters (e.g. what race, where are they from etc) they are, and also got to looking up the names online. disclaimer: I was just poking around on Google here, if anything here is incorrect or you're familiar with the names/words and know better, pls lmk! ^^

none of the names return any results on the DA Wiki.

Lord Borgiani - Borgiani seems to be a surname that originates in Italy. the nations and groups in Thedas have multiple inspirations/influences from irl (not just the one) ofc. one of these for Antiva is said to be Italy. Borgiani sounds like it could be an Antivan name, so I'm wondering if Lord Borgiani is Antivan. "Lord" implies they are a dude. their Lord status could imply that they're human nobility. Lord/Lady is a noble title in Antiva (not only there though, ofc). thinking of characters like Lord Otranto from Josie's romance and Lord Enzo of Rialto. putting "borgiani" into Google translate, it detects Corsican as the language and advises "bourgeois" in English, which, you could easily make a link from there to a character who has some form of status.

Marek - a "West Slavic (Czech, Polish and Slovak) masculine given name", like "Mark" in English. it's also a surname. allegedly the name means "warlike" or is ultimately derived from Mars, the Roman god of war via, e.g., "Marcus" (name sites are quite unreliable though in terms of the info on them sometimes). Czech, Polish, Slovak, Slavic & so on names in DA World crop up quite a bit as the names of dwarven characters, so I wonder if Marek is a dwarf?

Olen - a given name and a surname. it's also a place in Belgium and Russia, and Olen was a legendary early poet from Lycia. this page gives Olen as being a name related to the name Ole, "a Danish and Norwegian masculine given name, derived from the Old Norse name Óláfr, meaning "ancestor's descendant". this page gives it as the "masculine form of Olena, a name ultimately derived from Ole." hmm, maybe someone Fereldan, Avvar, dwarven or from the Anderfels?

Templar Captain - as a character without a specified given name, surely they are a minor-minor/background character like e.g., "Templar Guard" from Lake Calenhad Docks (DA:O). self-explanatory. likely human.

[context, two]

[velnat004]

Go wild, list things about Roman's background and his favourite things

okayyy lets go!! -he's born to a human noble father (octavian trevelyan) and a valshoth qunari mother ("anais" trevelyan)

-a handful of the bann's siblings grew to dislike the bann's wife over the years, resulting in them to pick a more "fresh" looking woman for the bann -anais was picked specifically for the bann by one of his sisters during one of her visits to the ostwick circle -the bann and lady trevelyan (viktoria trevelyan) were already starting to have issues about their relationship and when anais arrived to the estate, octavian was more than happy to bed the qunari lady instead -anais' background was not questioned too much as she did not have any vitaars nor seemed to speak qunlat, and they were certain that just like any other non-human races in thedas, she was going to give birth to a human child -when roman was born though, the first signs of his qunari lineage begun showing as he was born with pale grey skin, making the midwife to think he was stillborn at the first sight -as the years would pass, roman started to grow horns -which was something his relatives didn't expect or want, blaming anais for "poisoning" roman's blood like that for years on end -in 9:21, a decade after roman was born, anais was publicly executed after she was found mauling one of her sisters-in-law to death. -weeks after his mother's death, roman's magic surfaced and was sent to the circle of ostwick -lady trevelyan and the bann would bring him home every weekend so he wouldn't feel isolated from his siblings -anais's death did not mean the end of her in-laws' petty behaviour, as they directed their hatred towards anais to roman instead -and thus, a tug of war between the bann's siblings and his inner family, as roman's half siblings and stepmother would do their best to keep him away from the bann's siblings' petty schemes. as u can see i was pretty inspired by magnificent century lmao there's more lore of him but i dont think i can do it justice with just few sentences here so im working on a fic that goes through roman's backstory chapter by chapter :3

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, April 14, 2024

My posts

Honestly, I spent much of the week coping with storm migraines. You can tell, because I was reblogging a lot from under a cold compress rather than doing anything useful with life. 

Reblogs of interest

The Hot Vintage Lady Polls are rough out there, y’all. Round three started closing yesterday (see what’s still open here), and as of this writing, we have lost Bette Davis, Alla Nazimova, Theda Bara, Myrna Loy, Barbra Streisand, Fay Wray, Lucille Ball, Ginger Rogers, and Olivia de Havilland--and it looks like Catherine Deneuve, Clara Bow, Lana Turner, and Mary Pickford are on their way out. Meanwhile, I learned about a ton of actresses I’d never heard of before, only to shriek when Sharmila Tagore, Nadira, and Waheeda Rehman lost this round. (Edwige, I will never forget you.) 

Let me remind you (and me sometimes, too): Not everyone has the same taste or childhood attachments or cinema experiences as you. And everybody in this bracket loses. Everybody but one. 

(I can tell I’m not cut out for brawling because I’m like, “I will be very sad to see Norma Shearer go, but Hazel Scott seems nice!”)

--

“Actually, Mr. Musk, I am an attorney. Do you know that?” Here’s the highlights of Mark Bankston, the man who brought down Alex Jones, coping with Elon Musk and Elon Musk’s Lawyer, who is not even licensed in Texas, for 100 pages of deposition. 

Hozier Watch 2024: “Too Sweet” has now charted higher in the UK than “Take Me to Church,” and it’s getting real close on the US charts. This is a song that didn’t even make last year’s album. I am endlessly fascinated. 

Happy Leland Melvin Day!

Happy Neil Banging Out the Tunes Day!

“Posting endless DNIs because we can’t (or don’t know we can) make spaces just for the people we do want to interact with” actually makes a lot of sense in this centralized social media hellscape. 

There is a 20k mg weed gummy and nobody needs that. “Forget meeting the Hat Man this is what turns you into the Hat Man. This is worse than that torture drug that makes you experience 600 billion years in a second. This is the secret to honest to god shifting.” 

One of the best uses of the Kate Beaton Poe comic I’ve ever seen

“Americanisms that tell you to check on your American” (they are all correct)

“Tuxedo Mask is the first example of being ‘Kenough’”

Just this once, I will allow this AI rendition of a “traditional Polish family” and their traditional Polish woodchuck. 

I am absolutely not saying there is anything wrong with being into tentacles; I’m just saying that Pyramid Head doesn’t even have them and thus is a pretty tame choice to complain about. 

Little Guy, a game

A cursèd chair called “Oops!”

Sparrow Tarot: Honestly, this is one of my favorite takes on the Hanged Man.

This dog is a biscuit and she is precious

Video

One of the things that’s so great about this Ilia Malinin free-skate program is, he makes it look so effortless that I would have never figured out on my own, without Tumblr’s commentary, that there’s a couple moves in here that no one in the world can do but him. Like, the very first jump and the announcers start screaming. 

A journey from fearing moths to raising them

A dude puts on a dress For the Meme and then discovers that he loves it (and then he styles it as a full outfit and it looks SO GOOD)

Watching this cat ride around on a roomba on a sped-up surveillance camera is self-care.

So is this (although it’s a bit strobe-y)

Bat type: hi doggy

Was the jello for the tuna salad lamb supposed to be lime?

The sacred texts

Holy Shit, Two Cakes

The origin of “Me, an intellectual”

#AllMyLifeIHadToFight

Personal tag of the week

Designer Roberto Cavalli, who passed away this week at age 83. I reblogged several fashion posts--I hadn’t even realized myself that he had designed Beyoncé’s famous yellow dress in Lemonade.

[ungodly-amounts-of-godly-trauma]

wotw round 1

propaganda under the cut!

leliana:

shes a companion in the first game and a major character in the third. between these games she becomes the spymaster for the girlpope and actively aids in and supports its various atrocities. this is NEVER EVER AKNOWLEDGED BY THE FANDOM. this isnt a bit! i go through her tag on ao3 and tumblr regularly and NO ONE TALKS ABOUT THIS??? all her content about her romance is fluffy and nice (which. Um. Yeah im sure thats not due to lesbophobia at all. (shes bi, but the majority of people who romance her do so as a woman)) EVEN DURING THE TIME PERIOD WHERE SHE IS APART OF THE ORGANIZATION THAT IS DOING LIKE SIX SEPARATE GENOCIDES AT ONCE AND IS ACTIVELY DISENFRANCHISING THE PEOPLES THAT HER LOVER CAN BELONG TO???? HUH??? just because she Says she supports certain things (and to her credit she does later. just way after the helping with genocide) does not erase her active role in furthering the oppression of various peoples in thedas. this isnt even getting into all of her other more minor flaws people erase all the time(i am very tired but otherwise i WOULD) if only because this is enough. Can people please please like women without pretending they dont have flaws come the fuck on

martin blackwood:

listen my memory of this podcast is so loose BUT in canon he's a cunning and competent person, he actively works to sabotage the evil organization he's forced to work for, he gets trapped in a sort of limbo-state version of reality meant to isolate him from the world and decides on his own to try to get out instead of submitting to it, he was literally theorized to be working for the Web by some people and YET everyone just sort of takes the way he was in s1 (in love with the main character, very timid, etc) and ignores all of his character development 👍 there are some major martin soldiers who could explain this better

he's great actually he's committed minor arson. he killed his boyfriend (necessary). he's got incredible mommy issues. he's manipulative. he's angry and wonderful and kind and the fandom has dumbed him down to this uwu chubby tea lover softboi and i HATE IT

Hated by his sick single mother, but still cared for her till she died. Spent two weeks trapped in his apartment by a worm lady and didn't lose his head. Always tries to be kind and give people tea, but beware the nice ones. He will murder you once the apocalypse comes around. Especially if you hurt him or his boyfriend. The fandom may sometimes only remember the tea and the meekness but don't be fooled!

so many things. mainly a shitty mom and Spooky Depression though

[midnightprelude]

Middy's DA Create-a-Thon Masterpost

This year I made a bunch of different works for the @dacreateathon, including fic, recipes, crochet, and podfic! Here is a post of everything I made for the event this year. :)

Fanfiction:

The following works are part of a large collaboration called A Night to Remember with Team Orlais. All of the works are set at an Orlesian ball at some point between the end of Inquisition and start of Trespasser.

Madame Volants' Guide to the Grand Game

Rating: G

Madame Volants invites you to the Monmarte Ball, where excitement abounds and characters from the Dragon Age series will certainly have an unforgettable evening.

Notes from the Chateau Lierre Kitchens

Rating: G

A few moments from an Orlesian kitchen, featuring recipes for Remy Ducasse's macarons and Alienage quiche.

Stealing Glances, written with @oftachancer

Rating: T

Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Rilienus

Word Count: 5K

Rilienus has a job to do, but how can he resist the handsome Alti who keeps getting in his way?

More Fanfiction (not associated with the Orlais collab):

The Vault that Dreams Might Fill, with @oftachancer

Rating: M

Relationships: Karl Thekla/Dorian Pavus, mentioned Karl Thekla/Anders/F!Hawke

Word Count: 33K

In 9:41, a book was found in Therinfal Redoubt that held a long-held secret about Tranquility. Karl Thekla needs to learn that secret. He needs it like he needs to breathe. Though it is risky, he sets off to pursue a solution to the endless cycle of Tranquility and raw awareness he has been living through for nearly ten years.

This work is the seventh part of 'The Mortice and the Tenon' Arc, which follows the alternate history of Karl Thekla and Anders. This series can be read alone, but if you're curious to learn more details of their history to this point, please enjoy earlier parts of the Arc.

Daylight, with @oftachancer

Rating: E

Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Rilienus

Word Count: 41K

In 9:31 Dragon, the Silver Lady of Churneau hosted a week-long fete to celebrate the end of the Fifth Blight. She invited guests from around Thedas to attend. This is where Dorian Pavus met Rilienus Maecilia and didn't have a chance to ask a question.

(This is a prequel to The Vault that Dreams Might Fill, but doesn't need to be read in that order).

Shredded Lace and New Leather, with @oftachancer

Rating: M

Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Rilienus

Word Count: 30K

After 10 years apart, Dorian and Rilienus are unexpectedly reunited.

(This is a sequel to Daylight and probably should be read in that order, but can also be read alone).

Friends After the Fall

Rating: G

Relationships: Merrill & Anders

Word Count: 2K

Merrill begins a correspondence with Anders after he flees Kirkwall. Includes a recipe for Anders' Apple Crisp.

Podfic:

Curiosity Crosses the Veil

Rating: T

Relationships: Spirit of Curiosity/Human OC, Female Surana & Female Amell & Jowan

Jowan's anxiety rises as he approaches the age to Harrow, and it's getting to his friends. Hamin decides to distract him with a story of Veil-crossed lovers.

Curiosity is a spirit who yearns to experience the waking world, Odric is the human she comes to love, and Envy is a demon who has dark designs on their union.

A storytelling fic set in the Kinloch Circle Tower, inspired by The Little Mermaid. Written and recorded for Create-a-thon 2024.

Ready to Rise and Fall

Rating: G

Relationships: Loghain Mac Tir/Rowan Guerrin

Musings on Loghain and Rowan before the final battle for freedom.

Originally written by Librivore42 and recorded by midnightprelude.

Crochet:

Baby Griffon

A crocheted baby griffon hatched just in time for the Dragon Age Create-a-Thon!

[arthrmorgann]

summary: four months ago, the world was almost torn asunder by a double blight. the threat was stopped and the veil healed, but peace in thedas can never last long. as a new threat rises, an unlikely group of heroes band together to stop it, in a story that quite literally spans the ages. series warnings: mature (ish); canon typical violence, gore, horror, swearing. more severe warnings will be listed if and when we reach it. a/n: first time posting fic on this blog! this is just a silly little oc dragon fanfic i've been working on for the past few weeks since veilguard came out. as hinted, this is a new, original, story set post-datv (so be mindful going forward of spoilers). mostly canon compliant but guess what the south didn't get razed to the ground! this is just the prologue for now but enjoy!

Carefully, the man puts on the items of jewellery one by one, four bangles on each arm, six rings dotted across his ten fingers, and lastly a golden hoop in his left ear. He was no fighter but like every soldier marching to war, he needed his armour, it just so happened his jewellery was his. Wearing them made him feel more comfortable, and more confident in what he was about to do. Maker knew he would need all the confidence in the world to make his next speech.

After putting in the hoop, the man paused, turning to look in the vast, dusty mirror beside him. He looked well enough for someone pushing fifty-three, though was beginning to show signs of fatigue from his poor sleeping habit, on account of staying up late. Claudius Orana, look at yourself! Your father would go mad if he could see you now. He smirked at that thought.

Turning away from the mirror, he moved his gaze over the countertop, tying up the small pouch he had kept his jewellery in, and grabbing the rolled-up parchment he had written his contract onto and tucking it into his pocket. His eyes lingered on the bottle of Amaranthine Red next to two glasses, debating pouring a small glass for some additional courage before deciding against it.

Leaving the room, the man pushed through a small wooden panel, which opened into an old storeroom. The building they were in had once been an inn, now abandoned following the emergence of the recent Blight, but the room he had come from looked like someone's poor attempt at creating a place of worship. Claudius found that amusing, knowing quite well that the brothers and sisters of the Chantry would likely throw a fit, upon seeing this place of “worship” attached to an inn.

There was little to look at in the storeroom, save for emptied crates and rotted food he still hadn't gotten around to removing. The rotting food didn't matter so much to him, as he had brought some from his manor nearby, carefully delivered by some of his staff the night before. He had hoped the alcohol at the inn might have fared better but unfortunately, few bottles had remained, with those of any note likely being stolen by locals hoping to have one last drink before the Blight swallowed them all. The only thing that remained, and that he was willing to serve for that matter, were a few bottles of West Hill Brandy.

Walking out of the storeroom, Claudius stepped out into the main interior of what had been the bar. Two long tables had been placed in the centre of the room, with two equally large benches on either side of those tables, with a number of lords and ladies sitting and partaking in the food and drink on offer. Claudius had kept most of his staff at home, but Elinor and Hewell had stayed with him, moving between the tables to replenish drinks if needed.

Claudius stood at the end of the room, in between the two tables, watching as everyone ate, drank, and laughed merrily. Hard to believe that they had come out of a Blight recently but Ferelden was nothing if not enduring.

Few of the guests paid him any attention until he gave two loud claps. Slowly but surely, a sea of heads turned to look at him, some genuinely interested, others slightly annoyed at being disturbed.

“My fellow brothers and sisters of Ferelden,” Claudius began, speaking clearly and confidently to the room. He held his hands out as he spoke, his eyes travelling over the guests, wondering how they would take to him referring to himself as one of them. He did, of course, have Ferelden blood, but had been born and spent his childhood in Tevinter. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

A few mumbles passed between the tables. One voice in particular boomed out in response to him. “Ain't like we have much else to do!”

His eyes looked towards Mullen Wulff, the only noble higher than a Bann he had managed to convince to come. That he had convinced an Arl to come had been surprising, but he was glad for the younger man's presence, for his rank gave some credibility to Claudius's cause. That, and, like his valiant grandfather before him, Mullen was a solid mountain of a man.

Claudius gave a false, appreciative smile. “Thank you, my lord,” He responded cordially. He might have been the one hosting the meeting, but he knew to show proper deference to a man with a higher rank. “I am sure many of you would have preferred to stay in the warmth of your castles tending to your people or recovering lands. However, I believe it is imperative we talked tonight, that we discussed our next steps moving forward from the Blight.”

“I wasn't aware this was a Landsmeet,” Bann Oswyn bellowed. His comment was quickly picked up by a few of the nobles who sat next to him, who quickly started parroting the same concerns.

“I assure you, I have no intentions of deposing the king and queen,” Claudius assured him. And he was speaking truthfully in a way. It was not his plan to depose the crown, but it was a strong eventuality if his plans were completely successful. “No, I am speaking of us, the Bannorn. We must band together, create a united front to endure what is to come, and form a strong backbone for the rest of our fair kingdom to rely upon.”

This time, Claudius was pleased to hear a few positive whispers muttered between the nobles, who seemed more swayed by his comments about working together. If there was one thing he knew from his mother, it was that Fereldans respected loyalty above all else. There was some shuffling on the left table and a grey-haired woman jumped to her feet. “You are not even a Bann!”

“My grandfather was Bann of Killarney,” Claudius responded calmly.

“Then where is Bann Leonora?”

Claudius gave the woman a tight smile. “Not everyone could come tonight, my lady,” He informed her. “Given we all just survived two Blights, it is perfectly reasonable that she didn't want to travel here.” He didn't want to tell her the truth that his aunt had sent him a stern note, claiming that as much as she had loved her younger sister, she would not associate herself with her half-Tevene, half-mage blooded nephew.

“Ay, sit down would ya, Maura?” 

The grey-haired woman turned her head, locking eyes with a knight who had spoken. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

The knight rolled his eyes, before looking at another knight who was sitting close to him, who returned the gesture with a pleading look. “Maura, y’ain’t even a Bann yerself,” He reminded her snidely. “Yer son wields the power of yer lands. Not that I see ‘im actually pipin’ up much over there.”

Next to where Lady Maura had stood up, a young, dark-haired man looked sheepishly around, having been perfectly content eating his meal before the knight had dragged him into the conversation. 

“Do ya have anythin’ to add, my lord?” 

The young Bann gulped. “I-”

“Oh, enough, Lowry!” Mullen bellowed speaking to the knight directly. “Ya always did like to stir the pot.”

Lowry narrowed his eyes. “Well, would ya look at that! The wolf has teeth after all.”

Claudius sighed, beginning to sense the lords and ladies beginning to grow increasingly irritated. Perhaps bringing alcohol had been a poor choice of his. As some of the other guests began to speak up, Claudius cast his gaze upwards, where a handful of crows lingered in the rafters. Most were roosting contentedly, despite the raucous below, but one in particular caught his gaze and squawked, flapping its wings at him.

“My friends!” Claudius called out, clapping again loudly so that the attention came back to him. Claudius waited for a hush to fall over the crowd before speaking again. “Please, let us not quarrel,” He implored them. “We should be standing together, not spreading further division among us. We are Fereldans are we not? This is not our way.”

The words seemed to affect some of the nobles, who either shifted uncomfortably or looked more interested in what he was saying. You could always rely on a Fereldan to get inspired by love or loyalty to their country.

“Forgive me for the interruption,” An elderly voice called out. Seated at the back of the right table, dressed in layers of furs, was an elderly Bann. Claudius recognised him as Bann Ramsey, a man pushing eighty, and a well-regarded war hero who had fought alongside King Maric to restore the Theirins to the throne. Admittedly, Claudius was a little wary of what he might say, knowing that he held a considerable amount of influence among the nobles, and could potentially disrupt his plans if he gave the other Banns a good enough reason to ignore him.

“That is quite alright, my lord,” Claudius said, giving the man a dip of the head. “What is it you wished to say?”

“What is the point of all this?” Byron Ramsey said with a huff. “Many of our friends and family are gone, our lands and castles decimated. Denerim, Highever, and Redcliffe were badly hit by the Blight. There isn't much left to fight for.”

“And that is precisely why we must band together! Because if we don't, there will be nothing left at all,” Claudius said with conviction. To his delight, Byron's words had given him a route to further his cause. “We, the Bannorn and lesser lords and knights, make up the majority of this country. It is we who field the soldiers to fight wars, we who bear the brunt of assaults from our enemies, and we who provide the materials and food necessary for this country to even survive. I ask you now to look around, to look at the faces of those among you, to look and realise who is missing.” As per his request, a few of the Banns looked around, looking at their neighbours, their allies or enemies once upon a time, now standing as brothers and sisters in arms. “The royal family are not here, no Teyrns are among us, and all but one Arl stands with us. When our country needed to come together to fight the Blights, was it they who rallied our armies? No, it was Inquisitor Lavellan who united us! She is gone now but we remain. Who will rally us now to endure the hardships after the Blight? The Theirins? The Howes? The Guerrins? No, they remain in hiding, their cities damaged, their people scattered. It is we who decide who rules this country, it is we who can band together once more to save it!”

A few of the nobles began yelling in agreement, raising their fists and stomping their feet. “Ferelden! Ferelden! Ferelden!” They cheered.

Claudius held his hands up to settle them again. “As I said before, this meeting and this overall plan of mine, does not end with the king and queen deposed. We have endured too many struggles with false Orlesian rulers and Loghain’s actions at Ostagar, I will not force us all to endure more years of uncertainty with changing leaders. It is not fair on us and it is not fair on the people who expect us to rule and make these decisions for them.” The mention of commoners earned a few questionable looks, but Claudius was expecting that. Even though some of these Banns were poorer than some of their constituents, they clung proudly to their titles, using them to figuratively and literally look down upon their people. “Join with me, my friends, and we can help ensure there is a country to come back to. Ferelden will endure, Ferelden will survive, but only we have the power to make that happen.”

“Ferelden! Ferelden!”

The stomping and yelling were almost deafening now and Claudius stood there taking it all in, basking in the energy of the galvanised crowd. He pulled out the scroll from his pocket, unrolling it carefully and showing it off to the nobles closest to him so they could see the words on the parchment, the written contract that laid out the expectations to share supplies, weapons, and any other necessary supplies the Bannorn would need to survive. 

“If you wish to join me, sign your name anywhere on the space available on this parchment,” Claudius told the crowd. He handed the scroll to a dour-looking knight in front of him, who squinted at it as he read. “There are quills on the tables for you to use to sign your names.”

He waited patiently as the scroll went up and down each table, being signed by the majority of the guests, whilst a few politely refused. Some signed the scroll eagerly, others were more hesitant and took their time to read before scribbling their names. When the scroll was passed back to him, he took note of the names below, who had signed and who had refused. There were more names than he hoped for but also a few Banns he had been betting on had refused to sign. After reading the scroll twice over, he rolled it back up and tucked it back into his pocket. “Thank you, my friends,” He said, bowing to the crowd. “Enjoy your meals.”

As he departed the room, the light chatter picked back up again. Slipping back into the storeroom, Claudius was aware of the fluttering of wings behind, turning to see the crow from earlier flapping behind him. “Care to join me?” He offered, giving the bird a wry grin. It squawked in response before flying on ahead, waiting patiently for him by the wooden panel. Claudius opened the panel carefully, allowing the crow to fly into the hidden chapel ahead of him, before he followed inside, ensuring the locks were closed behind him. He turned and leaned against the panel, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a breath, glad to be free from the gazes of the Fereldans in the other room. There was a small phwish sound in front of him.

“That was excellent work, darling.”

A slender, elven woman sat perched on the stone countertop, one hand reaching for the bottle of Amaranthine Red he had left behind. She was a woman of great beauty, it must be said. Her skin was soft and pale, framed perfectly by her long, straight hair that was as black as a raven’s wing. Her eyes were pale blue, working well against the elegant dark blue dress she was wearing, with darker satin detailing along the sleeves and collar. Although wearing a dress, she wore thin black trousers underneath to keep her warm, which peeked out from between the folds, as she folded her legs. With a loud pop!, she released the cork from the bottle of wine, pouring them both a glass. She held out a glass for him but when he did not come to her, she pouted and inclined her head to the side. “What's the matter?”

“It would have been better if all of the Banns and knights had signed,” He sighed, finally peeling himself from the panel. Claudius paced towards her slowly, taking the glass and sitting beside her on the countertop. He considered taking a sip but merely held the glass in his hand, looking down at the dark purple-red liquid within. “Some of those I hoped would join us did not.”

The woman took a large gulp of wine, her raven black hair sliding off her shoulder, as she tilted her head back. After taking her sip, she set down her cup. “Don't frown, darling, you don't want any more wrinkles,” She chided, somewhat playfully.

“I’m dealing with Fereldans, I think it would be impossible not to gain another wrinkle or two,” He responded with a half-hearted chuckle. Finally, he took a drink, taking two large gulps before nearly gagging. “Ugh, vile,” He grimaced at the cup, before setting it down next to hers.

She gave him an empathetic look. “It does leave something to be desired, doesn't it?”

“Mhm,” Claudius nodded. Though speaking of desire…he found himself leaning into her, his fingers briefly brushing against hers on the countertop before she snatched her hand away.

“Ah, ah, ah, patience!” She said, tutting. “There will be time for that later. You need to pace yourself, darling, I don't want to wear you out.” She poked him lightly on the nose, before her hand brushed against his cheek, gently guiding him to look at her. Maker, he could get lost in those eyes of hers, pale blue, like the colour of the sky when the clouds part. Claudius might have been disappointed his advances had been declined for the moment, but he would settle for looking into her eyes and having her brush his cheek tenderly.

“May I see the scroll?” She asked politely, lowering her hand.

“Of course you can,” He responded. Claudius tried to fish it out of his pocket but found it hard to remove from his seated position, so stood up to take it out of his pocket before handing it to her.

She read through it swiftly, eyes darting from side to side, as she took in the signees and the words that made up the contract. “You should not be so hard on yourself, darling,” She told him as she handed back the scroll. “There are more names here than we anticipated. Arl Wulff is especially pleasing to see.”

“I was hoping for more…”

“Oh, my love,” She said softly. “Wars are not won in a day, you know.”

“Well, actually-” He started to smirk as he spoke. The woman cut him off by leaning forward and cupping his face. She succeeded in stopping his words but could not banish his smirk. She looked slightly annoyed for a moment before rolling her eyes and drawing him into a kiss. Claudius got the impression she only intended a small little peck, but he was in a teasing mood and hungry for more. He knew not to push his limits, however, and if she had not been in the mood or had pushed him away, he would cease his affections. Luckily, it seemed the kiss had also left her wanting something more.

“Most wars are not won in a day,” She finally said, pulling away, somewhat breathless from their more passionate kiss. She held his gaze for a moment before sighing and pulling her dress down a little, exposing her collarbone. “Fine, you may have a little taste.”

Without saying a word, Claudius drew close to her, peppering her pale collarbone with light kisses, before moving up her neck and onto her jaw. He left one kiss on her jaw before pulling his head back slightly.  Brown eyes met blue and Claudius leaned in close, making it seem as if he was going to kiss her lips, before swerving at the last moment. “Amatus…” He whispered by her ear, softly and full of longing. 

[starswritteninourscars]

Happy DADWC Friday! How about "Crushed Elfroot leaves" from the Artifacts of Thedas prompt list for the character or pairing of your choosing?

I went with non-Warden Cousland for this, and I'm fairly pleased with how it came out. Elissa has the spirits, but she's new at the experience thing. She's a long way from Inquisition Commander here.

Tagging @dadrunkwriting

The infirmary tents at Ostagar had a stench all their own, layered over the general smell of the war camp like a sheen of rancid oil over chicken soup gone bad. It smelled of elfroot and rot, spindleweed and vomit. Elissa Cousland avoided it for nearly a week after arriving before finally storming in the day the senior Grey Warden returned with his mage recruit.

“What is this?” she demanded, tossing a handful of crushed elfroot leaves on the camp desk where a middle-aged scribbled away in a ledger. Maybe he was the one in charge, maybe he was a clerk. Either way, he wasn’t currently saving someone’s life.

The man’s beady eyes blinked up at her through the curtain of hair that had fallen into his face.

“Who are you?” he said after a long pause.

“Elissa,” she said. “Elissa Cousland. This came in for our wounded not an hour past. What is it?”

The man gave her and the House Cousland heraldry on her tunic a once-over, bowed without standing, and picked up the leaves.

“It’s elfroot, my lady. Excellent for wounds, especially–”

“I know that,” Elissa snapped. “Specifically it’s gossamer elfroot. I sent an order for royal elfroot. Any competent herbalist should be able to tell the difference!”

“Just so, my lady,” the man replied. “But our stores of royal elfroot are limited. My lady’s brother reported relatively minor wounds. I have ordered what we have of the royal variety reserved for amputations and infections.”

Somewhere not too far off, a man’s moans turned abruptly to a wailing scream. Elissa felt her stomach drop

“How much do you have?”

He named a figure. A very low figure, for the size of the army.

“We are holding much of it here in the royal encampment, though of course the other infirmaries have some for emergencies,” he continued. “Already I have reports of underground trade among the officers.”

“I see,” Elissa said.

“I’m sure you do, my lady,” he said in a very neutral tone.

“I’m taking a patrol into the wilds tomorrow,” Elissa said. “I’ll bring back what I can.”

“My lady, I thank you for your generosity, but–”

“Serah,” Elissa cut in, “before you assume I am another blundering warrior who has never opened an herbal in her life: How many noblewomen have you known who could tell gossamer elfroot from bitter?”

“I must admit, Lady Elissa, that I am not acquainted with many women of that station,” he said, brushing greying hair out of his eyes and smearing ink across his cheek in the process. “Perhaps I should not have assumed.”

“Oh, you’d be right most of the time,” Elissa said, “but probably not. I’ve recently been reminded of the danger of assumptions.”

[ladyinthebluebox]

my Thedas vacation got approved. ya lady will be insufferable non-stop for over two weeks. beware. 😌🤡😌

[morganaseren]

Thank god you're smarter than me bc i wouldn't have noticed that i was in the wrong place DJAKSNWK

Anyway, could you do 16/20 in the fluff prompts?

Prompt #16 - “can i kiss you?” “took you so long to ask.”

Prompt #20 - the hug after the confession. the warmth it gives!!

@mushstump You didn't specify what pairing you wanted, so I just assumed you meant the prompts to be for Niamh/Leliana. 😂

AU: We'll Lose Their Grip in Waters Dark

---

After several months of living in Orlais, many members of the Imperial Court recognized Niamh as an honored guest of the Left Hand of the Divine. Still, Niamh knew they all believed her presence around Leliana was more... salacious than it actually was.

Niamh had lived in the Circle nearly all her life after all. The gossip of the nobility here was not nearly so discrete in comparison.

Given the nature of Leliana's work, however, it was likely better they didn't know the truth of the matter. Even after countless weeks of searching, they've yet to root out the members within the upper echelons of the Chantry responsible for sanctioning Project Zenith.

Niamh suppressed a shudder from the memory of what such an experiment entailed. She hid her discomfort by sipping at her wineglass while also focusing her attention on Leliana.

The other woman was making her rounds throughout the room, greeting other members of the Court with her usual charm. Niamh was under no illusion that many were drawn to her beyond performing the expected social pleasantries, for Leliana had managed to catch the eye of many dignitaries within the ballroom.

How could she not?

The woman was an utter vision in red.

In spite of herself, she couldn't stop watching the way she glided so effortlessly across the floor—so self-assured of the fact she belonged there—as she roamed from one group to the next.

Niamh had been so caught in her staring that she barely registered the fact that Leliana was now sauntering toward her albeit with another guest—an uninvited one if the tighter smile on Leliana's lips was any indication—in tow. Curiosity filled her until she registered the lingering traces of their conversation.

"...haven't danced all night! Given the rarity of your presence here these days, surely you could grace us all with but one," the nobleman cajoled.

"I'm flattered the Court would notice my absence so keenly, but I've already chosen my dance partner for the remainder of the evening."

And Niamh found herself stunned speechless as Leliana turned to face her directly then—her smile soft and sweet—as she offered a hand to her, thereby politely but firmly refusing the lord next to her. Despite her best efforts, Niamh couldn't stop the sudden, burning blush that raced through her cheeks at the simple gesture, especially with all the implication that would surely follow suit.

---

"Would you not want to find someone better suited to you?" Niamh asked as Leliana led her through another circuit across the ballroom floor. She was careful to keep her voice low amongst the other dancers around them. Still, her heart fluttered at the soft ring of laughter from the other woman.

"And who’s to say you are not?"

"Leliana, I'm not even a lady of the Court."

"And yet you outshine so many so undeserving of the title," she responded easily, but this close to her, Niamh could see how those sapphire blue eyes also softened in understanding. "Do recall that Madame de Fer had no reputation to her name when she first arrived in Orlais, but she’s become quite the force here. She has done much to raise the status of mages within the country and Thedas overall with her efforts. I believe you are capable of doing much the same in your own way, whether it is a role more secluded from the public eye or an active one within it."

But Niamh couldn't help but be concerned.

"Would being seen with me not damage your reputation?" She canted her head. "Or is your position enough to discourage wagging tongues?"

"Tongues will always wag here, I’m afraid." Her lips parted then with an open, mischievous smile. "Depending on whom you ask, I am either a threat to everything the Chantry stands for or its greatest component. To hide my feelings would admit that I am ashamed of them and you, and I am not," she said, and Niamh felt her traitorous blush return as Leliana leaned in to gently press her forehead against hers. She immediately found herself lost in the sea of her eyes. "And I would very much like to court you if you would let me."

---

And just as Leliana had claimed to the nobleman from earlier, she had chosen to dance only with Niamh the entire night, much to the envy of every man and woman within the ballroom. Niamh had no doubt there would be a multitude of rumors by morning regarding the possibilities as to why—each one likely to be as scandalous as the last.

As the evening wound down, Leliana offered to escort her back to her room, much to Niamh's disappointment. However, she found that Leliana had taken every possible detour around it, drawing her into comfortable conversation as she led them through the multitude of gardens and galleries around the building. It was apparent the other woman was just as reluctant to part from her company.

"I suppose this is where our evening ends," Leliana said at last as they stood before the doorway to Niamh's room, but before she could pull her hand from hers, Niamh gripped her fingers insistently.

"From the stories you’ve told to me, the suitor graces their loved one with a kiss, no?"

Leliana's brows rose with almost imperceptible interest. "Yes," she conceded slowly, "but only if you wish to."

"I want to," she said softly, dropping her gaze to the crimson sheen across Leliana's lips, which only broadened with her smile.

"Then who am I to deny you?"

Delicate fingers skimmed along her lower back as Leliana drew her closer. Niamh responded in kind by twining her arms around Leliana's neck as they met in a kiss. It was hardly the first she had ever experienced. Oh, but the sheer tenderness of it filled her from head to toe with a warmth she'd once thought only her magic could fulfill—a type of simple bliss she'd long thought would never exist for her again.

The need for air, however, prompted the need for them to regretfully pull away from one another, but as they did, Niamh could see the muted hunger in the depths of Leliana's eyes. Niamh had no doubt it was also mirrored in her own gaze, but Leliana was nothing if not a woman of her word.

If she insisted on courting her, then she had every intention of doing so properly.

As if reading her thoughts, Leliana only smiled as she pulled her into a full-bodied hug that Niamh returned just as easily. Giddiness filled every part of her being, especially as she then felt the soft press of lips against her forehead.

"Sleep well, my lady."

[thegoblinwitchqueen]

[Inquisition Spoilers!!]

Phillippa Rainier, second daughter of Inquisitor Rosamund Trevelyan and daughter of Thom Rainier.

At the time of Warden Blackwall’s arrest, Rosamund and the fallen Orlesian captain were nothing more than companions —-hardly Friends —-who sought the end of the war against Corypheus.

The duo spent little time together unless traveling across thedas, and even less time when resting at Skyhold. Warden Blackwall thought Rosamund to be prideful, using her status as herald to get back at all those who crossed her before, and after, the mage rebellion.

Rosamund thought Blackwall to be—simple, hardheaded, and with a holier than thou attitude that made her cry Hypocrite whenever the warden tried to condemn her rash behaviors.

However, their relationship (if it could be called that) changed when Rosamund saw Blackwall own up to his past mistakes, and turn himself in.

There she was, unsure of who the man behind the bars was, but something in her told the cautious Inquisitor to give the poor man another chance. She pardoned him, under the conditions that he serve the Inquisition, and her personally, until she could trust him again.

heartbroken by Solas, Rosamund spent most of her nights in silence, drinking away her tears. Slowly, her trust in Blackwall began to grow when stopped her self harm and stay awake long hours into the night, chatting about their lives before the world went to hell.

It wasn’t until after Solas left the inquisition, and Rosamund found herself pregnant and alone, that she disbanded the inquisition. But, when all others left—- Blackwall stayed.

Rosamund bought herself a run down farmhouse in the hinterlands for herself and the new baby fully expecting to experience motherhood alone. But, Blackwall showed up without her permission and began fixing up the place. His intentions were to help make the shack livable before he continued to seek forgiveness from his former men ( after all, she had a new baby to look after) but…

Days turned to weeks, then into month—and well, it wasn’t long before Phillippa joined the family.

Despite her half sisters mage parents, Phillippa is the only one of the two girls to show magic in her blood. At the age of 7, she demonstrated an affinity towards potions and healing magic and when she was ten she started spending her summers in Orlais with Madame Vivienne to learn how to be a properly lady.

Anyway, I hope you all liked my ramblings lol