#meraad the light of my life

[fereldencorvids]

“and now you’re gonna be insufferable about it. see this is why nobody likes you.” IM CRYING

[thedinanshiral]

What's in a name? A (very) simple guide to find your Rook's name.

I’ve seen some people are wondering how some of us already have named Rooks, others have no idea how to get names or which names could be good, and since i kinda overdid it and have 11 Rooks already planned and named i thought i’d share some of my process and drop some ideas. This works for me, but maybe it can help others find their Rook’s name(s).

Keep in mind these are also fantasy names, they don’t have to make sense or have a specific meaning, you can literally make them up. I also take into consideration known naming conventions, for example in Elven we have Solas and Abelas’ names, with specific meanings (Pride, Sorrow) and judging by what Solas tells Abelas, it’d seem ancient elvhen would change their names according to roles or events in their life. Similarly in the Qun, we know their names aren’t names as we understand them but simply descriptors of the role that is assigned to them within the Qun.

It’s probably easier when it comes to human nations in Thedas: Orlesians are likely to have French names, Fereldans to have anglo names, Antivans to have Spanish and Italian names. Tevinter is a bit trickier because it’s based on the Roman empire and Latin is a pretty dead language, but they sure liked to make records so we have names there too.

Elvhen names:

I literally opened a tab with the Elven language DA wiki page and read everything -for the bazillionth time tbh-; DA elven language is a cipher, not a conlang, so feel free to make things up because we don’t have the full cipher -i’m not even sure BW does- .

For Elven names i check the wiki for words that i like the sound of, the meaning of, ideally both. If i feel something is “missing” i may add a letter or combine different words into a new one.

Here are some examples:

Athima, from athim, humility

Atisha, from Atish'an, atisha is peace

Sethena, from Sethen'a or Setheneran, land of waking dreams or where the veil is thin, aka the Fade.

Revaren, from Revas, freedom, and Renan, voice.

Alasan, from alas, earth/dirt, and suffix an, place.

Sulahni, from sulahn, sing.

Samahli, from samahl, laughter.

Vardanehn, lit. Our little joy.

Mir'as, Banal'ras is shadows, implying ras refers to light, Mir is mine. Lit. "my light".

Qunlat names:

Same process as elven, but trying to modify as less as possible, keeping in mind the Qunari are very rigid in their ways and can be very literal as well.

Anaan, victory

Asaarash, rivaini horsebreed used by the antaam.

Kaaras, navigator.

Asaara-kaaras, wind navigator, wind rider.

Saar, dangerous. Saar-asaara, dangerous wind. Saar-meraad, dangerous tide.

Sata-kasi, mauler.

Vattic-kos, vat is fire, tic is cold and kos refers to nature damage, all three words are in reference to damage done with a mage staff. So Vattic-kos could be elemental damage.

Shokra, shok is struggle or war, shokrakar is rebel.

Antivan names:

These were way easier as i’m Latina of Spanish and Italian descent which in this case feels a bit like cheating. I think any Spanish and Italian name could work, these are just some i like.

Vittoria/Victoria

Chiara

Alessandro/a

Stefan

Dante

Aria

Tevinter names:

I literally googled for Latin names for this one, and also checked previous Tevinter characters’ names. Some of this could also work for an Antivan Rook.

Aelius

Amadis

Bastian

Caelus

Camilla

Dena

Dante

Desideria

Ella

Enora

Favian

Fausto, Faustino, Faustus

Gaius

Gloria

Grazia

Klaudia

Laurena

Lavinia

Liberia

Merit/Mérita/Mérito

Remus

Salena

Sarina

Sidonia

Sollemnia

Tatius

Terentius

Tiberius

Urbano, Urbanus

Valentio

Varinia

Viatrix

Virgilio, Virgil

Vitus

Xandros

I’m leaving out the numerals like Primo, Segundo, Quintus, Octavio... check Cesars' names, that could work too. I think you could just search the scientific name of any fauna (hello House Pavus) or flora and pick whatever sounds nice too. Also we recently got a new Magister’s name in the Dragon Age: Vows & Vengeance trailer, Magister Andante. Y’know what “Andante” means? Walking. Magister Walking. Fear nothing and go wild with these names, seriously.

You could also check other cultures and native names, respectfully of course. Here are some guaraní and mapuche names i like, i didn’t modify these at all.

Kerana, guaraní “goddess of sleep”, or sleepy one.

Karai, guaraní, “respectable man”.

Luriel, guaraní, “lord of the wind”.

Amaru, guaraní, “rain”.

Anahí, guaraní, from a legend, the name of a young woman burned at the stake by the conquistadors, after which she is transformed into the flowering tree.

Newén, mapuche, "strength"

Nahuel, mapuche, “jaguar”

Ayelén, mapuche, “laughing”.

Tahiel, mapuche, “hombre libre”

For Dwarven names, i am deeply sorry i haven't decided on a Dwarf Rook yet so i haven't done my dwarven research, but the same process applies: check the canon dwarf names we got so far, if the lore says anything about dwarven naming conventions, if they're a commoner or noble, if there are caste-specific names too, and so on. And if you want to name your dwarf Rook Bob, that's fine too! ( if DUNE can have Paul and Jessica, why couldn't we have a dwarf named Bob?? like i said, go wild, name freely, be happy)

I understand some people don't want to or aren't sure about naming their Rooks until we learn what the different canon surnames will be, and i totally get that, i felt the same way. But i couldn't resist until we got that info so i overdid it, particularly with my Tevinter-Nevarran mage whose name i picked clearly inspired by Cassandra's full name, only for me to end up calling her by the first of her five names that i kinda struggle to remember. So far we've only seen one canon surname, "Thorne", and since surnames are defined by factions, Thorne seems to be the Grey Wardens' canon surname. The elf Grey Warden champion seen in the recent high-level combat gameplay is named Esha Thorne.

I think maybe surnames should depend on what they're now calling lineage (elven, qunari, human, dwarf) rather than on factions, or they could have offered options, one per lineage and one per faction, and let us decide which one to keep. An elf named Thorne sounds a bit odd to me, even if they're a Grey Warden. Will any of my chosen names match the canon surnames? Probably not, but at least i had fun while naming them. My only GW for now is Favian and Favian Thorne doesn't sound bad.

Anyway, I hope this helps those who are a bit lost to find names that works for you and your Rooks, have fun!

[macgyverbooks]

Dragon Age: Inquisition FanFic

The Lies In Which We Linger - Chapter One

Summary: As Aza struggles under the weight of the Inquisition and her growing responsibilities she finds solace in the arms of a fellow Qunari. But not all is well in Thedas, as the threat of breach grows, old enemies from Asa’s past to threaten everything she’s built.

Word Count: 3500

Warnings: None

-

The gob of spit landed squarely on my boot. Suspiciously yellow it dribbled into the cracks of the flagstone in a thick ooze

“Ox-bitch,” I glanced down at the owner of the spit who snarled from under his Andrastian helm. He stood straight and proud in his polished armour, chin raised and jutted foreword with aggression.

The Valo-kas to my right didn’t move, not even bothering to acknowledge the slight. Holding my stare the muscles in the soldiers neck and shoulders tightened in preparation. He was young, almost too young. A few pale yellow whiskers sprouted from his chin as a feeble attempt at a beard while his skin remained smooth and unmarked bar the angry red of his cheeks against the cold. The boy leered showing crooked teeth eyes flashing with male pomp like a skinny cockerel fluffing its feathers daring me to respond. It was going to be a long day. Remaining silent I resisted the grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth and looked ahead readjusting the grip on my simple stave.

The view truly was lovely. A panoramic vista of snowy mountains and wooded valleys with an immense clear blue sky above. If you squinted you could almost make out the herd beasts slowly making their way along the slopes below snuffling through the snow for roots and old grass.

From my vantage point on the parapets I had a good view of the main gate of the Conclave as a river of people flowed through. Even from this distance I could make out the many coloured garbs from across Thedas. Every now and then I could even spot the telltale tall and broad body of a Qunari topped with their great curving horns. More than likely they were only bodyguards or soldiers but the excitement of seeing so many my kin in one place was still thrilling.

An angry stomp of an armoured boot brought my attention back to the little boy.

“Oi, you hear me goat face? Or are you as deaf as you are ugly?”

Mulling over my options I glanced about checking for any other Guardsmen but non were about. He was small and no doubt light, a simple kick and I could send him neatly flying over the balustrade and tumbling down to the rocks below to meet his precious maker but I thought better of it. We were, after all under special instructions to “make nice”.

Sending a withering look to my right I dropped my chin letting him feel the full force of my attention as I stared down unblinking. Gripping my stave I let the crackle of magic fizzle around my fingers. Stinking of ozone and singed wood I leaned over him, baring my sharpened teeth and growled.

“You say something, Imekari?”

Turning even paler the boy soldier bolted with an undignified whimper. Straightening up I listened to his boots clomp away and sighed again.

“They get younger every year,” I muttered.

“You’re losing you’re edge, Aza.” The Valo-Kas to my right mumbled, “you would have flung him off the parapet not so long ago.”

I chuckled and leaned my stave against the wall readjusting my pauldrons, shrugging the tension from my shoulders.

“Not so long ago Meraad, you would have beaten me to it.”

Meraad shook his head, his twisted ivory horns exaggerating the motion

“You insult me” he huffed. I raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “He was too small, there would be no challenge.”

Ignoring my look he dug in his pouch producing two pipes and a small bag of tobacco. Packing one neatly he handed one to me then packed his own

“If you could do the honours” he grinned as I rolled my eyes at him.

“Only cause its you,” with a snap of my fingers a flame leapt to life dancing about like a mad firefly lighting both pipes with a flick of my wrist.

Leaning against the stone balustrade looking out over the mountains puffing sweet smoke it was almost romantic. Had it not been for the armour and weapons at our hips.

Taking a deep puff I blew it out into the wind watching it twist and swirl away. Without letting myself really think about it I lent gingerly against Meraads broad shoulder, testing the waters, fully expecting him to pull away. He didn’t. In fact he leaned into me in return, staring straight ahead. Satisfied I allowed myself a small smile, fiddling with the stem of my pipe.

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Meraad rumbled still staring out at the mountains. “We’ve still got a lot to talk about, you and I.”

A ball of emotion squeezed my throat and I had to clear it a few times before replying lightly 

“Allow me one small victory.”

He grunted in response. Turning his head in a sweep of his board horns he glanced at me and grimaced, the corners of his full mouth pulled down in thought as he seemed to wrestle with his words. Opening his mouth to speak a single shriek of fear echoed from somewhere deep down in the conclave.

Both of us jerked upright on full alert heads on a swivel trying to pick up anymore sounds. The terrible cry came again, this time filled with pain. Hairs on the back of my neck prickled as tiny almost imperceptible shock waves of foreign magic began pulsating beneath my feet echoing up through the thick stone walls. Oh, that’s not good. Grabbing his shoulder I motioned to Meraad quietly

“I’m heading to the eastern stairs. Alert the Captain of the guard and start perimeter sweep with the others, now!” 

Turning to leave I stopped when Meraad grabbed my wrist and pulled me close letting our foreheads gently knock together

“I will meet you at the campfire tonight,” he whispered “for that talk.” 

At that he left hurrying around the corner to the steps leading down into the main hall. Staring after him I couldn’t help feeling hope bloom in my chest. He wanted to talk, after all this time he was finally ready. Turning to take a more direct route down through to the library and more private chambers of the Conclave following the steady thrum of magic I couldn’t stop the smile. Nothing could ruin this day. Nothing.

— A few weeks later —

Sat uncomfortably on the too low chairs I tried not to stare as the delicate elven barmaid served Cullen another beer. She hid behind her serving platter all blushing cheeks and doe eyes while Cullen, still suited up in his bright armour and fur mantle laughed and rubbed the back of his neck at her bashful tittering

Rolling my eyes in a painful groan I felt the pit of my stomach twist with embarrassment. Like I even had a chance. Glancing over I made the mistake of comparing myself to the beautiful elf. Where she was short and dainty I was long and broad. Her bright clear face only marked by the delicate lines of her tattoos, or Vallaslin, while mine was freckled, weather beaten and tattered with scars, some small some not so small. Running my tongue over the corner of my mouth I felt along the raised line of scar tissue that ran from eyebrow to chin, cleaving my lower lip on its way, and frowned swirling the dregs of my ale. I don’t know why I’d allowed it but my traitorous, stupid heart had leapt at the mere sight of the sweet and oh so charming commander. Like the hero in some star spangled folk tale he had appeared and like some idiot I had tried to flirt with him. What I had forgotten was that I more resembled the evil creature in the woods than the love struck, doe eyed heroine. 

Not that my motives had been entirely pure. I’d wanted a fling, something light and inconsequential that wasn’t going to haunt me later. A chance to feel close to someone again. Perhaps it was a poor attempt at consoling my damaged pride but, after some time observing the commander I had decided he wouldn’t appreciate the occasional one nighter. In fact the more I’d thought about it the more he seemed like the settling down type, the kind who would’ve picked out kids names and drapes by the morning after. Maybe I was a closet masochist, at least that would explain a few of my horrific life decisions and downright inappropriate taste in men.

An image flashed through my mind like a ghost. A frozen scene of Meraad tending to the campfire looking over his shoulder with a grin tugging at his mouth. Shivering I shoved the memory aside and downed the last of my drink. Drowning out memories had become a habit of mine over the last few weeks. It was unfortunate the weaker human beers and ales were hardly enough to get me tipsy. Dropping some coins onto the sticky table I shuffled out, sidestepping around the crowd of drunk soldiers and servants.

Out in the cold night air I breathed deep letting it out in a great puff of vapour. Like a dragon I thought with a somber smile. Hushed whispers to my left had me ducking my head, my shoulders tensing up as the three sisters bowed muttering “go in peace, Herald of Andraste” as I passed. Offering a tight lipped grimace of a smile I moved away quickly, heading for my quarters.

Herald of fucking Andraste. What a joke. Not that it really mattered what I thought. Soon as someone figured out I wasn’t deliberately trying to blow the sky open the rumours spread like wild fire. Prophetic. Messiah. Heaven sent. It was enough to make my skin crawl. Even worse was the way they looked at me, staring up in either wide eyed wonder or deep sneering suspicion. I wasn’t sure which one I hated more. At least Varric is here I thought, skirting past his tent were a small crowd had gathered, no doubt wanting to hear his stories.

The dwarf had appeared from nowhere with enough suave confidence to think he’d seen this all before. He was gentle if sarcastic in his manner and had quickly gained my approval much to Cassandra’s exasperation. With his sharp eyes and clever tongue I was keen to keep him around, though I sensed there was much more going on with him than he let on. Split loyalties could prove problematic if this “inquisition” grew anymore momentum. 

Approaching my temporary home I paused noting the door was open a crack, warm candle light spilling onto the snow. Old instincts rang in my head like an alarm and I approached warily, hand on my daggers before I could really think it through. Nudging the door open with a boot I cast my gaze about only to jump back, ripping the curved blades from their sheaths as a small figure dashed around the corner and through the door in a flurry of gold and purple. 

“Oh!” Josephine gasped, stepping back and nearly dropping her note board as her back connected with the door frame. Sighing in relief I quickly replaced the blades and raised my hands placatingly 

“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, curling my shoulders and bending at the waist so I was closer to her eye level. “Thought you were a thief or something.”

“No need to apologise Herald,” Josephine waved airily, straightening her pristine gold cravat. Herald. I winced at the title, just use my name I wanted to say but I bit my tongue and nodded instead. “I was only dropping off some papers for you to look over.” If Josephine had been anyone else the following beat of silence would have been awkward. Instead she smiled, having to crane her neck up despite my efforts. “It is late, you should get some rest while you can. Tomorrow will be busy and we will need you at your best.” 

“When is it not busy,” I grumbled light heartedly with a polite smile, noting the way Josephines eyes flicked down to my mouth, my sharpened teeth no doubt catching the candle light. Shit. Though technically similar in structure to ours I found humans soft, fleshy faces difficult to read. I never knew how to judge their reactions and Josephine was no different, she was just more forgiving about my confusion than most, though the fact she and Leliana could manipulate their faces so easily still alarmed me. At least Cullen and Cassandra were more verbal and plain about their feelings though, in Cassandra’s case, I  sometimes I wished they weren’t. Despite all that I noted the minute widening of her eyes at my feral smile, the way she raised her note board a fraction higher. Damn it.

“There is someone here to see you, Herald.” She continued breezily, “They’re waiting for you by the Chantry.”  

Clamping my mouth shut I nodded, waving goodbye as Josephine disappeared into the biting winter night, the strange metallic fabric of her puff sleeves reflecting the cold moonlight. Turning toward the great stone hall I couldn’t stop the small shake of my head at the absurdity of my situation. Me of all people rubbing shoulders with templars, ex-royalty and ladies of foreign courts not to mention the multitudes of holy men and woman. A shiver ran up my spine thinking of the conversations with Lelianna in her tent. Her eyes razor sharp with intellect while she pondered and muddled over her words like a mad zealot, grappling with her faith. The awful way she had stared as I floundered for an answer to her questions, my face screwed up into a pained wince just remembering it. It was becoming a terrifying trend in my advisors, them asking for advice and me fumbling under the pressure. Wasn’t it supposed to work the other way round? And what did they really expect from me, some kind of divine wisdom just cause I survived a fucking explosion? I shook my head, that wasn’t it. For all their niceties the questions smacked of judgment, clumsy attempts at testing my character, drawing me out with their tales only to slap me with a moral dilemma and see what I’d do.

Solas was a fucker for it. I’d stood in child like rapture as he spoke of his experiences moving through the fade, what he’d seen and heard, the spirits he’d spoken with. He spun the stories in his gentle voice lulling me into a false sense of security only to pose an innocent question, then snark at my response. Bastard. All of them bastards. Everyone working so hard to put the world back together and stuck with me to lead them. Poor, poor bastards.

Approaching the hall I spied a soldier, a mercenary most likely, waiting by the doors. His armour though battered from use shined reflecting the last of the evenings sun. He was handsome I noted, short but stocky with close cropped brown hair and a soft unmarked face, not your typical looking merc for sure.

“You the Inquisitor?” He asked in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, his eyes looking me up and down.

“Depends whose asking,” I replied, eyeing him in return

“We’ve got word of some Tevinter mercenary’s out on the Storm Coast,” he continued unfazed. “My commander, Iron Bull,  offers the the information free of charge.”

Containing a snort at the name, I folded my arms instead and tutted

“How gracious of him, but I doubt anything is for free. What does this Iron Bull want?” 

“An interview. Come to the Storm Coast and see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition.”

Shaking my head I turned to leave. Any idiot with a sword can claim to be a mercenary and in all my time with the Valo-Kas I’d never heard of the Bull’s Chargers. I wouldn’t waste precious resources chasing what are most likely unskilled peasants with more bravery than sense.

“There is no shortage of mercenaries wanting to join our cause, I don’t have time to-“

“We’re the best you’ll find.” The merc stated. Glancing over my shoulder I squinted at him noting the lack of pomp or anger, just his plain stare meeting my gaze steadily. He wasn’t lying. “Come to the Storm Coast, see us in action, then decide if you need us.”

My lip curled at the wording but I nodded, grudgingly impressed by this soft spoken man.

“Fine.” I conceded with a tired sigh, “tell your Iron Bull we’ll be at the coast in a few days.”

At that the Merc nodded and left, walking off toward the ale house without so much of a backward glance.  

Closing the door of my quarters I poured over the new paperwork Josephine had left. A scout report caught my eye detailing a particularly nasty fight that had broken out in a village in the Hinterlands between the mages and templars, only a few had escaped. It twisted my stomach just how fast things turned to shit. Everyday reports streamed in from every corner of new rifts opening, demons spotted in one place after another, missing people and rogue mages and templars causing havoc. That first trip through the Hinterlands still hung over me. So much death and destruction and not a damn person to stop it. Still despite it all my heart lifted at the prospect of going to the Storm Coast despite my doubt. I hadn’t seen the ocean since I was a girl. With a sigh I stood and grabbed the report needing to organise a few things before I went to bed. Time away from the Haven was time well spent and I was anxious to be out from under the many eyes of this place.

—

“This is bullshit.”

Varric cackled. “Not a fan of the rain, Lucky?” 

“Rain. Rifts. Templars. Demons. Fucking giant spiders.” I listed staring down the beach, “what else am I forgetting?”

“Darkspawn.” Solas added dryly.

Nodding I hooked my thumbs into my belt and sighed. It had been one shit show after another, first the Hinterlands then that mess at Val Royoux and now this gods forsaken coastline. Looking down the beach from our little base camp the rain pelting down my neck all I wanted was to crawl back into bed. After the long gruelling trip over here, slogging through knee high mud and fighting off bandits we’d arrived cold, wet and tired and I’d stupidly spent most of the night going over notes, replying to messages from Scout Harding and looking over acquisition demands from Quartermaster Threnn. Now an ache had settled between my shoulder blades from hunching over my too low desk as exhaustion dragged at my eyelids. 

Below the sounds of fighting echoed up the beach, the clanging of swords cutting through the roar of the waves that battered the rocks. Taking a long breath I nodded at Cassandra and started down the rocky slope. Scout Harding had let us know the Bull’s Chargers were waiting on the beach but I’d let them sit for a few hours, instead heading out to find the few rifts that had been reported on. Demons had felt more important at the time but now I regretted the decision, after being blown off my feet by a fire demon and attacked by giant spiders I was in no mood to play diplomacy with a bunch of mercenaries. Plus my hand ached, the throbbing going straight to the bone as the sickly green light flared and arced. 

“Here we go,” I muttered under my breath as we emerged onto the beach right into the fray. Charging ahead I ripped my blades from their sheathes and tore into battle, all weariness forgotten, my blood singing. This I could do, rip and tear till the job was done. The simplicity appealed to some base part of my nature, the part that wanted to smash heads when some snotty peasant sneered “Oxman” to my face. 

Plunging my daggers in the neck of a Tevinter a shadow loomed over my shoulder. On pure instinct I spun and raised my blood soaked blades braced to be blown away by the massive arc of the war axe that sang through air like quicksilver. Feeling the whoosh of air tussle my braids I lowered my knives an inch in surprise. At my feet lay a tevinter who’d been creeping up on me twitching in pool of blood, an axe imbedded in his spine. Glancing up and up and up I squinted at the massive Qunari, his broad horns and even broader shoulders blocking the weak sun.

“Well hello, Inquisitor!” The Iron Bull said with a blood splattered grin.

[bluesunsdusk]

✏️ Any particular reason for the names you used for your ocs?

✏️ Any particular reason for the names you used for your ocs?

–// I have a lot of ocs, so I will pick some. It’s going to be long either way… ))

Overwatch

Najma (Najma Daher)

When Naj was first made, they had Prima as placeholder name and their kit was based around light, but I struggled to really place them in the universe. They were still based in Oasis, with sumerian aesthetic, and they were an AU for a fandomless oc. I was still trying to pick where the heck they were from. I added Najma as possible name because it means star and is Arabic. As they finally developed to suit the universe more and be an own character, the name stuck, because I like it and they are a warm person and the sun keeps us alive, and Naj was made to help keep someone alive. Dunia, their owner, was named to reflect her meaning in Naj’s life. Dunia was their whole reason for existing, their world, their life. 

Najma coincidentally also works for…other reasons.

Najma’s code name, Nazar, comes from that their abilities are most effective when looking into their lights and optics, which flare up when they use their ult as well. Their optics are also blue.The evil eye, which causes harm upon those who have been struck by it.

I think Daher meant clear. Najma does’t actually have a surname, as they are not a member of the family rather than just property of said family. However, I still wanted the surname to be something with a tiny bit of a fitting meaning. Rather than doing it by naming conventions used with Mamun, I went with them just having just a family name, much in Europe and the US. I also kept it to just two names this time.

Mamun Wasif Said

Mamun had a long list of names on his hero sheet. See, the given name is an aspiratory trait, the second the father’s name, and the third the grandfather’s name or family name. In Mamun’s case, Said is his grandfather’s name. So, that means Mamun’s dad is called Wasif. Gien names he could have been Majdi (commendable, praiseworthy), Marwan, Naseer, etc. His surname could have been Assaf, Kassar, Al-Mansur (the victorious), or Nasrallah (god’s victory). Now, I am not at all close to being an expert on arabic naming conventions, so I was like let’s keep it simple. 

Now, Mamun is supposed to be a tank hero and his character design was made to emphasise that he is a soft and huggable man who deserves the whole world. He needed to look sweet,warm, trustworthy, and dependable. Mamun is a name that feels like it has soft edges. It’s gentle. There’s no hard tones in it. Mamun means dependable, which is something he wants to be and his parents would have wanted him to be as well. A good son, brother, and eventually (if he so wished) husband. 

I forgot what Wasif meant… I think I just liked how it sounded with Mamun compared to the other names listed along with it. I matched several names that were listed on his hero sheet behind Mamun and they didn’t sound nearly as good with it as Wasif did. It means ‘one who praises’.

Said was just a good name to follow Mamun Wasif with. It just wraps it up nicely when I wanted three names in there. It means happy. 

Spigel

Spigel’s name is explained in his bio, I think. The name is given because he’s able to copy the appearance of a person and uses this after eliminating them to blend into a faction he’s trying to infiltrate or wipe out. It takes observation of mannerisms, appearance, speech patterns, etc. to do a convincing guise, and once that is done, it will be like looking into a mirror for the target.

He was always called Spigel because that’s Luxembourgish for mirror. Sure, it’s not smart for the assassin to take a nickname from his own personal origin, but…it’s fine if a guy from Luxembourg gave him that nickname rather than him giving himself said nickname.

Roland Marie Schroeder 

Roland is a pretty common name in Luxembourg, and Marie is a common middle name. I liked Roland as a name, because is seems warm and strong, and Roland is a quiet dude at times, but even though he’s pretty small as well, he can take up a lot of social space just by being a little… dramatic. He would have liked the name because it is, as Monty Python would say, woody. At least, I think it was Monty Python, I’m not sure anymore and can’t find it.

Michael Abatangelo 

Michael was the general of the archangels, and putting Michael together with Abatangelo makes it sound close to Michelangelo. Though, the latter was on accident and I was like yep that’s his name now. I went through several names I don’t really remember. Michael was a strong name that also sounded pleasant.

Fable

Aidan Fawkes

Aidan is an Irish name that means fire. I didn’t know quite what to call him. I didn’t want a name that was just big strong man large energy. It needed to sound not too thick, in a way, maybe a little light to suit his personality. He also had a lot of energy growing up and was a sweet guy. 

His father’s name is actually Mac Lochlainn. That’s a reference and not chosen for the meaning because it’s not used on Aidan. Also, it’s just really nice sounding surname. His grandma on his father’s side’s surname was Kelly. A very common surname where they were from. Anyway, Aidan’s dad didn’t want his kids to have the disadvantage of having a foreign surname. The given names, however, weren’t too odd, and both of his parents did want to give him a link with his father’s heritage in their names. Furthermore, he was born with red hair. 

As such, Aidan was given as his name, and he was bestowed with the surname of his mother, Fawkes. I picked Fawkes because 1) It sounds good with Aidan 2) it means falcon, making his name fire falcon 3) Guy Fawkes. 

Duncan Reynold 

I know the hero in Fable 2 is called Sparrow. However, that is a title/nickname, not a legit name. Surely, his parents, whom Sparrow canonically knew, gave him a real name. I wanted him to have a legit name. I wanted him to be of scottish-type origin. Now, Duncan has tanned skin from being out and stuff and dark hair. He’s also a brawny guy. He would have picked himself a pretty awesome name that feels strong, also… it has can in it, because he can do it. I jest. 

Duncan is a mix of two parts. Together, these parts form a name meaning dark-haired warrior or dark warrior. Of course, he doesn’t know that. He just thinks it’s an awesome name. 

Reynold is a carry over from trying to give king Logan a surname. It’s also a mix or two elements, advice and rule. English meaning is wise/powerful ruler (or something like that. It can also be advice from a ruler or king’s advisor, but let’s ignore that). While Duncan was that, Logan eventually proved not be.

Mass Effect

Medesa Adrestis

It’s actually from Medusa, because she’s a bit of a protector who gets spun into a villain because of the methods she uses to protect herself and others, which is often violent and rather fatal, since slave traders deserve no rights. I think there was something else, but I forgot��� Oh, right! Her surname, Adrestis. I saved it in my drafts and idk if it’s still there…

I looked it up to jog my mind!

It’s from Adrestia and Adrasteia, and I didn’t want to name her exactly after that despite Asari names looking painfully ancient Greek inspired and very feminine. 

Adrestia is a figure from Greek mythology, she who cannot be escaped, venerated as a goddess of revolt and just retribution. Adrasteia, “inescapable”, was a nymph charged with taking care of a child Zeus. Medesa was charged with taking care of Toreg. 

Vicarius Hzzek and Lictor Kgrln

So, I won’t explain their names, because I assume Kett names are either just ID codes or can’t be easily changed into a more human tongue. I will go for their titles, though I believe I have explained it in a hc post before. Kett ranks seem based on Roman Empire influences, as is a part of their culture in general. They have Cardinals, Archons, Anointed, Ascendants. These seem religious. A Vicarius is a word that means substitute or deputy. It’s the root of the English word “vicar” as well and is used in things like vice-president. Anyway, Hzzek is a secondary to a Cardinal, making her vice-cardinal of an exaltation facility. 

As for Lictor, this comes from another Latin thing. A Lictor is a type of bodyguard to a magistrate. Kgrln is one of Hzzek’s Destined, who is also assigned with escorting and guarding her. He does this together with other Destined who would also be of the Lictor role/title. 

Dragon Age

Kata

Kata used to be an arvaarad and he considered himself the death of many a saarebas. That, and he is an assassin type, like a katari. He brings death to those who try to oppose him with violence, so basically he’s still death, just to other people now that he’s no longer in the qun. It’s sort of a method of intimidation. If a qunari is told they’re about to meet death, they might reconsider their current course. 

Kost

Kost had another name, aban, which probably means sea, when going by “Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun.” Which means “The tide rises, the tide falls, the sea is unchanged.” He chose it, because the sea is unchanging and also clam. He was the same after leaving the qun as he was when he left. 

Eventually, however, he changed his name to Kost, after staying with a group of Tal-Vashoth who helped him become less stuck in his qun ways and more able to see himself as a person. He came to be at peace with himself and took on the task of assisting some other new Tal-Vashoth in the process. As such, he took on the name Kost, “peace”, to reflect this. 

[kaaras-adaar-a]

what abt mera 😊

send me a character & I’ll answer the following about them!

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life 

hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would bang

hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff - I feel he might have Slytherin traits in there tho. 

best quality: I don’t know a lot about Mera yet, but he seems like a lighthearted fellow, and I like that. I’m all up for characters who can have a good laugh and tease, but it be in nice and light nature. :3 I’m really excited to learn more about him :D

worst quality: He’s got roguish tenancies XD Not that that’s a BAD thing, but personally I am not into thievery, haha. Unless it’s like stealing from the rich to give to the poor, but again, I don’t know a lot about him yet! 

ship them with:  HMMM, well I’d definitely like to see where things head, but honestly I’m all for OC’s with chemistry with OC”s so I’m excited to see some of the ships you will have with him in the future. I can see him and Rune getting along really nicely for a ship

brotp them with: Mera and Josie speaking Antivan with each other

needs to stay away from: Probably the Qun XDD 

misc. thoughts: I’m still so new to him, so I’m afraid I can’t say a lot >: But I hope this can change in the future when we’ve got more of an established bond with muses and I get to see more Meraad content

[jamieau]

[ 5. The Sister and the Qunari ]

“Blessed are they who stand before The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.

Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written.”

—Canticle of Benedictions 4:10-11

The Chantry sister’s eyes followed Jamie’s every movement. There appeared to have been a scuffle at the tavern not so long ago, and the tavernkeeper was busy barking out orders for them to clean up the blood and salvage what they could of the broken chairs and tables. Jamie thought about leaving immediately, but the redhead approached him as he withdrew into a corner to sit.

“I have seen you,” she said, casting a furtive glance at the tavernkeeper before sliding into the seat opposite of the wanderer. “The Maker has shown me your face. Are you a Grey Warden?” she asked, bringing her verdant gaze up to meet Jamie’s. Her voice was soft and a heavy Orlesian accent hung from her words. Ferelden was a far cry from Orlais. What would she be doing all the way over here? His heart nearly stopped in his chest when her question came and he glanced around. “No,” he lied.

“I have seen others like you, not long ago. As you can see, there was a fight, but they left before any more trouble was stirred. Their leader seemed quite in a hurry,” she said quietly. At this, Jamie seemed to perk up, though he kicked himself mentally for being so obvious. He wondered if Alistair and Caspar had made it out, but before he had a chance to ask, the woman continued speaking. “I am Leliana. A ley sister of the Chantry here in Lothering. I am no priest or initiate, I simply came to live a life of quiet contemplation,” she said. “I have been given a vision by the Maker to come along. This darkness is spreading over the land-- just look all around you. What you are meant to do is the Maker’s will. Let me help, and I will help you,” she said. Jamie didn’t believe her at first, but the more she spoke, the more conviction he heard in her voice, and he found himself reluctantly believing the notion of her vision. She could help him, and she had seen other Grey Wardens. “Where did the others go?” he asked, leaning in and furrowing his brows lightly.

“They cannot be far. Take me with you, and we will see the Maker’s will be done. I can be useful to you,” she said. Jamie clenched his jaw and gave a slight nod. He had no other plan, no other lead. “Alright. Let’s go, then,” he murmured. She nodded and gave him a small smile. “You will not regret this.”

-

As the two walked through the muddy streets, Jamie’s ears perked when he heard gossip of the mages at the tower in Lake Calenhad. Rumor had it they were going insane and turning into demons. Jamie knew next to nothing about the Circle of Magi but for what Wynne told him when he met her at Ostagar, Maker rest her soul. He noticed a templar attempting to keep peace between a group of Chasind and a local who blamed them for stealing his food. Hope was a low burning flame that seemed to burn even lower here. How could he think about vengeance for House Cousland when the people of the Bannorn were in such despair and suffering themselves?

“Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.“

The words were spoken like a prayer and broke Jamie’s thoughts as he wandered with Leliana towards the main road. Jamie noticed the man’s lumbering size, the depth of his brows and the deep frown lines around his lips, the point of his ears, and the snow white of his hair done in braids.

“You are not my captors. I will not amuse you or any of the other humans who came by. Leave me in peace,” he spat out, noticing as Jamie approached the iron cage that held him. Leliana leaned in to speak. “The Chantry put him here. The revered mother said he slaughtered an entire family, including the children.”

“It is as she says. I am Sten of the Beresaad. Vanguard of the Qunari people.”

Jamie bristled at that. The man didn’t seem guilty for murdering eight people in the farmstead. He seemed accepting of his punishment, his life forfeit. He had been there for twenty days without food and water, but the Qunari constitution allowed him to survive. Still, he knew his time was drawing near. Death was preferable to atonement. Jamie was content to leave him there to die until the Chantry sister spoke to him quietly. “To be left here to starve or be taken by the darkspawn. No one deserves that. Not even a murderer,” Leliana murmured. Jamie’s brow cinched. She may have been right, but he didn’t like the thought of if. Still, if there were remaining Grey Wardens, maybe this man could be conscripted, too.

Reluctantly, he headed back to the Chantry with Leliana. Her powers of persuasion rivaled Jamie’s, and he had to give it to her, she was good at convincing the Revered Mother to hand over the key and take Sten out of Lothering. Sten was surprised at the outcome. Perhaps this Grey Warden wa more than he appeared to be. “So be it. Set me free and I will follow you to battle against the blight. You will need all the help I can get. I will follow you into battle, and in doing so, I shall attain atonement.”

Jamie had to rest, though. His vision was beginning to blur, and he hadn’t eaten in days. Leliana suggested they return to Dane’s Refuge, but Sten needed to wear a cloak. Jamie gave him Roland’s cloak to mask himself, and together, they entered the tavern. Once there, he was surprised to find Alistair, the witch’s daughter from the Kocari Wilds, another mabari war hound, and a familiar crown of silvergold hair. Jamie felt relief in seeing the others, and quickly approached them.

“You’re alive!” Alistair said, scarcely believing his eyes.

“And your powers of observation never cease to amaze me,” Morrigan snarked, raising a brow and cocking her head to the side slightly. Her golden hues studied Jamie, then Leliana and Sten. It was clear they had run into each other before, and now Jamie had brought them along. He slid into one of the seats once more and felt Caspar’s glowering stare. His blue-green eyes flickered up to meet the elf’s, then flickered back to the others. Alistair briefed him on their plans to head to Redcliffe, and Jamie cinched his brows once more. Sten stood near the wall, arms crossed and doing his best not to draw attention to himself. Leliana wandered off to get some food for Jamie, returning not long after.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us, then. We will go to Redcliffe, and rally everyone we can get to march against the Blight, and then to Denerim. Loghain will not get away with this,” Jamie said. Before he could say any more, his stomach growled something fierce and Leliana did her best not to snicker.

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ]

@casparaus

[marquis1305]

In response to my and @keeperscompanionsdai talking over what might happen if our OC’s were to go to battle to protect one of their favorite family member’s. A little bit of a reunion thrown in for good measure <3

Mesara had finally gathered the courage to visit her cousin after the Exalted Council, it had taken her too many months, she knew. But she could not bear to see William so worn down. Not after the way he had returned.  

After everything.

Damaia pressed her hand to Mesara's shoulder, shaking her from her thoughts. Mesara knew that Damaia had had her own concerns regarding visiting the Trevelyan farm. The Iron Bull had given his report shortly after the appearance of the Tal-Vashoth that had managed to capture Iseran; Damaia had refused to believe the report at first. Had disappeared to go speak with her father, get what details that she could regarding those possibilities. Had refused to return until the Exalted council, and even still had refused to speak on the subject.  

Now, they both made their way across the field. Eyes trained on the house, both walking with the ease of those who had made it through a war, and feared nothing that might come in their path.  

Mesara could not help the breath of relief when she saw her cousin come into the doorway, waving his one hand emphatically at her.  

She could not help as her feet carried her ever faster towards Will, until she was barreling him over.  

A litany of apologies pouring out from between her lips. Her face buried deep into his chest, hands grasping at his clothes.  

"Why, lady Mesara, one might think that you had missed me," William tries to keep his tone light, despite his own emotions making it hard to press out his voice from his throat. "I had wondered, considering that you hadn't come to visit all these months."

"William, don't you dare tease me now," she grumbles, voice muffled by his chest. "Not after everything. I couldn't, I just I-"

"I know cousin. It was not an easy time for any of us. And while I might have missed your company, I do not blame you for withholding it. I am just glad to see you, truly." He wraps his arm tightly around her, feeling the absence of his left hand all the more for being unable to lift her as had become their custom. His throat tightening once more.  

"I hope that also applies to me, seems like I have been a terrible friend, missing so much of your new life," Damaia's voice rings out, her tone playful as always.

"Of course, Damaia. After all, who could blame so sought after a mercenary captain. Seems like the Frostblades are almost as popular as the Chargers these days." William smiles over at the Qunari, arm still tight around his cousin. "I would offer you a hug as well, but it would seem that I am all out of arms to offer."

"Then forgive me for assuming that mine would do." She laughs as she wraps both tightly into her long arms, pressing her forehead to William's.  

"Tsk, and here I had assumed the only reason that you came was for a decent meal," Iseran's voice calls out from the kitchen. Quickly summoning Damaia.

"Iseran, I see that you have managed to keep William well fed and only mildly annoyed."

Iseran clicks his tongue, gazing over at Damaia, "No thanks to you, or his cousin."

"I know. I couldn't, not with him here."

"Damaia, I would think you of all people..."Iseran huffs in frustration.  

"It is one thing for me to accept in those who need a family," she bites at her lip. "Quite another to find out that my own blood-"

They both turn at the sound of a door slamming. Iseran clicks his tongue.

Damaia wilts where she stands.  

Iseran turns to look over her, then rolls his eyes. "Well, go after the boy. If not, he will just brood over this for the coming months. Tsk."

Damaia nods, and waves to the others, excusing herself. She follows the trail out to behind the barn, where she can see an open field, littered with scars from either flames or lightning. In the center of this field, standing, is the boy that is technically her brother.  

She looks over him, trying to find where they might share some sign of their lineage. She can see the scars that litter his back, and is forcefully reminded of the history that Bull's report had laid out.  

A life she might have lived, had she not been the child her father had chosen to acknowledge.  

And then, only because of her mother.  

"You know, when trying to sneak up on someone, it's best not to sit there and stare," his voice jerks her out of her thoughts.  

"I wasn't exactly trying to be discreet," Damaia keeps her tone as light as she can. "I find that it isn't exactly my strong point."

"A trait that we share then, in case you hadn't noticed the field while staring at me."  

"You know, it sort of reminds me of my home," Damaia's lips quirk up in a small smile. "I used to do the same thing, whenever I was angry, or sad, or upset. Was pointed out to the field and would let my magic loose."

She chuckles slightly and runs a hand over the back of her neck. "Funny story, that is actually how I found out I was a mage. Got caught in a storm, felt like letting loose everything that I had kept bundled inside of me, ended up matching the lightning shot for shot."

Damian keeps his silence. Staring out towards the edges of the field.  

"Iseran said that he had told you, in his letters, that-"

"Yes." His voice is curt, leaving no room for further questions.

Which had never stopped Damaia before.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that our father had-"

"Your father. Not mine," Damian finally turns, meeting Damaia's gaze. Damaia was shocked to see that his eye color was almost an exact match to her own. "My fathers are the men inside that cottage, who have taken care of me for the past year. My brother is the boy who learns beside Iseran, and comes out here to talk to me. To vent, and let me vent in return. They are my family. I don't know you."

Damaia tries to swallow past the lump in her throat. Nodding.

She understood, she would have to. She certainly couldn't blame him.  

Not after everything.  

"I will not press you further then," Damaia huffs a short laugh. "Though, it still leaves us having to deal with each other. After all, Mesara is my oath sister, and William is the closest thing to a true sibling that she has. Which makes you something along the lines of my nephew, if we want to ignore being blood siblings."

Damian groans softly, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead. "So quite literally, there is no way that we could avoid each other."

"Not true, I can simply ensure that when I come to visit, you have good enough warning to leave the area," she tries to tease him gently. "Or we can try to figure things out."

"Why would you want to do that? You had already made it quite clear what you think of me, Damaia." His gaze drops to the ground, looking at one of the scars he had left on the earth.

"Damian, I am mostly just in shock. I didn't know that my father had ever bred, besides my mother. My mother had always told me that I was their only child, as she couldn't have others. Then I find out that the only person who might understand what it was like, was someone who tried very hard to hurt people I care about..."

"It was my purpose, I-"

"I understand. I only spent ten years in Par Vollen, and still I always worry whether I am figuring out my own life, or just following what they taught me. If my rebellion is true to who I am, or if it is just what they told me to be as Tal-Vashoth."

"Yes," the word is whispered, as softly as a prayer. As he lifts his head to look at her once more. Face tight with grief.  

"They stole us from each other, Damian. We do not have to do the same," she leans up to ruffle his hair. Earning a surprised bark of laughter.  

"Hey!" Both Qunari turn to face a child rambling their way to where they stood. "Iseran says that if you two take any longer, he won't be able to keep supper from burning... he also added a few 'tsks' in there for measure."

"We will be right in Alfie," Damian rolls his eyes at his younger sibling. Walking over to place a hand on his shoulder.  

"You must be Alphonse," Damaia smiles at the half-elf, offering her hand.  

"And you're Damaia. Iseran has mentioned you before, something about missing your hair braiding abilities." He takes her hand quickly, then just as quickly releases it.

Damaia bursts out into laughter, recalling the incident with Sera. "Yeah, that. I am sure that he doesn't miss my long list of injuries though."

Alfie shrugs his shoulders, then starts making his way back to the cottage.  

Neither Damaia or Damian move.  

Both suddenly stiff, every muscle tense.

It doesn't take long before Alphonse can hear the chanting as well.  

"Alfie, go, run, warn the others." Damian barks the orders. Turning to step beside Damaia. Alphonse spares only a moment before bolting off to gather the other adults.  

"Qunari, I had thought that they would stop after their plan failed at the Exalted Council."

"Damaia, you know better, the Qun does not allow for failure."

The two siblings share a look. Then spread out, fifteen paces apart. Their body language somehow similar, despite never having met before.  

Arms spread wide, they begin to summon the magic that runs through their veins.  

Electricity begins to crackle in the air. The very atmosphere reacting to so much concentrated static energy.  

Damaia's hair begins to lift.

It takes only seconds before the first spear is thrown.  

It shatters against the wall of lightning that the two Tal-Vashoth have summoned.  

"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun." A harsh voice calls out, walking into the field before the two with an air of command.  

"Ashkost Kata," calls out Damian in response. Damaia gritting her teeth as she is accosted by memories of her childhood, of her struggles to forget this tongue. But she is not the same, she has faced down these fears many times in the years since she first joined the Inquisition.  

"Na via lerno victoria, you struggle for a fight that has been already lost, Qunari." Damaia chose specifically to use what Tevene her father taught her, knowing how much more it would enrage the Qunari soldiers lining up in formation.  

She can feel the air grow cold around them, and Damian shivered as he felt Mesara stride up near him. Her spirit blade in hand, and the other pushed forward, calling forth shards of ice to hang perilously above the Qunari forces.  

"Do not think that we will bow down before. None here fears your kind," she calls out. Voice high but regal.  

Iseran takes his place beside Damaia, fire crackling about his hands. "Tsk, you have made a mistake in coming here."

"Vinek kathas," is the only response that the group gets before the Qunari charge forward.  

The four mages make their stand.  

Damaia throwing out bolts of lightning, summoning up the spirits of those who fall to her strikes to fight against their brothers. She fights alongside the spirits, grabbing up a spear from the ground to use as a quarterstaff, striking down with physical prowess those she meets face to face.  

Damian unleashing his raw power, throwing everything he has into creating an electric storm amidst the Qunari forces, roaring loud and strong. Any Qunari that come too near being thrown aside by bolts of static charge.  

Mesara charges forward into the fray, striking down those before her with her blade, and summoning ice walls to subvert others, forcing them to either break through to attack her, or change course to face the others.  

Iserans allows his fire to reign down upon the enemies, making sweeping blasts to push them away. Only stopping to occasionally send a blast of healing energy towards one of the others as they require it.  

William stands in the door of his cottage, holding back Alfie with his hand.  

Watching in some measure of awe as each of those whom he has called family bring forth their terrible might to smash against an enemy.

He wonders why anyone would dare to face this willingly.

He certainly wouldn't.  

Translations:

Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun. ( "Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun." )

Ashkost kata!  ( “ You are seeking death!” )  

Na via lerno victoria  ( “Only the living know victory” )

Vinek Kathas! (An order to attack or kill. Another possible meaning is "Seize them.")

(links for all translations provided.)

[melissuer]

Conversations in the Fade - ch#1

I’d started this last year over on AO3 to establish a critical part of Meraad’s story and explore her character and the choices that she made in the game, and even though its on a hiatus bc I forgot the new chapters i wrote at home and I’m on vacation, I really like where its headed so I wanted to share it here as well.

It’s post-trespasser, and based on some of my theories and interpretations of the consequences of drinking from the Well of Sorrows.

Enjoy!

———————————————————-

A chill washes over her as she opens her eyes.

She is in her bed but it feels alien to the touch, her room dark but a glow that she cannot quite pinpoint where from hurts her eyes. The eerie feeling of waking up to strange surroundings lingers on her chest but it is the same room that she has been jolting up to nightmares for years now. She turns her head to the right, the delicately carved limb and the crossbow that she has accepted as her own extensions lay to the barren wall, undisturbed. Her cloak hangs on the edge of her modest footboard, resembling a benevolent spirit guarding her dreams, ready for her slumbers. Her daggers are left undisturbed on their holsters, and her digits can find the cool of the opulent knife's hilt as she slowly slides her hand under her pillow. Her eyes graze over the trinkets, herbs and charms that she has hung around for protection and good luck, over the sketches that she has nailed on the buttercream-colored walls, and her eyes catch a glimpse of her mother's Isstaaras-Saar, hung and collecting dust in the dresser, its door forgotten ajar.

It is her room that she has tried too hard to make her own, without a doubt, but something is not right.

The glow is still there. Her eyes start to ache. She has to shield her face with her hand to relieve them of the unidentified source of the stress.

It is her left hand that serves as a mask. A soft smile settles on her features. She has not seen her left hand in eons.

She also has not consciously been in the Fade for around the same amount of time.

After a short while she realizes that her cloak on her footboard is not actually a cloak but is indeed a benovelent spirit watching her lay. She had wondered how that analogy had crept up her mind minutes ago. Her face still shielded, she shifts her body closer to the shadowy formation, using her right hand to crawl closer to this creature of the realm. It shifts ever so slightly, and she feels a radiance of annoyance in its moves.

"You sure blend into your surroundings," she says.

"You sure take a long time to figure things out," it responds.

"I apologize for not realizing sooner, I am not a mage," she confesses.

"You could have been, were you not so daft," it responds.

She mulls the statement over. Her profession had not been up for debate ever since she was a few feet tall and could make water freeze. She remembers the pain in her mother's eyes and the stern voice of her father forbidding her from ever doing that again.

"Who are you?" she demands.

"I am Guidance." it responds.

"Shouldn't you be patient and kind?" she wonders.

"You have kept me waiting for a long time," it shrugs. "And I have never been kind, not especially to you, have you not noticed?"

She sighs, giving into the truth. It is starting to aggravate her nerves, but it is also right. It's not a reality that she has ever been able to properly accept, but aside from Cole, most spirits have not been kind to her. At least not in this lifespan. She misses Cole.

She misses her friends. They have been kind to her.

"So, are you going to get up?" Guidance snaps her out of her thoughts. "I can only be patient for so long."

"Sorry, yes," She replies, shuffling out of the bedsheets and her feet find the chilled marble floor to lift the rest of her body up. "I understand that you are here to take me somewhere."

"Obviously," Guidance starts to move towards her terrace door. "That is what Guidance does. It guides," It passes through the wooden block. "So daft."

She opens the door in its wake. It is her garden that she tends to, the one on the edge of the forest, but with the flowers fuller, the plants taller, the colors brighter and objects veiled with the slightest gleam. It is a true sight to behold. She has missed the Fade. Bull would have been distraught to know her longing for it.

"Stop staring around, and follow." Guidance beckons. "Once we are done for the day you may gawk as much as you wish."

Obediently, she halts her environmental observations and picks her pace up after the faint trail left behind the spirit on the tall grass. The dark gust of unknown Fade material dissapears into the thick sea of brawly tree trunks as it dives into the forest. "Come on!" It calls through the branches impatiently. She follows.

They walk for an indefinite amount of hours beneath the lush leaves of the tall bodies of trees, enveloped in semi-darkness. Guidance does not say a word, and she is grateful. It gives her time to enjoy her dream-like surroundings, and she knows better than to pester spirits with questions beyond their purpose of existence. Guidance is meant to guide her, not give her the answers to the inquiries forming in her mind. It is not Knowledge.

After a good and certain amount of time she picks up the courage to ask the only question that she knows it may give a response to. "How much further to our destination?" she wonders.

"Won't be long now," Guidance assures her. "It is a reunion long coming."

She does not have time to interrogate that unusual statement when they step out of the wooden ocean into an inclined field of temperate grasslands, occupied with some short flora here and there. In the middle of the empty space stands a chess table trapped between two high chairs. The legs and the backs of the seats are fashioned in elvhen engravings, and the one on the left is occupied by a distinctly tall figure. It is a familiar figure.

She hesitates in her step. She checks her hands to make sure that it is not just a dream but a reality in the Fade. She never has her left arm in her dreams. The faint glow that regularly inhibits the veins on the stump of her arm have crept upon the nerves of her hand like it had long before, emitting a slow shine.

"You might think that it is fear that you are feeling," the spirit of Guidance settles itself on her shoulder. "But content is at the end of this particular road."

She feels reassured with the clump of darkness perched near her face. For a second she wonders why it is not shiny and light. Then she remembers all that has been her life, and finds it appropriate that it retains such a look. Albeit gloomy, it is calmer and more serene this way.

She takes a deep breath and puts forward a determined step, and the spirit fades away. It has done its work. It is needed elsewhere.

She continues down the unmarked path towards her destination, towards the seated figure waiting for her arrival. She knows who they are. A friendly grin settles on their features.

"Ha'falon, aneth ara." They welcome her as she stands in front of them. She is unsure of her actions. It has been a long time, and she is conflicted in her feelings.

This is not unseen by the party before her. "Come, sit." they instruct.

In a dreamy daze, her body follows the instruction without waiting for her mind's consent. She is unfazed upon making this discovery, she had suspected such a thing in their last meeting and the faceless companions of her lifetime had confirmed her suspicions in the depths of her mind.

She looks at the wolf with narrowed eyes, and the wolf smiles back at her.

[nekithamajere]

Kaaras

Two rough bits of story I’ve written for my new Inquisitor, Kaaras Adaar. Her beginning is AU in the fact that she’s an escaped Saarebas rather than a Tal-Vashoth. They’re not perfect, but I like them.

Inquisitor Kaaras did not like the direction her life was going. Just weeks earlier, she’d been part of a Tal-Vashoth mercenary group wandering around Orlais and Fereldan while trying not to earn the ire of the Qun.

Now Kaaras was going to recruit a probable Ben-Hassrath spy because the fledgling Inquisition needed forces more than it feared the Qun. Kaaras as the Herald of Andraste and agent of the Inquisition had to go offer the deal to Bull and his Chargers herself.

If Kaaras was honest with herself another reason as to why she was going was because Josephine had thought it would be a good idea to send ‘a fellow Qunari’ to see the Iron Bull.

Kaaras’s stomach was tied into knots and her hands were clammy. If she focused on her anxiety too much, she could feel the heavy collar around her neck and shoulders. She could feel the pull of too tight stitches forcing her mouth shut. She could feel the chains wrapped around her body and mind, and the cruel words spoken by her Arvaarad.

Thankfully, Cassandra and Varric’s bickering were providing ample distraction. Varric wouldn’t shut up about the rain, Cassandra complained about his complaining, and the argument was going in circles.

A shudder ran down Kaaras’s spine, and she couldn’t help but bring her fingers to touch the rough scars around her mouth.

“You alright, Herald?” Varric asked suddenly, breaking Kaaras’s thoughts, “I don’t ever think I’ve seen qunari look this worried about anything.”

“Yes well, most of the Qun don’t need to worry about having their lips sewn shut,” Kaaras growled, almost slipping into the language of Saarebas. All growls, and subtle gestures. A secret for all Saarebas and their Arvaarad.

Varric looked about to say something else, but then stepped into a puddle. Cassandra, took the chance to speak over Varric’s angered grumbling.

“Is that really a concern?”

“It is if he’s a Ben-Hassrath spy and has an Arvaarad with him,” Kaaras replied, “I won’t survive an encounter like that without a serious fight.”

“Speaking of which,” Solas gestured to an opening in the small copse of trees, toward the beach, “Isn’t that them over there?”

The Iron Bull and his Chargers were fighting a battle with a rather large group of bandits, which they seemed to be winning. A pile of bodies, the Tevinters perhaps? Kaaras watched as reinforcements for the bandits came. Swallowing hard, she charged into battle. With a practiced ease, she reached for the crackling lighting to come to her fingertips, and let her anxiety turn into magic.

Iron Bull wasn’t expecting anyone’s magic, except for Dalish’s, and looked up to see another kossith charge into battle. She was clearly Tal-Vashoth. She was old for a Tal-Vashoth too, actually. Silver streaks were running through her black hair. One horn was broken roughly in half, and the other was cracked and chipped.

Charging an opponent so he could get a better look, Bull was even more shocked. She wasn’t just a Tal-Vashoth, she was an escaped Saarebas. Uneasily, Bull realized that these were the Inquisition agents.

Krem hadn’t mentioned another kossith in his report. Bull had a tough decision to make. Would he and the Chargers risk working with a Saarebas, even if the pay was phenomenal?

As Bull took down another bandit, the Tal-Vashoth used her magic to move to the other side of battle so quickly that if Bull had blinked, he would have missed it. Using her hands rather than the staff strapped across her back, she used her impressive arm muscles to break an unsuspecting bandit’s neck from behind.

Soon, the bandits were dead, but the Chargers were still uneasy. Bull thought about the next order he would give, in spite of the Qun’s orders. Then, he caught a glimpse of the glowing green mark on the Tal-Vashoth’s hand, and he stopped.

“Chargers, stand down!” His voice carried clear across the battlefield, and his men obeyed. The Tal-Vash-Herald’s group stood down as well, though their hands hovered over their weapons.

The only one who looked as uneasy as Bull felt was the person who was supposed to be able to fix the tear in the sky. Ignoring her and her group of three, Bull turned to Krem. He needed to see how she’d react before making any decisions.

“Krem, how’d we do!?”

“Six wounded, not seriously. No dead.”

Bull nodded, if things went south he would have his men to back him up, “Good. Let the throatcutters finish, and we’ll break open the casks for a job well done!” Finally turning toward the Herald, Bull let out an easy laugh, hoping to put her at ease, “It’s true! The Chantry must love you! A Qunari mercenary is the ‘Herald of Andraste’. Who’d have thought?” Bull let out another chuckle, smiling, gauging her reactions.

“Shanedan, Iron Bull,” Her voice was low and raspy. He couldn’t be sure if it was from all the years of disuse, or if it was because she still felt uncomfortable speaking out loud.

“No need for that, makes everyone jumpy.”

Her mouth creased into a small frown. He wondered why, before remembering he was supposed to win her trust so he could inform the Arishok if intervention was needed.

“You’ve seen us fight. I won’t lie, we’re expensive, but we’re well-worth it. I’m sure your Inquisition can afford to pay us. What do you think?,” Bull sat on a nearby rock, turning his back just long enough to see if she would strike. Thankfully, she didn’t.

She looked around, eyeing the men who were finishing making sure everyone that was supposed to be dead was. She eyed Bull speculatively, eyeing his multitude of scars and easygoing manner.

“You seem useful,” She replied eventually.

“You won’t just be getting the men, y’know. You’ll be getting me. A bodyguard to soak up damage if you need it. The best one you’ll find in Ferelden. It doesn’t matter if it’s demons or dragons, the bigger the better. I’m your man.”

She nodded slowly, “What else?”

Bull made himself look even more nonchalant, while standing up and moving so he could protect himself if needed, “This’ll piss you off, might be useful. I’m Ben-Hassrath.”

“Hissrad,” She hissed like it was a vile insult. Her face pinched, “Why the Inquisition?”

“Uncontrollable magic like the Breach makes life difficult everywhere. They want me to get close to the Inquisition so I can report what’s going on. I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath all over Orlais and Ferelden. I can share that with the Inquisition.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Whatever happened at the Conclave is bad. The Breach needs to be closed, and quickly. I’m on your side, to do what needs to be done to end that,” Bull pointed to the Breach, which could still be seen from the Storm Coast even with the rain, “That needs to go before it seriously wrecks everything.”

Her pale eyes were narrow, searching. Her scarred lips were pursed in thought. Finally, she extended a hand that was missing parts of fingers, “Kaaras.”

“The Iron Bull,” Cautiously, he shook.

For better or worse, for now at least, Bull and his Chargers were going to help the Inquisition.

It wasn’t until the third night on the road that Bull began to seriously question his choice. They had set up camp, Kaaras and her party. Bull had been travelling with his men, and the Herald’s on and off throughout the journey. He had decided to set camp Kaaras’s party as a show of good faith.

He’d been relaxing in his tent, waiting for everyone else to fall asleep before even making an attempt himself, when a mumbled protest caught his attention. He froze, reaching for one of the daggers he kept hidden on himself, and waited.

A strangled gasp from the right, and stumbled footsteps into the dark. Moving slowly and quietly, Bull peered out of the gap in his tent entrance.

There was Kaaras, her hair sticking up in all directions, faced pinched with worry. Shaking hands massaged her temples. She sat heavily on a tree stump, and rested her head in her hands.  A shaky, almost silent sob shook her body. Several deep breaths got her under control, and she stayed still for what seemed like an eternity.

One hand touched the jagged edge of her broken horn, and the other to her lips. Quietly, almost quietly enough that Bull didn’t hear her, she spoke:

“Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun.” Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. A prayer for the dead turned into a mantra, perhaps?

Bull moved to his previous position in his tent, ignoring the sounds of the Herald going back to her tent. His thoughts were plagued by idea that the ‘Herald’ would turn into an abomination because she was uneasy with his presence.

He was seriously beginning to doubt his decision.

“Are you alright? You haven’t seemed yourself since Tiny joined us.”

Kaaras sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, “I’m suspicious.”

“Then why’d you take him on?”

“We need the troops.”

“We could have done without.”

“We need the extra muscle. It isn’t fair to Cassandra to do all the heavy lifting,” the attempt at a joke fell flat.

Varric shot her a pointed look, and Kaaras sighed. Her fingers travelled to the scars on her lips, and her eyes shot open. Standing hurriedly, she fumbled as her fingers grasped at buttons and straps. Her coat was discarded, as was the outer layer of armour.

“Sorry, but I’m not interested. I’m flattered you’d think of me that way, thou-” A murderous glare made the words stick in his throat.

Soon enough, she managed to shrug off the shirt underneath her armour, angling her head so the fabric wouldn’t get caught on what was left of her horns. All that was left of clothing for her upper body was some type of support for her breasts; Varric wasn’t sure of the name. It certainly wasn’t from Orlais, Ferelden, or the Free Marches.

Varric paled at the sight. Around her neck, previously hidden by high collars and layers of clothing, was deep set gouges that had long healed. Her shoulders were covered by the same marks, and Varric was reminded of the collars worn by the mages he’d seen in Kirkwall.

Her shoulders and arms were covered in burn marks, lacerations, and an array of other marks Varric couldn’t identify. Slowly turning around, Kaaras bared her back. Varric knew that it was a miracle that Kaaras was alive. Clearly, she’d been whipped within of an inch of her life multiple times. Permanent bruising marred the skin of her back, underneath the thick ropey scars that covered almost every inch of her skin.

“I will be killed by an agent of the Qun if one is allowed too close to me. I will not relax until we know exactly what this hissrad wants.”

“His-raad?” Varric asked, as if testing the word on his lips.

“Liar. It’s what they call the spies.”

Varric nodded, and averted his gaze as Kaaras redressed herself. Watching as she smoothed the wrinkles from her clothes, Varric could almost pretend he hadn’t seen the cruelty of the Qun. Then he remembered the cruelty of templars, and had to force himself not to shudder at the comparisons.

Now, more than ever, the puckered scars surrounding her lips seemed prominent.