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colorisbyshe · 2 days ago

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List of my Veilguard Complaints... just all together... getting it out of my system and then making it reddit's problem:

This game felt so emotionally flat. I think... the reviewers calling out the game for "therapy speak" weren't entirely wrong. It's more exposition speak and the fact that EVERY SINGLE feeling EVERY SINGLE trauma EVERY SINGLE event needs to be processed, out loud. It's not "too woke," it's just emotionally... spacious. Because you're forced to explore EVERYONE'S interiority... it feels like they have none left, does that make sense? No one has hidden depths because they announce and process every thing they go through, often immediately after it happens. It's hard to imagine any additional depth

It's also hard because... no one... has that much depth. Everyone has weaknesses and bad things that happened to them but it feels like there was a lack of... real character arcs? People had character sub plots. "Accept this thing about myself" was the main one. Which... doesn't help the therapy speak accusation.

No one is a bad person. The crows? The human trafficking, child soldiering, murderous gang? They're the good guys and we should be happy they rule Treviso! Lucanis is just a good guy doing good work. Neve works with Magisters and Templars and some of them are bad... but not her friends. She only works with the good ones! The dalish form a group with Qunari and human members and they're just a diverse coalition who... love mages now (despite having kicked them out last game?? okay). Literally NO ONE is allowed to be EVEN A LITTLE morally dubious unless they'er a Bad Guy or they're fucking solas

I MISS BIOWARE GREY MORALITY! THATS HOW BAD IT IS! I FUCKING MISS IT I MISS IT I DO BRING BACK ANDERS BRING BACK ZEVRAN BRING BACK MORRIGAN AND FUCKING CULLEN AND FUCKING BLACKWALL BRING BACK ISABELA BRING BACK MERRILL AND HER DEMON SHIT! BRING IT BACK

"Oh, we're treasure hunters but we're not COLONIZERS! We don't steal cultural artifacts! We return them to the real owners, we're pirates but we're NICE AND RESPECT PRONOUNS!" CHRIST ALIVE!!!

EVERYONE WE MEET IN TEVINTER IS NICE??? EVEN THE GANG??? THE THREADS GANG IS NICE!! THEYRE SCAMMRES BUT THEYRE SO GOOD ITS A HAPPY ENEDING IF ONE OF OUR COMPANIONS RUNS THEIR GANG??? WHAT???

It was... a little bit awesome to have dorian become a violent revolution man but like????? Then Minrathous gets nuked so the game is too cowardly to even do that shit

AND THATS THE OTHER THING! This game made sure NOTHING matters choice wise! Oh, you chose to save Minranthous? It gets nuked at teh end. Oh, your choices fro previous games? Only matters if you romanced Solas but Dorian might call your Inquisitor "Amatus" in a non-cut scene dialogue. FUck you if you romanced anyone else. Southern Thedas is just.... all dead now... it's over... so any choices you mad ether eare NEVER going to be relevant. The companion personal quest choices really don'tmatter and won't matter next game.

THEY KILLED THE DNA OF A DRAGON AGE GAME! No grey morality, no meaningful choices, fuck... barely any romance once you flirt (NO POST-ENDING ROMANCE SCENE!!! EVEN MORE SHY ABOUT NUDITY!), AND NO FUCKING THEMES!

What was the theme of this game? Following Solas' story, it might be redemption or letting go of the past, I guess, but?? Do the main stories tie into that? Not really. We have ONE part of a hcapter be about Rook letting go of regrets... for deaths that jUST happened not even anything lingering.

Plots around OPPRESSION ANTI-ELF AND ANTI-MAGE DISCRIMINATION?? Gone... IN A STORY ABOUT TAKING DOWN SLAVERS... LIKE THE OG SLAVERS??? Yeah, it doesn't matter. We have idle talk about slave revolutions and that's... it?? I'm an elf in Tevniter and no one cared. What? Qunari and Elves and humans are all besties except the Antaam (some of which still become besties)... what? How do yo drop the single strongest through-line in the series?

"Oh, well it takes place in the north, it's different rfrom the south!" OKAY BUT THE FALL OUT IN THE NORTH LITERALLY NUKED THE SOUTH OUT OF EXISTENCE, I CAN'T GET SOME LINES ABOUT CULTURAL DIFFERENCES! Or like... a line referencing what happned to the southern wardens after... y'unno... the whole betrayal thing last game? That's all chill?

Varric's plot twist was fucking stupid. See: this post.

The romance with Neve was sooo promising btu felt passionless towards the end. Maybe there are better choices but... the lack ofreal closure burns. No final kiss, just a wobbling "I love you" that sounded like it came after pulling teeth like... no passion for real?

Taash's nonbinary plotline sucked. I'm sorry. It did. As a nonbinary person I can say that.

Harding was so OOC it fucking hurt.

I chose her for the mandatory death because that wasn't my harding. It's absurd that that limited the mandatory death thing to two potential characters?

Larger casts are always hard but it feel slike they rly struggled to make all characters relevant to the main plot. Taash's mom/gender struggle could've been skipped. Emmrich was amazing but felt like he was a part of an entirely separate game. Bellara's archive plot felt close-ish to teh main plot of letting go of the past but the fact that you can choose to keep it going kinda... makes it less relevant. Idk.

Besides... Lucanis... and sometimes Bellara and sometimes Harding no one feels like they're reacting to the plot. The fact that a character can die but it's skimmed over after a scene and some chats is insane. The pacing is terribleeeee like oh I can watch Harding and Taash's terrible romance (I'll say it!! Harding acts liek a doting mom and NOT in a sexy way) in dialogue across several missions in the Lighthouse but we zoom past companions dying? THe world ending??

The world was beautiful BUT THE WORLD BUILDING SUCKED! Sorry but SOOO many locations make NO sense construction wise. Why is a chest in the middle of street? Why does this bridge only appear when I have a quest? It's hard to tell when an area is inaccessible because you haven't figured out how to get there vs you literally aren't allowed to go there yet. It makes the world feel more like Oh I'm playing a game rather than you're exploring a real place. They did not navigate inaccessible areas well as a concept.

CHARACTER MOTIVATION EQUALLY AS FUCKING MESSY! I still don't know what Elgar'nan/Ghilan'nain's plan rly was even though Ghilan'nain literally wails about them. They wanted to rule, they were blight addled so I guess they're insane, but... why did they have to do it this way? What were they gonna do as rules?

Solas wanted to tear the veil down ti imprison them even harder except tearing the veil down lets out the blight except letting them out of prison also lets out the blight and don't worry when he tears the veil down he'll imprison/kill them again and make sure the blight isn't too bad even tho the veil was the only thing keeping the blight in?? And oh haha killing them lets down the veil. Also, AFTER killing htem, the veil takes a while to be torn and actually stays in place long enough for Solas to feel bad and patch it up with his own essence... okay?

The Butcher Antaam dude looooves Treviso so he accepts the blight into his body to rule it but you have to fight him.. to prove you're worthy of keeping him... from destroying Treviso? He loves it and also wants it destroyed. Again, he's blighted so he's CRAAAZY but... what?

Even with Emmrich! He's scared of becoming immortal because he's a afraid of death. So you resolve that by either pressuring him to never die by being immortal... or by not letting his friend die? Huh? We conquer fear of death by just... not letting things die?What?

Not the same thing but why would dorian stay up in the north to become an archon if he romanced an inquisitor who is fighting for their life in teh soutH? again this continuity SUCKS

#veilguard spoilers

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tobythewise · 2 months ago

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for Zevistair this dadwc friday: “You’re snapping. Headache again?”

-inquisimer

Thank you so much for the prompt!! written for @dadrunkwriting <3 I accidentally took a lil bit of an angsty take but hopeful ending. I hope you enjoy!

Content: Timeline wise this is set after origins but before inquisition at the Keep, established relationship, Inquistion Calling, Angst with a hopeful ending

Zevran’s steps are silent as he moves across the rampart. These walls have recently been redone, making it harder for him to properly sneak in, but walls have never stopped him before.

There are guards on the walls, walking their routines. He’ll need to tell the Warden Commander to talk to everyone about making their routes too predictable. If someone wanted to scale a sneak attack, these routines would make it far too easy.

Ducking into the shelter of darkness, Zevran pulls out his lockpick, getting to work on opening the door into one of the outer towers. Lock picking might not be his strong suit but in the time since the archdemon’s death, he’s been practicing! No more snarky comments about his insufficient skills.

The lock clicks and he smiles to himself. He’s careful with the door, not wanting it to squeak as he pushes inside.

Heading down the stairs, he makes his way into the main part of the keep. He keeps his head on a swivel, his ears to the floor to hear any footsteps. He wants to surprise his beloved warden and refuses to get caught before he can get to him.

Footsteps prickle his ears and Zevran quickens his steps. It’s only a few more hallways before he finds the door he’s looking for. He slips inside without a sound.

Zevran is expecting the room to be empty. Usually, Alistair is either doing patrols or is with the Warden Commander. It would appear that tonight, he’s already in bed. That’s odd. Really odd.

His armor comes off silently and he hands it in Alistair’s closet. Then his weapons come off next. He stripes himself until he’s comfortable in his underclothes before moving over to the bed.

Alistair’s hair sticks out from the top of his sheets. Zevran’s chest clenches with affection at the sight. He’s missed his warden. The last mission lasted far too long for his comfort but on the bright side, the latest string of assassination attempts have been taken care of. They’re off his trail. For now.

As much as Zevran wants to let Alistair sleep, the bigger part of him wants to get into bed with him and he can’t do that until he’s properly awake. He runs his fingers through Alistair’s blond hair. It’s gotten longer since the last time he was here.

“Mi amor? Alistair?”

Alistair murmurs in his sleep. It takes a moment before he’s grumbling and opening his eyes. “Fuck off, Tristian.”

Zevran chuckles warmly. “Not our lovely Warden Commander I’m afraid.”

“What?” Alistair looks up, his eyes finally focusing on Zevran. “Zev?”

He’s so adorable like this, all confused and rumpled from sleep. He does his best not to think about how easy of a target a sleepy Alistair could be. He really needs to have a talk with him about making his room harder to break into. That can wait until the morning though.

“Yes, it’s me. I’ve missed you.”

Alistair sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “I’ve missed you too. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you, of course.”

“Right. Yeah, that makes sense.” Alistair nods his head. His eyes are puffy with dark circles under them. Zevran frowns. “By the Maker, what time is it? Do I need to get up?”

“No, no. Stay in bed. I was hoping to actually join you. If you’re agreeable that is.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Alistair says with a deep sigh. He shifts himself lower, pulling the covers over his face.

Zevran suddenly feels unwelcome in Alistair’s space. This is a first for them. He debates whether he should take Alistair’s words or pack his things and leave in order to give him some space.

The answer is given to him in the from of a hand reaching out of the blankets and wrapping around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Alistair eventually says, “I’ve been getting these headaches,” he explains, his voice trailing off.

“Oh,” Zevran breathes out. He lets Alistair pull him into bed with him, snuggling against his side, laying a gentle hand against the center of Alistair’s broad chest. “Is it - “ the question is left unspoken. Zevran can’t get himself to say it outloud, like that somehow will make it real. If he doesn’t say ‘The Calling’ then it can’t be that.

“I don’t know,” Alistair eventually says. “Tristian thinks it’s something else. He’s actually thinking about sending me away to research a few things and speak with other wardens. Apparently, I’m not the only one hearing -” Alistair stops himself. He rubs at his eyes again. “I mean, having headaches.”

“Wherever you go, I will follow.”

Alistair finally opens his eyes. He gives Zevran the tiniest smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry I wasn’t more animated when I realized you were here. I’m really glad that you’re back.”

“I am glad as well. Perfect timing to join you on another grand adventure. Hopefully this time we won’t have to face an archdemon.”

Alistair manages a little chuckle. “Nothing brings people together quite like a blight.”

Zevran leans over, kissing Alistair’s cheek. Then he kisses his forehead, wishing he was a healer so his kiss would take some of his lovely warden’s pain away. Instead, all he can do is stay at Alistair’s side and help him on this mission.

In the morning, Zevran will see Tristain and see what’s going on. He wants all the information he can get to help him track down what’s happening. There must be a reason more than one warden is hearing The Calling at the same time.

If all else fails, he refuses to leave Alistair’s side. Long ago he’s come to realize he will see this through to the bitter end. Alistair may not be the first person he’s loved, but he will be the last. He won’t allow Alistair to experience any of this alone.

Zevran moves so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard. “Put your head in my lap, my love. I’ll rub your head until you fall asleep.”

Alistair lets out a deep sigh, tucking himself against Zevran. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I love you.”

“And I, you. Get some rest. We’ll plan for this grand adventure in the morning.”

#tobywrites #Zevran x Alistair #zevistair #fanfic #dragon age #DADW

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shivunin · 1 year ago

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In Peace

(Arianwen Tabris/Zevran Arainai | 1,846 Words | Fluff | AO3 Link | CW: brief references to sex, implied/past suicidal thoughts)

Summary: Zevran and Tabris have developed a nightly routine; it surprises him to realize how much he dislikes the idea of breaking it

When Zevran had first seen Arianwen, they’d been trying to kill each other.

This was not especially odd, he found out later. Statistically speaking, Arianwen was thinking of killing most of the people she met, if she was not already actually attacking them. Zevran was no exception in this; it mattered little that he had been trying to die at the time, and she only obliging his death wish. She had spun through the crowd like dancing death, her face lit with a heady glee. In that moment, Zevran had thought that if he was to die here on some nameless road in Ferelden’s nethers, at least there would be beauty in his death.

Zevran would never have guessed then that she could sleep so sweetly draped across his chest—she had certainly never done so before this night. He certainly would not have guessed that she snored so loudly. It would not have occurred to him to wonder on that first day, Zevran supposed, given that he’d been fighting for his life.

Still—the snoring did come as a surprise. She was usually very quiet when she slept on her side—or perhaps it was simply that her face was closer to his ear now, and thus much louder than he was used to.

His Warden slept with her hair braided, though in a looser plait than she usually wore during the day. Zevran passed a hand over it softly, hoping to wake her enough to make her shift aside. Instead, every muscle in her body that had been soft and liquid went taut at once, entirely alert between one heartbeat and the next.

“Nothing is wrong,” he whispered at once. The alternative was a knife thrown through the wall of his tent, most likely, and he had so recently patched the last hole she’d made.

Arianwen rolled away from him despite his quiet words. When she sat up, her dark silhouette was cut against the lighter blue of his tent, body alert and aware. It was plain that she was listening for some disturbance beyond their tent, so Zevran said nothing more. He propped himself up on his elbows instead, feeling the wash of cooler air against his loose tunic when the blanket fell away from him.

The sky had not lightened outside, but the fire was banked; they were in the deepest part of the night, perhaps an hour or two from the start of her watch. It had become a routine of sorts for her to stay in his tent until then, though she usually returned to her own tent when she was finished. Zevran was not certain if this tradition of hers was some concession to propriety (unlikely) or the delicate sensibilities of some of their traveling fellows (even less likely) or if she simply had no interest in waking up beside him when dawn came.

Knowing her as he did now, he supposed it was most likely some fourth reason that had nothing to do with any of the other things. Perhaps she lovingly polished each of her blades alone in her tent until daybreak. He would not put it past her. But, he realized as she moved to stand, this routine might be more easily broken than expected.

And…perhaps he had grown more attached to it than he might have thought.

“Wait,” he said, his voice abrupt in the quiet of the night. Arianwen paused on her knees.

“What?” she whispered. “I thought you were sleeping.”

Zevran found her hand in the dark on the second try. It was braced on her knee, but she allowed him to pull it away and press it to his mouth instead. Could he tell her not to go? It didn’t seem right, but he could not immediately determine why. She had surprised him by staying when he’d made it clear he had no interest in lovemaking tonight. They had spent plenty of nights together and apart since they’d begun doing whatever it was they were doing. None of the nights together had not featured some sort of…well.

It surprised him now to realize that it had been pleasant to feel her against him as he’d fallen asleep, even if he would have gladly gone without the noise.

“I do seem to recall you sleeping, too,” he told her. “Quite comfortably, in fact.”

He could feel her expression in the silence that followed. It would be the one in which her brows furrowed and she looked at him sidelong, as if trying to weigh whether he was making a joke or not.

“You woke me. Did you not…” she trailed off, taking her hand from his. Zevran peered into the darkness, making no sense of her expression and trying nonetheless.

“I did not mean to,” he told her truthfully.

She moved—he could not see how—and a moment later he felt her breath on his cheek.

“What do you need?” she asked.

Zevran turned his head, nose brushing against the curve of her cheek. Her face was the only part of her not obviously scarred, he had found. Her cheek was very soft against his skin, the fine hairs there tickling softly. When he leaned his cheek against hers, she didn’t waver an inch.

“There is nothing that I need,” he told her, emphasizing the last word, “but I would very much like for us to go back to sleep. Together.”

Slowly, one of her hands came to rest on his knee. Her index finger tapped once, twice. This was a tell: she was thinking very hard. Zevran privately thought that he might be the only one in the world who would know when she was bluffing at cards, should she ever play them. Her face was impossible to read at first glance, but the rest of her body spilled her secrets easily enough. Months on the road had taught him this as they’d taught him everything else he knew about her.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Some decision was being made, some calculus of factors entirely beyond him. She had done this before she’d told him to keep his earring, too. The verdict had not been in his favor then. He wondered if he would fare so poorly now, too.

Zevran thought of the weight of her body over his chest, of the way she’d looped leg and arm over him while they’d slept. He thought of the ragged sounds she made in her sleep when the nightmares came, of the way she wrapped herself around him when the foul dreams woke her in the night.

He thought of how the leather and steel scent of her comforted him when his own dark dreams paced close and set shining teeth at his throat. The smell of leather reminds me of home, he’d told her months ago. It reminded Zevran of her now, too, until the three were all twined together as one. He did not want her to go—not yet. He had grown accustomed to sleeping beside her until the moment before she needed to leave.

“Arianwen,” he said, and felt the falter in her tapping. “Mi vida. Come to bed.”

Her sigh rustled his hair.

“I should never have told you I like the way you say my name,” she told him, but he could hear that he’d swayed her already. Only a little more and they could go back to sleep. A few hours more—only a few, but they mattered. He wanted every single moment he could coax out of her. He wasn’t above fighting dirty for them.

“Surely you do have no desire to lace up your boots and stumble through the dark of the whole clearing only to climb into your cold bedroll alone,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her cheek. “My dearest Arianwen. Surely not that.”

The blankets over him shifted when she slid beneath them again. The tip of her braid trailed over his arm. A victory—and it felt like one, for all that it had been a battle of words rather than blades.

“If you are sure I won’t keep you up,” she said doubtfully. “I’ll stay. Until watch.”

Keep him up—was that what she’d been worried about?

Zevran frowned as she settled in beside him again, less than an inch separating their bodies. He lowered himself back onto his bedroll and reached for her hip.

“Come closer,” he told her. “It is cold.”

Tabris came, settling against him stiffly, then relaxing by degrees. Zevran kissed the top of her head and she relaxed further still. After a moment, she tugged the blankets more fully over both of them.

“You wanted me to stay just so you could be warm,” she murmured, though there was no heat to the words. Already, he could feel her slipping into sleep. She fell asleep easily enough, his Warden, though she woke at the slightest provocation. Zevran ignored the surge of affection at the thought, though it grew more difficult to disregard when she slipped an arm around his waist.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed. She made a soft noise, rousing at the words.

“Say’t again,” Arianwen said.

“Say what?” he asked.

Arianwen squeezed him slightly and tucked herself more fully against his shoulder. There was a scar beneath the place where her ear rested, a very thin line just below the joint of his shoulder. She’d stabbed him there all those months ago when they’d first met. One evening, when they’d been dozing in the afterglow, he had casually pointed the silvered line of scar tissue out to her. Tabris had scowled at him and gone all stiff—he still had no idea why—and she’d made a point of not holding him like this for weeks afterward. What a relief it had been when she’d forgotten again.

By day, she was quick and dangerous and sharp. He liked that about her, he’d found. But he liked her like this, too, somnolent and warm against him in the night. This—her head on his shoulder, her arm around his waist—this was his alone.

There had been very, very few things in Zevran’s life that had belonged to him alone. He had gone without sleep, without affection, without comfort for so long that he knew better than to disregard such things when they were offered openly. No—such things were the sort one held onto with both hands, even if it took some extra coaxing in the dead of night.

“You know what,” she told him.

Zevran smiled to himself, allowing his eyes to slip closed again.

“Goodnight, Arianwen,” he said.

“”Night, Zevran,” she echoed, her voice slow. “Until watch.”

“Until watch,” he agreed, and paused. “Arianwen.”

She made a soft sound, neither sigh nor purr nor moan, and melted against him. Zevran lay awake for some time after, his eyes shut tight, his hands as still as he could make them. She did not snore, and he did not wake her.

Tabris’s watch came and went.

They both slept soundly through it.

(For Day 5 of Zevwarden Week: Bodies and Minds. Thanks again to @zevraholics for organizing!)

#zevwarden week 2023 #zevran arainai #arianwen tabris #zevran x warden #zevwarden #zevran x f!warden #zevran x tabris #bodies and minds #fluff #snuggling #implied/past suicidal thoughts #hmm guess the theme for this week is #' when we met i had no idea how much i'd love you and now you are a part of me'#i didn't do it on purpose but there it is!

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cactusnymph · 8 months ago

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Prompt 33, bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go, for dragon age? ❤️

"Ah, I miss our dear Wynne and her impressive bo—"

"Don't. Say it."

Alistair has no capacity for Zevran's jokes right now. Every single muscle in his body is hurting and his blood is humming with the awareness of at least a dozen Darkspawn in the area close by.

Zevran's ability to make light of situations is something that Alistair might be able to admire if Zevran wasn't also bleeding out of various wounds.

Having Wynne here would make all of this so much easier and way less dangerous.

"It would do you good to think of something nice in a dark situation like this, my dear Alistair", Zevran says and doesn't bat an eye when Alistair goes to wash one of the deep cuts between his ribs. Zevran's pain tolerance is a frightening thing to behold.

The sweat on his forehead and his unusually pale skin tells a different story, of course.

He wishes he didn't drink his last healing potion an hour ago. While Zevran's pain tolerance might be very impressive, Alistair knows that he's the one who can take the heaviest hits. He should have taken the brunt of this.

"Yet again you're not following my advice. You look as if you're thinking of funerals and Mabari excrements", Zevran says and manages a smirk.

"I'll start thinking about nice things once you stop bleeding out", Alistair mumbles, pressing a bandage on one of the wounds and tying it as tightly as possible to stop the bleeding. Then he moves onto the next.

Three Darkspawn down the tunnel behind them.

He hopes Nerian is safe. Usually Alistair wouldn't mind if Morrigan's head got ripped off by an ogre, but maybe not while they're already in such dire circumstances.

"Is that worry I detect, my friend?"

For some reason Alistair wishes that Zevran wouldn't keep calling him that.

"I don't want Nerian to look at me with a disapproving frown when I let you die", Alistair lies, rummaging around in his pack to see if he has any elfroot left to disinfect some of the nastier cuts on Zevran's thigh.

Since they headed into the Deep Roads Alistair didn't exactly have time to examine his feelings for—well. Neither Nerian nor Zevran. Instead of taking some quiet time to contemplate his attraction towards not one but two men, Alistair is zoned into the constant humming of the Darkspawn blood flowing through his veins.

He could really use a good night of sleep under the stars without nightmares of the Archdemon.

"Ah yes. Your fellow Grey Warden has a fierce aura of disapproval about him whenever something displeases him. I can see how that would strike fear into your heart", Zevran says and watches Alistair's every move as he does his best to clean the wound with water and elfroot.

Alistair glances up at Zevran's pale, sweaty face and swallows.

"So. I noticed you—uh. Stopped. With the. With the flirting", Alistair finally says. This is absolutely the worst time to address this, but Alistair could do with a little distraction from the horrors and maybe Zevran feels the same.

Zevran chuckles weakly and Alistair is concerned about the way his eyelids droop.

"I am nothing if not respectful", Zevran says, making Alistair snort. "And since I noticed that you fancy our dear leader I have graciously decided to take a step back."

Five Darkspawn fifteen meters ahead.

The air smells like dust and blood.

"You don't have to", he finally mumbles, his ears burning with shame and the blood rushing into their tips.

There's a beat of silence while Alistair starts bandaging Zevran's hand. He's very aware of every callus and the way they're almost holding hands like this, with Alistair cradling the bleeding palm in one hand while cleaning the wound with the other one.

This is ridiculous. He has to concentrate.

For a breathless moment Alistair is scared that Zevran went unconscious, but when he glances up he registers that Zevran studies his face, his expression unusually serious and below all the strain there's a hint of curiosity that makes Alistair's cheeks burn and his heart hammer in his rib cage.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises", Zevran says with a lopsided smile. Alistair fumbles with the final bandage as he tries to sort the Darkspawn awareness from the rushing of blood he feels while he feels Zevran's eyes on him.

He only realizes too late that the bandage is already done and he's still holding on to Zevran's hand. Alistair takes a deep breath before hastily letting go and turning away from Zevran to grab his shield.

"Stay there", he orders and in one fluid motion beheads a Darkspawn turning the corner.

No one is going to die today. Not on his watch.

feel free to send me one of these <3

#alistair x zevran #zevran arainai #alistair theirin #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #da fic #warden mahariel #zevran x mahariel #alistair x mahariel #alistair x mahariel x zevran #zevistair #mi writes

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thessalian · 16 days ago

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Thess vs Choices

One of the things I've noticed in the last little while, playing Veilguard and not being worried about spoilers, is that there are a fair few entitled players out there, at least when it comes to Bioware games. (You guys are fine; it's mostly what I'm seeing on Reddit.) Now, I'm not enamoured with all of Bioware's decisions when making this game, and things could have used some work, but I am happy to change my mind from my original assessment of "not worth it", and most of all, I'm not going to say that the game is objectively bad just because it isn't the game I made up in my head. Even if I had played it despite all the pain to end up hating it, I would have said "It's just not for me" and chalked it up as an expensive life lesson. But these people seem to think that "bad" translates to "not what I personally want".

There are going to be a lot of posts like this, I feel, so I'll handle one complaint from the Reddit brigade at a time - namely, what they did with the build-up to and results of at least one difficult choice. And here's a read-more just in case; there are spoilers but it's for Act 1 so you might find it worthwhile reading.

Specifically, Minrathous vs Treviso. The results because ... well. The build-up to? According to the Reddit crowd, that's down to the Antivan Crows and Tevinter's attitudes towards slavery.

We'll start with the Crows. When these people said they wanted "dark", they apparently meant, "We want to know all about everything Zevran told us about how the Crows behave - how they buy children and torture them and kill them, or let their peers kill them, in order to become Crows! This is hero-washing the Crows into freedom fighters!" And in the next breath they'll complain about an absence of Zevran. Two things, though. The first? It's been decades. My assumption at the point where the Crows behave more like a mob family than anything Zevran described is that ... look, after Zevran left the Hero of Ferelden, he basically became a vengeful ghost dealing with the worst elements of the Crows. It got so bad the Crows sent Nucio after him in DA2, and we know what happened to Nuncio in DA2. I personally figured that the less brutal Talons took things in hand to keep the Crows as a going concern. But of course, the Reddit folks complain about "Why don't we ever see or hear about Zevran?!?" and I'm like, "Guys, seriously - would you, as the head of a guild of assassins who more or less run a country at this point, go around telling some total stranger (or, if you picked the Crows as your background, some fledgeling) that you were ever brutal trainers at all? And if you did, would you then tell them that one man disrupted that guild so badly that you had to change your policies?" Lucanis suggests that there's still some nasty shit going on in the interests of training an assassin, but ... again, we are playing Some Guy. I doubt they're going to even so much as leave bits of paper with, "The last Some Guy we had who went on a world-saving mission at the end of a contract basically tore us full of so many holes that we had to go away and think about our choices". And that's not even counting having to change at least some policies when the Antaam blew into town because they were having enough problems as it was.

And then Tevinter. That one's shorter. They wanted to hear about the blood magic and the slavery. They wanted to see the slavery. Which ... like, okay, much like the thing with tortured young people in the name of making a better assassin, this gives me a bit of the ick, but they want their dark and gritty (and there might be some prurient interest there but I don't kinkshame) so whatever. Point is, not only have they had the Lyrium Ghost on their asses for like a decade, but they've had Dorian fucking Pavus working on them via the Shadow Dragons from within. I figure at the very least the jackasses who are into the slavery have had to be less conspicuous unless they wanted an elf who can phase through people and/or a Magister who faced down the end of the world and won on their asses.

Anyway, what you see of Minrathous is enough. Shadow Dragons notwithstanding (sorry, Matt Mercer as the Viper, and trusting Dorian to get the hell out of there), my personal view on Tevinter is, "Let it burn". Aaaaaaaaaand because I picked the place with the group that actually seems to have taken steps to rehabilitate itself, not to mention the one with no standing army ... Minrathous did.

And that's the other bit of bitching we get from the Reddit group. Like, "We sent the other three to Minrathous! Couldn't they do anything?!?" Since the dragon was only actually sent down to ground level where they could be attacked to fetch that fucking lyrium dagger, no, the technically unnamed Veilguard couldn't do shit all. Minrathous' own defenses had a better chance, but if they decided not to clean house of the Venatori in their ranks until it was too late, that's on them. And when and if the day comes that I choose Minrathous (and I might; I have a few pragmatic Rooks who really don't want to give the Venatori a better foothold and see the Antaam as a lesser threat), I know damn well the other three couldn't do anything for Treviso for the same reason.

Also the bitching about, "Why does the faction that got its city destroyed blame us?!?" A few reasons, honestly. First, it's generally not the entire faction - it's the one whiner that most of these factions seem to have (and who I'm fairly sure are some kind of traitor in at least one case but never mind). Hell, the Viper gets Blighted and all he says is, "I can buy myself some time, and it's not Rook's fault; it is what it is". (I do <3 Matt Mercer and he's probably about the only reason I regret letting Minrathous burn. That and the dog the Viper has nearby. I hope pupper got out.) Second, people say things when they're grieving and upset. People blame themselves for everything bad that happens around them, and they know that's not healthy and certainly not comfortable, so they sling that blame on the nearest available target. And third of all ... every. Single. Faction blames you for knocking a statue into a giant ritual with no idea what the fuck was going to happen when you did. Would they have made a different or better choice? Probably not. Harding's arrow would have done nothing at that point, not with Solas that strong, so just assassinating him before he could complete it was not an option. Varric was never going to talk him around, so strangers were hardly likely to do the same. It was disrupt the ritual or let it happen. But the faction leaders weren't there to see any of it; they just know that something different would have happened if Rook hadn't done what Rook did. In their hearts, they have to believe it was better, because they can't even contemplate "worse" than this.

(Would it have actually been better? Solas seems to think so, and talks about his "army of spirits to minimise the damage" he was about to do, but Solas is Solas - not even just "he's Fen'harel"; he's fucking Solas and wasn't up-front with us at any point in Inquisition, even the last. I can trust Solas about as far as I can throw the entirety of blighted Minrathous.)

Anyway, point is, I am still reading the Reddit posts and the various complaints, just because I want other opinions, but that's to build a framework by which I can judge what actually happens in the game. Like I said, the problem is that people had ten years to make up the game they wanted inside their heads, no matter how difficult or outright impossible that game would be to create. The imagination can do things that modern technology cannot. These people are unwilling not only to accept the game we were given because it's not the game they personally want, but also to use the spaces this game gives you to make that game in your own imagination. I can headcanon for days. We all can. We've all had to. Romance lacking? We had Sebastian and we sure as hell made that work. Bits of plot make no sense? We fanfic about it. None of the people complaining seem to want to do that ... if they're able to. I recognise that we are imaginative people and really awesome at what we do and not everyone can do what we do. But I honestly think it's mostly that they don't want to. They want the game they want, done to their exact specifications, and they want it handed to them on a plate with no room for wiggle room or nuance or speculation. And then they accuse the plot of having no nuance because we're not being forced to consort with child-abusing murderers.

I'm still enjoying it, anyway. You can pet the adorable young griffon. That alone sells me.

#Thess plays video games #Thess liveblogs DA: Veilguard #dragon age veilguard spoilers

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bluerose5 · 10 months ago

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Zevran in BG3 Banters Pt. 1/?

Technically part 3 after the last two Zevran and Astarion banters, but I wanted to include more companions after the last one so here we are!

[Zev & Ast Pt. 19 (First)] [Zev & Ast Pt. 20 (Prev)] [Next]

...

[Having dinner in camp that evening.]

Gale: So, Zevran.

Zevran: So, Gale.

Gale: Astarion let an interesting —and frankly, quite concerning— tidbit of information slip earlier. About this Thedas of yours.

Zevran: Why am I not surprised? Astarion, you gossip!

Astarion, staring at his nails: Guilty as charged.

Gale: Is it true then? That they lock up anyone that has magic?

Zevran: Mmm... You know, what did you put in this stew tonight? It is very hearty. Very filling. You are quite a master at cooking.

Gale: And you are hardly a master at changing the subject.

Zevran: Oh, how you wound me! I pay you a compliment, and this is the thanks that I get?

Gale: I am simply wondering, given that you come from a place with such intolerance in regards to magic, what your opinion is on the subject? You have voiced no such fear of "danger" and what-not while traveling in our company, and the majority of us know a cantrip or two at the very least.

Zevran: Really? I have not noticed!

Gale: Come now. You must have some opinion.

Zevran: Must I?

[After a moment of silence, he sighs.]

Zevran: Given the amount of people I have killed over the course of my life, I am hardly one to judge. I mean, magic can kill. Knives can kill. Even small children launched at great speeds can kill!

Astarion approves.

Lae'zel approves.

Wyll disapproves.

Gale: Well, that is... certainly something.

Zevran: But it makes sense nonetheless, no?

Gale: Fair enough.

Zevran: Heh, either way, not to worry. I see no reason to do any magic-wielders here any harm, so long as they extend that same courtesy to me as well.

Gale: A reasonable enough request.

Zevran: On second thought, I amend that statement. I see no reason to do you any harm unless a mysterious stranger comes along and offers me a rather handsome sum of gold for your life, then I might be persuaded.

Gale: And there goes the moment.

Zevran: To think, I haven't even told you lot about the Blight and its taint.

Gale: The what?

Zevran: Nothing to worry your pretty, little head about at the moment. Now, if you will, pass the wine. I have a feeling I will need it.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #dragon age #zevran in bg3 #zevran arainai #zevran #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bluerose writes

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mumms-the-word · 1 month ago

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Bound by Blood - Ch. 6

Ch. 6 - Morrigan

Characters: Alistair, fem!Surana, Zevran, fem!Tabris, and basically the rest of the DAO crew Plot: Seventeen-year-old Nyssa Surana never expected to find herself a Grey Warden - let alone one of three surviving Wardens, one of which is her own cousin, Velle Tabris. She's the last person anyone would ever choose to save the world. Young, inexperienced, deeply anxious, and only just out of the Circle Tower for the first time in a decade, she's convinced she's as unlikely a hero as unlikely heroes come. But someone has to save Ferelden from the Fifth Blight...and keep her cousin out of trouble...and try not to fall in love with the charming Alistair Theirin, all at the same time. Three impossible tasks, but she's determined to succeed, even with the odds stacked against her. A/N: Nyssa finally obtains the darkspawn blood she's supposed to gather, and the team meets a mysterious Witch of the Wilds.

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Nyssa slipped out from under Alistair’s hand and stumbled toward some nearby bushes, hoping to disappear around them before she embarrassed herself completely. She managed to duck behind a sparse-looking shrub before she retched, her body heaving despite almost nothing coming up. Her stomach was as hollow as a cave, without even the small breakfast she'd eaten hours ago to lose.

She sank to her knees, panting, trying to force her stomach to settle through sheer force of will. The attempt only made her feel worse. She retched again, eyes watering as her throat and nose burned.

“Oh, charming,” Daveth said nearby.

“Quiet, you,” Jory responded. “We can’t all be so cavalier about these beasts.”

“I don’t see you emptying your guts, ser knight.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Velle snapped. Nyssa heard her coming, stomping through the swamp brush, before she felt her hand on her back. “Hey, it’s okay. Let it out. You’ll feel better.”

Nyssa pressed a shaking hand to her forehead, her skin feverishly hot. The icy cold that still lingered on her palm from that last ice spell was only a small relief. She called more ice magic to her palm and pressed her hand to the back of her neck.

Maker’s breath. She was pathetic.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll…I’ll be okay in a second.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Velle said, rubbing her back. “You were awesome out there. The way you just crushed that guy? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Nyssa’s stomach lurched again and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Velle, please. Let’s not talk about it.”

“Oh. Okay, sorry.”

Beyond the brush, Alistair cleared his throat. “Uh, Jory, Daveth, why don’t you…scout around a bit? Make sure there aren’t any lingering darkspawn waiting to jump us. We can meet up by the bridge in a few minutes.”

Eyes still closed, she heard the two of them drawing away, Daveth muttering something under his breath, and then the sound of armored footsteps coming closer. She sat up and opened her eyes just as Alistair crouched near her, unhooking a flask from his belt and opening it.

“Here.” He offered it to her with a small, friendly smile. “Don’t worry, it’s just water. I’m not trying to trick you or anything.”

After a second's hesitation, she took the flask gratefully, raising it to her lips for a few tentative sips while Alistair fussed with another small pack on his belt. The water didn’t do much to settle her stomach, but it at least washed away some of the acidic taste of bile from her mouth.

“Feeling any better?” Velle asked, kneeling beside her now.

Not really. But she nodded instead. “A little.”

“I have some army rations,” Alistair said, pulling out a small bundle from his pack. He took something like a dry tea biscuit from the bundle and snapped it in half, holding out part of it to her. “It might help, I don’t know.”

“Thank you.” She took the biscuit from him and nibbled on one corner. It was dry and tasteless and almost too hard to bite into, but the thought of eating anything more adventurous than half a stale biscuit seemed like a bad idea anyway. And bite by tiny little bite, it did seem to help.

She cleared her throat gently, dropping her gaze to the ground. “Sorry that I’m so…you know.”

Weak. Ridiculous. Stupid. Slow. Any of those could apply, she supposed.

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Velle said. “These things are creepy as hell. And you splattered that one like a bug.”

Nyssa winced. “Not helping.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“She’s right, though,” Alistair said, giving Nyssa the other half of the biscuit as she finished the first half. “No need to be sorry. I remember when I fought my first darkspawn. I screamed like a little girl and nearly fell on my arse trying to stab it. I think it probably died of laughter before I even hit it.”

She couldn’t tell whether his story was true or if he was merely trying to make her feel better, but either way, it helped. She bit her lip to stop a smile from showing. “Did you feel sick afterward?”

“Well, no,” he said, shrugging, “but I did nearly soil my drawers, if that helps.”

She wrinkled her nose slightly but couldn’t help a small laugh. “Maybe a little.”

“Only a little? Well, you can’t blame a man for trying.” He smiled as she giggled again. “Feeling better now?”

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Alistair.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, standing. “I know what it’s like to be the new guy. Or—I guess you would be the new girl. Girls,” he added, glancing at Velle, who stood and crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow at him. “Point is, I get it. And it does get easier. Fighting darkspawn, I mean. You sort of get used to them.”

Nyssa doubted she would ever get used to fighting darkspawn, but she kept those thoughts to herself as she ate the rest of the biscuit Alistair had given her and stood. She took one last sip of water and then, a little self-conscious, cleaned the mouth of the flask with her sleeve before closing it and handing it back to Alistair. “So what now?”

“Now you collect your vial of darkspawn blood, same as the others.” He reached into a different pack on his belt and produced a small crystal vial with a cork stopper, holding it up for her to see.

“Oh…” Right…she had forgotten that part. She took a deep breath. “Well let’s get that part over with, then.”

Velle put a hand on her shoulder. “Nyssa, I can—”

“No, no. I should do it.” If she couldn’t do this, then what was the point of all the dramatics? Besides, she did feel better now, with a little water and food in her. She nodded, mostly to herself, steeling her nerves. “I can do this.”

She took the vial from Alistair and returned to the path, making her way over to the darkspawn that she had killed with her magic. It was still a gruesome sight, with the darkspawn’s broken body in a mangled heap among the shattered wood and bones. She forced herself to study it, looking for places where blood still flowed freely from its body.

Think scientifically. This is a specimen, like in textbooks. Nothing more, nothing less.

She took a careful breath and crouched beside the debris.

Ugh, Maker, the stench…

She thought she had gotten used to it. They had fought and stepped over the dead bodies of plenty of darkspawn already. But to crouch so close, the pungent scent of wet, rotting decay, and foul, corrupted blood so near her nose, her stomach threatened to rebel all over again. This time, however, she swallowed down the nausea and held the vial beneath a dripping wound on the darkspawn’s arm.

Black, thick blood dripped steadily down into the vial, slowly turning the transparent crystal black, as if she were filling it with pitch or tar. As she watched, waiting for the little flask to fill, the words of one of the army sergeants lingered in her mind, something she had overheard as she was helping the other mages cast protective spells on the soldiers before they headed into the Wilds.

Careful with the darkspawn. Their blood is as black as sin and poisonous. Don’t even touch it. You get tainted with that blood and you may as well slit your throat.

Unbidden, the image of the soldier from that morning came to her mind. The way he writhed on his cot, mumbling feverish, half-mad nonsense, the veins standing out stark and black beneath his skin.

She clenched her teeth together. Why was there no cure? And if there was, why did only the Grey Wardens know about it? Three Wilds flower blooms lay gathered in her bag right this moment, with enough potential to cure a mabari sick from darkspawn blood. Yet for men and women, the blood was a death sentence.

She held up the vial to the light, letting the early afternoon sun try to shine through the crystal. But the blood inside was so black and thick, she might as well have asked the sun to shine through stone.

This small crystal flask now held the thing all the soldiers in Ostagar feared. The thing that had corrupted the soldier in the clinic and caused him days of suffering.

You get tainted with that blood and you may as well slit your throat.

More than the claws or weapons of the darkspawn, more than the chill of the mountain air or wounds from the battle itself, it was this blackened blood that could taint and kill them. This little vial, only half-filled with darkspawn blood, would make the entire army camp quake if they knew she carried it with her.

So much fear, and so much trouble, for such a small measure of blood. And she didn’t even know what she needed it for.

She stood and stoppered the vial closed, careful not to get any of the blood on her hands. Then she slipped it into her bag alongside the Wilds flowers she had collected. Corruption and cure, side by side.

“Now what?” she asked, turning back to Alistair and Velle, who had already wandered over.

“Now we find those treaties that Duncan wants,” Alistair said. “Come on, let’s regroup with the others. The sooner we find the treaties, the sooner we can all return to camp for a bit of downtime.”

Nyssa wasn’t sure if they just had bad luck or if it was normal for nothing to go right for Grey Wardens, but of course, the treaties they were looking for were not in the ruin that Duncan had directed them to.

What waited for them instead was a witch.

“Well, well, what have we here?” a voice crooned nearby. Nyssa turned from where she and the others had gathered around a broken stone chest to see a woman descending the steps of the ruin. Dark-haired and with strange, gold-colored eyes, she smirked at the group of them and crossed her arms loosely in front of her. “Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into this darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”

Around Nyssa, the others reached for their weapons, either to stand ready or, as Daveth and Velle did, to completely unsheathe their blades, each of them on high alert. But Nyssa only stared. The woman looked to be around the same age as her and Velle, yet she stood with an air of proud confidence that neither of them could match. Her clothing was a patchwork assortment of black-dyed leather, raven feathers, and a worn, purple drape of fabric that barely covered the curve of her pale breasts. Despite that most of her upper body was exposed to the chill of the mountain air, she seemed as unbothered by the cold as she wasby the wary stares and drawn blades directed at her.

Nyssa knew she ought to be wary, but something in the air crackled with energy, something she recognized instantly. Magic.

This girl was a mage. The staff she carried on her back, twisted black wood topped with some kind of curling horn, only confirmed Nyssa’s suspicions. A hedge mage, perhaps. A mage outside of the Circle, certainly.

An apostate.

At their silence, the woman tilted her head. “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

Velle scoffed. “And who made you lord over these wilds, huh?”

The girl arched an eyebrow, amused. “No one. But I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same?”

“Don’t answer her,” Alistair muttered under his breath. “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.”

The girl laughed. “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”

Alistair’s frown switched easily into a dry-humored expression. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Swooping is bad.”

“Stop talking to her,” Daveth hissed. For once in their entire adventure out in these swamps, he looked nervous, even scared. “She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She’ll turn us into toads!”

“Quiet, Daveth,” Jory whispered back. “Don’t give her any ideas.”

…toads? Nyssa tried to ignore a flicker of annoyance. Was that all people thought about when it came to magic? That it could turn people into frogs and toads? They had bigger things to worry about, if this girl truly was a Witch of the Wilds.

Nyssa had read a few stories of them in the Circle library. Stories of women practicing dark magics in far away corners of the world, swamps and forests to the north and south, from as distant as the jungle marshes of Rivain to the tangled forests of the Arbor Wilds in Orlais. They were either myth and legend, women selling their souls to demons in exchange for extended lifespans or more magical power, or they were simply hedge witches, apostates who were more danger to local villagers than power-hungry abominations.

It was hard to say which narrative fit this girl. She didn’t seem to align with anything Nyssa knew about these supposed witches.

“Witch of the Wilds,” the girl repeated slowly, sounding amused. “Such idle fancies you have, to believe such tales.”

Her gold-eyed gaze swept over to Nyssa and lingered. She uncrossed her arms and gestured to her, as if beckoning her to speak. “You there. You have not spoken yet, and elves do not frighten like these little boys do. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

The weight and attention of four other gazes suddenly settled on Nyssa, watching her. She knew she ought to be wary, even frightened of this girl, but instead, she was simply curious. The aura of her magic was unlike anything Nyssa had felt in the Circle. The girl carried fragments of wild, untamed magic about her, as though she’d never cleansed her staff or her clothing of residual energies even once in her entire life. It was so different than magic in the Circle, where the Templars were constantly doing mana cleanses and dispelling lingering magical effects whenever possible.

Something within her was drawn in like a magnet to steel, like a moth to a flame, even as another part of her whispered that she ought to be wary. This girl was an apostate, a rogue mage separated from both Circle and Chantry. The priests and Templars would call her a maleficar merely for existing and practicing unregulated magic. She was everything the Circle and the Templars had taught Nyssa to avoid. She was dangerous.

Yet Nyssa was not afraid.

“Nyssa,” she answered the girl. “My name is Nyssa Surana.”

The girl smiled, as if pleased. “You may call me Morrigan. And if you wish to retrieve what was so poorly hidden in that chest there, then I suggest you follow me. I can take you to the one who currently has them.”

“It’s a trap,” Daveth hissed, at the same time that Jory said, “I dislike this. We cannot trust her.”

“Who has them?” Nyssa asked, ignoring them.

“My mother,” was Morrigan’s mild reply.

Alistair scoffed. “Your mother?”

She cut her eyes toward him with open disdain. “Yes, my mother. Did you assume I spawned from a log?”

“A thieving, weird-talking log, perhaps,” Alistair muttered.

“Why does she have them?” Nyssa asked. They needed to stay on track. And, she had to admit, she wanted to know. How did Grey Warden treaties end up in the hands of a young apostate and her mother living out in the Wilds?

Morrigan shrugged. “I know not, but you may ask her yourself, if you please. I daresay she is curious enough about you to indulge you.”

The others shifted uncertainly. No one seemed eager to make a decision. Not even Alistair, who had more or less been leading their group around from place to place. Morrigan’s offer to take them to her mother still stood, however.

Velle stepped closer to Nyssa, lowering her voice to a near-silent murmur. “She’s weird, but I don’t think she’s trying to trick us. What do you think? Do you believe her?”

Nyssa considered for a moment before nodding. They didn’t have much of a choice if Morrigan’s mother had the treaties they needed. They had to get them back somehow. And if this was a trap, why would Morrigan lure them away to a different location? This ruin was secluded, and she was a mage. It wouldn’t take much for her to cast a spell to incapacitate them all and then call for others to kill them, if that was her plan.

Perhaps she was just being naive. But she believed that Morrigan was telling the truth about where the treaties were. Even so…

“Do you promise that you will do no harm to us while we retrieve those treaties?” Nyssa asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair shoot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she kept her eyes trained on Morrigan. She wasn’t expecting much of a promise, but maybe it would soothe the others’ nervousness to hear the “witch” agree.

If she agreed.

Morrigan smirked, amusement glittering in her strange-colored eyes. “Of course. You have stirred my curiosity, so you have my promise. Does that suffice?” She flicked her gaze to the others.

Daveth grumbled something under his breath, but there were no open complaints. Seemingly satisfied with the lack of response, Morrigan stepped over to a path, little more than a thin worn line through the swamps, and beckoned to them all.

“Follow me, then, if it pleases you.”

The five of them were relatively quiet as they followed Morrigan through the swamps. She was a sure-footed among the wetlands, navigating with ease down paths Nyssa couldn’t see even when she was walking along them. The rest of them crashed clumsily along behind her, with Nyssa once more at the back, quietly pondering the mystery that was this Morrigan of the Wilds.

Who was she? What was she doing out here in the Korcari Wilds? What was her mother like? More importantly, was Morrigan just a simple hedge mage, a relatively harmless sort of apostate, or were there darker things at play here?

Of course, Nyssa had answers to exactly none of these questions by the time they reached Morrigan’s mother. But she pondered them nonetheless.

The moment they stepped into the clearing where Morrigan’s home stood in the distance, the air shifted around them. None of the others seemed to notice, trudging along behind Morrigan, but Nyssa paused at the edge of the clearing.

Strange…the air felt thinner here, in a way that she had only felt in Kinloch Hold or at the main camp at Ostagar. Not colder, but as though the barrier between this world and the Fade, the Veil, was worn thin by time and magic. Curious, she called magic to her hand, drawing on the energies of the Fade. The energy came easily to her, dancing across her fingers with green and blue light, more easily than in the midst of the Wilds where it had taken more concentration to shape magical energy into spells.

She didn’t know if it meant anything. Perhaps this place was simply old. She frowned, but dispelled the magical energy with a quick wave of her hand, then hurried to catch up to the others as they moved toward the building in the clearing and the woman who stood outside.

Morrigan’s mother, she presumed.

She waited outside of a hut that looked as though it had been patched together two centuries ago and was only standing now through sheer force of will. Around the hut, more ruins lay crumbling, half-sunken in marshy pools, the stones bleached white by ages in the sun. It was difficult to say what was older, the ruins or the hut…or to which era Morrigan’s mother belonged.

She stood, arms folded, watching them approach as though they were late to an event she was hosting. Like her daughter, her eyes were a strange gold color, dimmed slightly by age, but there, much of the similarity ended. Whereas Morrigan was dark-haired, pale, and youthful, her features accentuated by the dark stain she had added to her lips and her eyes, her mother was wizened, her nose slightly crooked, her gray hair rough-cut and swept back out of her face. She narrowed her eyes at them as they drew nearer.

“Greetings, Mother,” Morrigan said breezily. “I bring before you five Grey Wardens who—”

Her mother cut in with a brusque, “I see them, girl.” She tapped her chin as she studied them, her eyes trailing slowly from one person to the next. “Hmm. Much as I expected.”

Alistair raised his eyebrows. “Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?”

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe,” she said, a cynical smile suddenly on her lips. “Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide, either way, one’s a fool.”

Nyssa and Velle glanced at one another. What? Velle mouthed. Nyssa could only shrug.

“She’s a witch, I tell you!” Daveth said, his voice low and urgent. He looked even more nervous now than he had been before. “We shouldn’t be talking to her!”

Jory elbowed him hard in the side. “Quiet, Daveth! If she’s really a witch, do you want to make her mad?”

The old woman chuckled. “There is a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will about me.”

Jory’s eyebrows drew together at the woman’s strange proclamation. Daveth, meanwhile, tightened his grip on the hilts of his daggers, which he kept unsheathed but at his sides. Alistair continued to look wary, but not necessarily threatened. It was difficult to tell what was going on in his mind, beyond the obvious distrust he harbored for both of the women before them.

But the old woman didn’t wait to hear what the men thought. She turned and appraised Velle and Nyssa with interest.

“But what about the two of you?” she asked. “Do your elven minds offer any insight? A different perspective for what you believe?”

Velle took a step back and shook her head. “I think you’re both crazy,” she said, pointing to the woman and Morrigan. “A pair of batty shems having too much fun with mud and magic. Leave me out of this.”

The woman snorted. “Is that all? And you?” she asked, her gaze now on Nyssa. “Is that also what you think?”

A whisper of warning brushed featherlight against her mind. It was a simple question, asked without a hint of serious weight in its tone, yet it felt like a trap. Or perhaps a test. Something in this old woman was familiar, her gaze too sharp for someone who pretended to be merely a madwoman, even a mad mage woman.

A chill worked its way down Nyssa’s spine as she realized what was so familiar about her. Her stare, the coy smirk on her lips, the stillness with which she waited for Nyssa’s answer—it was as though she was facing the pride demon she’d encountered during her Harrowing all over again.

Keep your wits about you, mage, he had whispered to her. True tests never end.

Just who was this woman?

Outwardly, she appeared little more than an old woman in patchwork clothing. Yet Nyssa couldn’t deny what she felt when they had first approached the hut. It went beyond the Veil being thin in this place. Something about this old woman herself suggested magic, older and deeper than anything Nyssa had encountered in the Circle, as though she herself carried ancient magic within her rather than drawing it from the Fade.

Maleficar. Demon. Abomination. The words came easily to mind, bringing with them a nervous trepidation that sank like a stone in Nyssa’s stomach. But she didn’t know whether any of those labels were necessarily true or accurate. The old woman seemed all of those things and none of them at the same time.

Whatever she was, it must be something very old, very powerful, and very dangerous. Morrigan was a curiosity. Her mother, however, was something unknowable.

“I…I don’t know what to believe,” she said at last. “Yet.”

The woman broke into a crackling laugh like a crow’s cackle. “A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies! An open mind, not yet made of mush. Or am I merely complimenting you? We shall see.”

She tilted her head and tapped her chin, examining Nyssa, then Velle, then Alistair, and back to Nyssa with narrowed eyes and a cat-like smile. “Hmm, yes. So much about you three is uncertain, and yet…I believe.” She paused briefly and then, as if to herself, or to someone within herself, “Do I? Why—it seems I do!”

“Wow,” Alistair said. “So this is the dreaded Witch of the Wilds, huh?”

And just like that, Morrigan’s mother was back to being a strange, slightly batty old woman. Another laugh cackled from her throat. “Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances—”

“Mother,” Morrigan cut her off. “They did not come for your wild tales.”

“Ah, true, true. They came for their treaties, yes?” She turned and retrieved several scrolls from within the satchel at her waist. They were smaller than Nyssa expected, curled tightly around smooth wooden rollers, wrapped with thin leather coverings to protect the parchment, and tied closed with cords. She handed these to Alistair. “And before you begin barking, your precious seal protecting them wore off long ago. I have protected them since then.”

Alistair blinked, staring down at the scrolls he now cradled in his hands. “You—protected them?”

“And why not,” she said, shrugging. “Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize.”

Again that lingering feeling of this woman being more than she appeared—a demon, an abomination, a maleficar—needled Nyssa’s mind. One moment she was rambling nonsense, and the next she seemed to predict the future. Maybe it was all nonsense, but…it made Nyssa nervous, nonetheless.

“How…do you know all this?” she asked.

Another mysterious smile crossed the old woman’s lips. “Do I? Perhaps I am simply an old woman with a penchant for moldy parchments.”

Nyssa very much doubted that, but she kept silent. The woman merely chuckled.

“Oh, do not mind me,” she said. “You have what you came for. Morrigan?”

Morrigan sighed. “Yes, very well. Come with me then, and I shall return you to your camp.”

As the others turned to follow after her, Nyssa lingered, hesitant. “Thank you,” she said, directing her words to the old woman. It seemed like the polite thing to say.

But the woman merely arched an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. “Do not thank me yet, girl. We will see one another again soon, perhaps. Then you may think about whether you wish to thank me.”

With those words serving as her farewell, the woman turned away and returned to the hut. Nyssa swallowed the questions burning on her tongue and hurried to catch up to the others before she got left behind. Morrigan and her mother puzzled her, but she had no desire to linger any longer than she had to.

#yeah I'm still writing this lol #might as well #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #my fic #bound by blood #da fic #dao fic #alistair theirin #my warden #nyssa surana

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psalacanthea · 2 years ago

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I have no reason for this. banters.

...

Blackwall: Solas says you cheat at cards.

Zevran: Such things have been alleged before. I make no claims one way or the other, but if you are dissatisfied, we can always play again. I take great pride in providing satisfaction.

Blackwall: I think I’d just like my coin back, if it’s all the same.

Zevran: Now, now, now. Your coin was won fairly.

Blackwall: Won fairly? Through cheating?

Zevran: Perhaps you were simply unaware of all the rules of the game. A common mistake. Next time you will know better, hmm? And perhaps have a better chance of success!

Blackwall: Or perhaps I’d just like my coin back.

Zevran: (Sighs.) If only we could find a way to understand one another. Truly tragic.

Blackwall: You spent it already, didn’t you.

Zevran: Oh my yes.

...

Iron Bull: So let me get this straight.

Zevran: If you must. I generally prefer to avoid it, myself.

Iron Bull: You know the Arishok.

Zevran: Yes! Ah, he loved my jokes. Always laughing together, him and I. Bosom companions, one might say.

Iron Bull: Okay, now I know you’re full of shit.

Zevran: We traveled the lands together, fighting Darkspawn, learning about our differences, but more than that. So much more. We learned that in the end, we are more alike than we are different. Ah, so touching. I may shed a tear.

Iron Bull: (Laughs.) He hated you, didn’t he.

Zevran: Only on the surface. Deep down he really did like me quite a bit.

Iron Bull: Well, you are still alive.

Zevran: And it takes some work, let me tell you!

#Dragon Age Inquisition #banter #Zevran Arainai #Blackwall #Iron Bull

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pisscrossiant · 8 months ago

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PART THREE OF MY DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS HEADCANONS BECAUSE IT'S MY CURRENT HYPERFIXATION

The last part was super long I'm sorry for that 😭 I'll try to keep this one a bit shorter

Tw// NSFW themes, mention of s*icide (warning before hand)

Alistair has accidentally called Wynne mom on multiple different occasions, he gets embarrassed when it happens but Wynne doesn't mind at all.

To the younger party members Wynne is like a mother figure, especially since most of their mom's either died or are just shitty.

Morrigan doesn't want to admit it but she wishes Wynne had raised her rather than Flemeth. She loves her Mother but she knows her mother doesn't love her, even though she doesn't get along well with Wynne a part of her wishes Wynne had been in place of Flemeth.

Leliana can sew pretty well, she'll sew blankets for the party members with fabric they choose. She'll patch their shirts up too but Wynne does that a lot more then she does.

Morrigan's favorite party member (besides the Warden) is Leliana, Leliana and her get along very well.

Oghren has tried to fight Zevran multiple times, ESPECIALLY if Zev is in a relationship with the warden. He'll be like "You're dating my favorite person?? Meet me outside." And he'll forget that they're together then he sees them making out in camp then tries to fight him again.

Oghren likes making fun of Alistair for being a virgin.

Leliana and Morrigan have gotten drunk and explored each other's bodies before

Tw// s*icide mentioned

Leliana calls Morrigan hot non chalantly

Alistair has attempted before. (I hope you get that reference but honestly I feel like he has)

Okay so to elaborate, Alistair, after Ostagar had felt as if he abandoned his father figure, and didn't deserve to live if Duncan died. The Warden found him as he was about to and stopped him, he's been greatful to them ever since.

//s*icide mention OVER

Morrigan constantly asks Mahariel what being Dalish was like, she is deeply interested in elven lore, everything she knows about ancient elves, and the Dalish she learned from Mahariel.

Leliana watches people sleep

Morrigan and Alistair helped Mahariel bury Tamlen after the incident at camp. (Still not over him I was so attached to him 🥲)

If Ruck is kept alive, when the Warden goes into the deep roads they go to visit him and they'll give him jewels and presents.

Mentioning Ruck, after they tell Filda he's dead, and she gives the Warden his father's shield, they give him the shield when they visit him next.

Alistair used to cook all the time but he gave the party food poisoning and after that he's not allowed to make the food.

Wynne, Leliana, Zevran and sometimes Morrigan make the food now.

Alistair gets very protective of the warden, even without romancing him, he's very protective of them in almost a brotherly way.

Morrigan likes to turn into a spider to scare Alistair

Zevran is a very light sleeper, up until he trusts the party enough that he sleeps like he's dead because he knows they'll protect him if shit hits the fan.

Morrigan's part of camp is the designated s-x area, considering how far it is from everyone else (also in the cutscenes that's where y'all are fucking) she just goes and sits by the fire with everyone else till they're done, they clean up afterwards ofc and they use their own bed rolls.

Oghren gets in fights with people that call the (elven) Warden a 'knife ear', every time someone says that to them he pulls up to their house.

Sten likes to learn about Dalish/Dwarven culture, he asks the warden questions about it 24/7, he's deeply fascinated with them.

Leliana and Morrigan have the biggest Sapphic crushes on each other,

Zevran and Leliana talk about women and men the find attractive together, especially if they turn onto the topic of the Warden, they're like "You find to Warden hot? ME TOO!"

That's all I have for this part I'm honestly running out of headcanons especially because the last part was SO LONG😭

Might be a part four but if there is it'll probably take a while ✋🏻

#dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #dao #dragon age #zevran arainai #lesbians #alistair theirin #morrigan dragon age #morrigan and leliana have explored each other's bodies.#leliana dragon age #sten dragon age #wynne dragon age #oghren dragon age #dao headcanons #headcanons

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bakafox · 18 days ago

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Mid-game thoughts on/review of Dragon Age: Veilguard

TLDR: I like it and yes would recommend it to people who liked the previous DA games, or Mass Effect games, or who like ARPG's or even just RPG's provided you aren't wishing to play as evil characters/make evil choices.

It might honestly be one of my favorite DA games, right after DAO, for all that yes, it's very different in mechanics and aesthetics than DAO... but that's only a 'maybe' as I do need to see how this sucker ends before really making a call.

On my 'melt faces' storyteller setting, it is ABSOLUTELY the escapist game I've needed right now, much like DAI was honestly just the game I needed when it came out too.

Bold text will warn if spoilers are in following sections in my longer thoughts.

I admit some of the negativity I saw pre-launch had me nervous and wary, but I'm mid-game now on one Rook, having done my usual thing of winding up with several different games/Rooks to try out different classes and also because on my FIRST one, I made some mistakes that I regretted by not understanding a few game mechanics. And I really like it.

Next 3 paragraphs may contain spoilers for PREVIOUS games, the following 3 paragraphs may have minor lore spoilers for Veilguard re: how things compare to previous games, skip to next bold text to avoid such spoilers:

I am not a Dragon Age absolute fanatic, but I've really enjoyed all 3 prior games, and DAI got me through a very rough spot in my life, and for all that I heard this game was 'too different', to my play preferences and my memories of playing those games, it really isn't all that different other than in mechanics.

It is mildly annoying to me that who I chose as Divine doesn't translate over from DAI, but the Southern Chantry has 0 to do with the storyline, so in the end it's honestly easy to forget about that for me. I also found it a bit irritating at first that the Crows are very different than they came across as being in DAO and DA2, but yes, I was able to get over that because I do really like the Crow companion and storyline, and I just tell myself that the organization reorganized after Zevran killed off a lot of the leaders.

Spoiler-free thoughts on combat/game mechanics.

Prefacing this by saying I am not actually into combat-driven games for the most part, and I tend to play a lot of games with active, real-time combat on easier modes. I am very bad at combat that needs dodging and shit. I am currently playing on the easiest preset, "Storyteller" mode. This means I am pretty much only dying ever in boss fights or because my arch nemesis in games is jumping and jumping puzzles, and I do a lot of falling to my death.

Thankfully, all my fatal failures are quickly dealt with, my jumping deaths just respawn me right where I fucked up, so I don't even have to reload a save.

The combat is probably easier with a controller, and it took me a while to get used to having to combine keys for combos or hold them down to charge attacks with my kb and mouse play style, but once I figured them out, I've been actively enjoying fights even if my housemate does overhear me swearing a lot at some boss and miniboss battles. In fact, I probably will try a slightly harder difficulty eventually, whether preset or fully tweaking whatever settings, to give non-boss fights a bit more challenge at some point. On Storyteller mode, once I get past level 10 or so or have done enough sidequests I'm sometimes a tad 'over level' I feel a bit like a lawnmower for non-boss fights, which is fun and satisfying in its own way, but does mean I seldom break out team combos except in miniboss or boss fights.

The puzzles are not what I would call difficult, but it can be easy to overlook some little ledge or clue, or not realize you need to go forward and then backtrack, so yes, some have been a bit annoying for me and taken a while.

Spoiler-ish for how Veilguard handles looting/crafting/upgrades and equipping companions:

The system for finding treasure and looting is yes, very different from previous games, but my inner loot goblin enjoys hunting for chests and does not mourn the fact that corpses seldom give anything and when they do it's only upgrade material.

There is no crafting, but you upgrade your gear via workshop, merchants, and also random chest finds can upgrade things in your inventory, and this system works fine for me, though it can be a little frustrating when the RNG refuses to change the quality of the item you really want it to and gives you an epic or legendary thingy you won't equip.

You do not equip companions with just random finds, they just get specific gear drops that then upgrade randomly or using faction merchants. Levelling up your rank with faction merchants can be a bit annoying once you're past like lvl 2 or 3, but I admit again, I'm playing on 'melt faces' mode so it's easy for me to shrug off, your mileage may vary on how badly you find yourself wishing for easier gear upgrades for your crew.

Nonspoiler about story and quests I have so far encountered:

So far, frankly, I really enjoy it all. Main story AND the side companion stories/quests. Maybe I'm not enough of a purist to notice some tweaks to previous lore, but then previous lore was usually also given by unreliable narrators- regardless, it all feels very Thedas-y and Dragon-Agey to me, and while nothing is ever flawless, and there's always some discourse to be had about how the game series in general has tackled certain issues or 'grey morality' I think the writing is pretty good, and I like the general directions they've taken as to the backstories behind all that's gone on as well as most of the specifics.

Nonspoiler about the types of dialogue or storychoices made & remembered in Veilguard, and the tutorial quest/level:

I am still only at midgame at BEST, but so far, for better or worse, I don't think the story choices you're allowed in this game are all that different than previous games, in terms of your options. I saw complaints of railroading and limitations in the early stuff that had me a bit less enthusiastic about the launch, but I am not personally finding anything to complain about. It's not a Baldur's Gate game, but no DA game, not even DAO, has been a Baldur's Gate game in breadth of choice options.

The tutorial/start quest feels most like DAI's, in terms of setup, and after running it twice I did kind of wish I could skip it entirely lol, but that's also how I've felt about every DA tutorial-quest-setup after making 2 protagonists or so.

When it comes to the dialogue wheel- I have not been ambushed nearly as often by the real dialogue coming out way differently than I expected.

Mild spoiler maybe about the dialogue choices/wheel.

I was a LITTLE surprised that even the third general wheel choice that looked like it might be kind of mean to me due to the icon generally was still very nice, just very direct and to the point. I don't play DA games to play assholes though so that's actually a good or at least neutral thingy for me, it's just the icon did make me think it was going to be grumpier/angrier.

Angrier and grumpier dialogue has a different icon and is only available for certain chats, same with more anxious or empathetic/sad dialogue.

Nonspoiler about companions:

They're great. Choosing 'favorite' DA companions is a fraught exercise, but of course every game I've had a few favorites, and have romanced certain ones more thoroughly than others.

This game made it harder for me to immediately pick favorites. I think they really got personalities and the depth of back story right in Veilguard. I still have developed a sort of 'ranking list' of who I want to romance, but this may be the first DA game ever where I honestly am pretty enthusiastic about romancing all of them, and where I'm very HAPPY to switch up my party and cycle through the various companions to make sure I get high rep/bond with all of them.

Everyone's tastes will differ but there isn't a single companion in this game that annoys me, that I find kind of dull, that I wish was written a BIT differently, or makes my mental illnesses/anxiety go brrrrr.

This is also why I am way behind on story and have not beaten the game, because I've so far made 3 different Rooks bc I keep changing my mind about who to romance first.

I can't really judge well if there's a bit less banter in total between companions than in any previous games, but I find the amount there is to be pretty satisfying when not just fast-traveling around.

Fuck I don't know if this counts as a spoiler or not, about the world's "openness" and environment aesthetics:

I do not find myself missing the more open world map mechanics of DAI. What there is for terrain maps/zones is gorgeous (or creepy and depressing as needed,) and I do sometimes avoid fast-traveling even through areas I know I've cleared before of POI type stuff just to enjoy the landscape as well as companion banter.

Character creator, nonspoiler:

It's pretty in-depth, and I am incredibly happy with all three Rooks I have made so far. Honestly the happiest I've ever been with how my DA character looks even outside of the char creator without mods.

I could always wish for more scars, tattoos, and hair styles, but what there are so far are satisfying enough for me. I'd have to go back to take shots of their full body looks and won't do that, but while the amount of fat or muscle or boob or bulge you can add is still constrained to a degree, the sliders still having maybe slightly basic-bitch limitations, I like the variety of body shape and height I've accomplished as well as facial.

And Opal, the Qunari mage, even without me going to the maximum of 'soft and chubby' the creators allow is still satisfyingly more so than most previous games I've ever played have allowed, so I'll take it.

(I kind of think we'll never get really wide slider differentials in part because would that make it hard to make garments and scenes not have clipping issues?)

Also yes that last Rook has a somewhat broken/crooked nose when viewed from the front even if it's not too intense/easy to see and also has a slight cauliflower ear, again things I haven't been able to do to my brawlers in most games I've played. Though their hair hides the ear.

Anyway, yeah, I've played 85 hours so far, am farthest into the story as my extremely polite non binary warrior with the broken nose and heart of soppy gold, and I think it's a really fun game and fits right in as a Dragon Age one.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #da4 #bakafox plays games #long post #game thoughts

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