#mourning over the ea cuts

[csphire]

Ouch Hotfix 4

I lost four and a half hours of gameplay after this moment. But I guess it all worked out because I was waffling over redoing how to deal with Auntie to minimize approval losses with Astarion. And don't get me started on the cut ! after that whole hot bloody mess. I'm going to miss that schadenfreude moment with him from early access. Part of me is so done with Act 1 because come Act 2 there will at least be no more moments of "Oh no, that got cut?"

Details of hotfix 4 are below the cut.

[ace-of-spaders]

*taps the mic and laughs nervously because of the major stage fright*

Lizzington shippers, fam, grandmas and grandpas, can I have a moment of your attention, please?

It's not a secret that, while some people in Lizzington community are still active, whether they write or make gifs or keep our dash full of Lizzington even in this trying times ( @melbob26-blog, thank you for this! ), Lizzington community as a whole went into hibernation over the last couple of years.

And I get it, interests change, especially when one show ends and there's another ongoing, moving on from the show that ended is totally natural, especially when it didn't give your favorite characters the happy ending they deserved.

I get it.

Hell, for a pretty lengthy while there I focused on other ships and shows, too, especially after TBL ended ended last year.

But you know what I realized earlier today, when I reread some of the old fics, browsed through gifsets and text posts, watched some fanvids?

It's the show that ended, for some in 2021, for others in 2023. And the only thing that means is that it cannot disappoint us anymore.

( it's not like we were suddenly deprived of quality content, because let's face it, the fans have been the main source of the quality lizzington content for years now, while the show gave us mere crumbs, on a good day )

But Red and Liz?

They are still out there, fighting criminals, catching Blacklisters, travelling the world, shamelessly flirting, toppling shadow organizations, raising Agnes and/or any other children they have, and generally being the sexy badass power couple they are!

Nothing changed in that regard.

So why would we mourn them, when they are out there, healthy and happy and in the middle of yet another adventure? I'm sure right this moment Red is drawing Liz into another one of his heists and she's only too happy to join him, even though she pretends that she's not, for the sake of the game.

There's literally no reason for us to stop writing, giffing, editing, sharing theories and headcanons and memes and just talking about our favorite couple.

And by writing all of this, I want to propose something daring to you:

Let's revive the Lizzington community!

Let's rewatch earlier seasons and gif the hell out of them because it's been a while and because precious moments between these two are not going to become less precious even if it's giffed 10 or 100 more times, not to mention that ever gifmaker's style is different, so there are virtually no two identical gifsets as there are no two identical snow flakes.

Let's make fanvideos, picspams, picture edits, fanart, moodboards! The amount of songs, quotes, moments etc that can inspire you is virtually endless!

Let's write fics, let's explore AUs, let's give each other prompts and challenge each other to try something new or practice some aspect of writing, like writing kisses or AUs or hugs or making up Blacklisters etc!

Let's share headcanons and theories and ideas and what our versions of Red and Liz are like, because everyone has their own unique versions of Red and Liz living in their head, and it's just beautiful, if you ask me!

Let's reblog stuff, filling each other's dashes with Lizzington!

Let's scream about Lizzington because no one does it like them!

Let's revive the Lizzington Community, we all miss it!

PS. Feel free to reblog this post – spread the suggestion!)

PPS. To assure you that I'm not the type of person who encourages others but doesn't do anything themselves, I can tell you I've already got some ideas for a couple of Lizzington events in mind. Those include challenges, thematic weeks etc.

PPPS. I'm not sure how many people are checking the tags these days, so I'm gonna tag some people I know under the cut, just in case, to spread the suggestion. If you weren't tagged, trust me, it's nothing personal!

@meetmeatthecoda @iwouldlovetoeatyourtoast @agxntkeen @factoseintolerant @tale-xistime @james-baeder @lettie1609 @withwhatiam @peace-love-on-planet-earth @missourired @felilaprivada @strawberry-pills @roominthecastle @codewordpumpkin @my-robot-heart @kitkate91060 @imyourplusone @shelly1952 @itsjustme-itsmylife @castle2cute @nancyjocom @cress-26 @lunaarlilacs @femaleoptimistic @scifi-gk @greeneyedsoul88 @figureofdismay @shippinglizzington @kissthefuture @thetwistedargent @actuallylorelaigilmore @sorrydearie @turningtimeinthetardis @buildinggsr @apicturewithasmile @windfalling @piketrickfeet

[pinksparkl]

Skin deep resemblance, Soul deep connection

Or, The Gravity of the situation

A certain someone is missing their friend who recently became their lover. Now they grieve in the arms of a being who looks just like him.

I started writing this back in July with the main thought of "well, if Blake is Hush, why couldn't Bestie be Doc?", and imagined misery ensued.

At the time of finishing and posting this, the EA for the latest Balance audio has been released, but I haven't heard it. I'm holding onto this weird un-canon of mine with both hands, sad that it's either going to be proven or disproven in a matter of hours 😂 But whatever happens, this has been fun.

Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Rated: T

2581 words

They broke the silence that had stretched everlong between the pair. "Why do you look like him?" The question had burned bright in their thoughts, constantly scorching white-hot against their senses since they found him – saved him – that night.

"Why do I look like... who?" He tilted his head to the side in confusion. As far as he knew, he didn't look like anyone. He just looked like himself. Unique. Unremarkable. Unmemorable.

"Him." They couldn't bring themself to say his name. Not yet. It was still too soon. "You look like him. You don't sound like him, or act like him. But you look like him... feel like him." They went into that sort-of quiet place in their mind, their eyes no longer actually looking at him as they spoke about that person. He must be someone important to them, the way they talk about him. A friend? Something more? He didn't understand the strong feelings that bubbled up inside like a torrent of magma waiting to burst free at the very thought of them holding someone – anyone – else in such high esteem.

This was his first taste of jealousy, but did that emotion truly belong to him? Were they his to own? Or was he deluding himself? Had he lost them before he even had the chance to try? He had free will –what was stopping him?

"I... don't know what you're talking about, who you're talking about." Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? Nervousness did not serve him in completing his purpose, it only made him feel like there was static running through his veins, like the saying of "butterflies in his stomach" really was true, like his lungs were starved of air even though he didn't even need that curious, human action of breathing. He wasn't created to feel nervous, but he felt it all the same.

In a panicked flurry they shot up from where they had been sitting for who knows how long and searched for the photo album they knew was still stashed in their coffee table drawer, hands trembling. Over the years, they hadn't wanted to look at it much – too many memories, both good and bad, orbitting their thoughts – and more recently, they hadn't needed to look at it because the person in question had been right there, by their side.

As they flicked through the plastic-sleeved pages, finally landing on a collage of images that had been painstakingly cut out and placed in a perfect timeline of occurences. Two people. Always side-by-side. One was never seen without the other. Many of the pictures looked to be taken without their knowledge, the quiet comfortability between them felt like a secret despite being out in the open where everyone could see them. Without noticing they had done it, their eyes grew soft as their fingers traced the image of his face, his name on the tip of their tongue, bottom lip quivering in remembrance.

They turned the book around to show him, pointing at the face of the boy- no, man who looked at them with soft, smiling eyes. "That's... that's him." They again resisted giving voice to his name, still couldn't make themself say it no matter how hard they tried.

He looked at the pictures, curious fingers dancing over features that were so familiar to him now. That was them – so bright and full of life – and this was him. But he didn't remember being there, in those places, doing those things. He didn't remember existing before now.

"What is this? What does this mean?" He whispered in a panic, almost to himself. He didn't mean for them to hear, didn't mean to cause their own fear and anxiety to spike in response. Those emotions were nothing new to him, he understood their shape and colour intimately, but he didn't like how they felt on them. They deserved lighter feelings, warmer feelings... hope, happiness... love.

But he didn't. He knew that.

He knew his existence was in pursuit of a purpose. He was a tool formed with an important purpose in mind. He knew that beyond his purpose, he didn't – shouldn't – exist. If there was another... like him, what did that mean? Why wasn't he aware of this? Was he a replacement? Or was he the one to be replaced? Something inside him told him that he should feel concerned, worried, scared for himself.

But he felt none of that.

He only felt a cold envy at someone wearing his face and getting to spend time with them. Time he never had because before now he didn't exist.

What did all of this mean?

"I don't know what it means," they answered after a long pause to collect their thoughts. "But... I know you're not him... not really." Shaking their head sadly, they took back the book and laid it across their lap, looking at the pictures with blank, misty eyes. "They called me, told me what happened. They'd tried to call his phone when he didn't show up to some meeting he was supposed to be at, but it just went to voicemail. Then they called me, asking if I'd seen him, or if I could call him. I told them I would."

Their words were almost emotionless, as if they'd recounted and recited and repeated this same account over and over again that they were finally numb to its meaning. He didn't question their flat delivery or the unnecessary details of who they were, he just let them speak.

"So I did, and his phone rang from underneath me, buried in the sofa. It must've fallen out of his pocket when he was here last... got wedged between the cushions. There were so many missed calls on the screen, but it only rang for me." On recounting this simple fact, their face scrunched up in pain before taking a deep breath, before continuing again. "Every other call got immediately sent to voicemail. I called them back and told them I had his phone. They sighed. Then they told me what they'd found."

All through their stilted explanation, he didn't move an inch, despite them having told him that his motionless staring unsettled them. Unsure of how to react to this uninempassioned re-telling of something – someone – he didn't know. But the empty look on their face pulled at something inside him. It made him want to console them. But for what greater reason he didn't know.

"Do I need a reason greater than wanting to?"

He remembered how they had tried in vain to heal him – not yet aware that human magic was ineffective on him either as protection or an attack – he wondered if magic could heal the hurt they felt inside. He hoped it could, he made a mental note to suggest it to them later.

"They told me he was dead, that it was caught on CCTV. He didn't have family around here any more, so I was kind of his next-of-kin, I guess." Shrugging, they tried to play it off as if they were just talking about the weather, fact after cold fact. It didn't hurt them to talk about this, it couldn't, they couldn't let it. "They said they were sorry, that they couldn't have saved him. He had put Wards up, so even if anyone had known what he was gonna do, they couldn't have helped, couldn't have gotten there in time."

They curled in on themself on the floor next to the coffee table, still desperately holding onto the photo album with the photos of him. The memories they'd made with him. Back when they were happy and didn't have to think about horrible, terrible things. Back when things were simple and made sense.

"Why did I stay away for so long? Why did I push him away when he wanted back into my life? Maybe this wouldn't have happened if I'd just…" One tear became five, became a floodtide, their silent endurance depleted, they accepted the salty confession of grief. "He promised me!"

They felt like they had jumped out of a aeroplane without even a parachute to catch their fall, spinning out of control, plummeting down to earth, just waiting to meet the cold hard ground. Freefalling without anything to grab a hold of, velocity increasing until that split-second moment of dizzying weightlessness, their stomach flipping uncomfortably as they waited, waited, waited for when it wouldn't hurt any more. Because after a fall like that, there wouldn't be anything left to feel the hurt.

He watched as they sank into the black hole of despair, their dazzling gleam fading away before his very eyes. The decision of what to do appeared more simple than it truly was. He stood up from where he was sitting and closed the distance to kneel down beside them. He had a purpose to fulfil, a mission to accomplish. This was not in aid of that.

None of this was.

As he pressed into their space, they didn't flinch like he'd expected them to, like they probably should have. They knew what he was, what he was capable of, the way he had hurt them, however unintentional it had been. Remembering what he had read in a book about human psychology, he wrapped his arms around them without a second thought and pulled their body towards his own. This was a comforting gesture – a hug they had called it. The most magical non-magical thing he had come across in his admittedly short time on Elegy. They melted against him and cried, let themself feel every scrap of hopelessness and sorrow and grief that they'd tried and failed to swallow down in the days and weeks that just weren't enough to heal what had been ripped open with one impersonal phonecall and a handful of broken promises.

He felt it too, the painful sting of the desperation and loneliness that washed over them and threatened to tear them away from him if he didn't hold onto them tight enough. As an instrumental force fashioned from the silence of the Spellsong, he understood the falling notes that sang of heartache and mourning.

In their lonely desperation, with the event horizon of grief looming nearer until it was already on top of them, they pulled at him, tugged him closer, used him as a shield from the outside world and its painful truths. Even if everything were to crumble down around them, at least they'd have this, one final moment with the man they had grown to love again, sharp edges and all. They had accepted him, but it had sadly been too late.

For better or for worse, he had the man of their dreams, and now they were only left with the pale imitation of their memories that grew fainter every day.

It was a bitter chill that made him ache the longer he was near them, but he held them through it. This wasn't for him. They needed this. They needed closeness with the man they lost. They needed closure. He hoped this could give them that, they deserved it if nothing else. The stabbing sensation he felt meant nothing if he could give them peace.

Without thinking, his hands began rubbing up and down their back, fingers trailing softly against the fabric of their shirt. Slow, swirling patterns that held no other reason but to offer comfort. Whisper light and always changing direction. Under his ministrations, they fell lax against the familiar feeling form.

"I am sure he regrets breaking his promise to you, that the choice to do that was not an easy one," he consoled them awkwardly in the only way he knew how – by explaining the truth how he saw it. They trembled and shook in his arms as his words passed over them. "Despite the short time I've known you compared to the years he spent with you, I can say that I wouldn't have chosen this either, unless there was no choice to be made."

Hours could have passed as the pair sat on the hardwood floor, the edge of the coffee table biting into his back as he leaned against it. No matter his personal discomfort, he didn't dare move until they did. If anyone had dared show up to try to apprehend him, he'd eviscerate the would-be threat without the person in his arms even being aware of it. He'd keep them safe. He swore it though he didn't know why. They weren't part of his purpose, but they were important to him in a way he could not fathom.

Slowly the ache in their heart eased enough for them to release their desperate grip that would have left bruises had he been who and what they wished he was. The ache was still there, hadn't disappeared fully. That would take much, much longer, maybe weeks, months, years.

Maybe never.

"I'm sorry," they said in a voice that didn't at all sound like theirs, cracked and dry, yet wet at the same time. "You said you couldn't stay here long. You can go." They dismissed him and they wiped at their eyes with the heel of their hands, smearing around the fresh tears, the rest had dried and made their skin feel tight and uncomfortable. Closing off their walls, they fought to rebuild the strength they needed to separate themself from him.

"I can stay as long as you need me," he assured them with a confidence he didn't have the right to possess. What they said was true, though, he couldn't stay, but he would. He will.

"But the danger... the people- demons coming after you-"

"-Aren't important. You are. You're important to me." With eyes that no longer matched the photos, and an expression all his own, he looked at them with heartbreaking affection. "Nothing else matters. I'm doing this for you."

To hell with the consequences. He had found his true purpose, and it wasn't a mission from gods who seeked to either govern unopposed or destroy that which stood in their way. His purpose was to protect this one human above all else, no further justification was needed.

He'd once believed himself immune to making mistakes, that he hadn't been created to allow for that, so now he was correcting the biggest mistake of his life. He vowed to take back control and live his life for them.

Eyes wide, they looked up at him from their position in his arms, going through the past few days and weeks in their mind. They had to say it. They needed to say it. If not now, then when?

"If you really are him, I meant it, y'know? I accept all of you. Even if you're… this." Gesturing to his chest and the unbeating heart that lay inside, hoping their words didn't land with the insult they didn't intend. "This doesn't change my mind."

"And if I'm not him?" He didn't want to ask, he didn't want to know, but he had to. Not knowing choked his mind and silenced all other thoughts. "What then?"

They smiled for the first time that day, a weak thing that faltered as they spoke. "Then it's up to us to decide." Like it was just that simple. Like they had the choice in this mess of a situation that would allow them the freedom to decide anything of importance.

"End it."

Gravity will out, in all things.

[janearts]

Overall, I liked it. I've written another goddamn essay under the cut and tagged it as spoilers just in case, but if you've already played EA, then this'll be nothing new to you.

Based on what's currently available in EA, I thought the premise of the romance was well executed. Gale felt a romantic connection with Mystra, was unceremoniously dumped by the Goddess of Magic, and is still pining after her. And he mourns not just the relationship, but grieves his own deeply human error and the loss of the power he once held as a result of his goddess' favour.

I really love Gale's backstory because it reminds me of a lot of mythological stories where a mortal strives to equal a supernatural creature and/or crosses a line ("Don't do this." → Proceeds to open that box, fly that high, etc.) and is punished for their hubris. His romance storyline begs the question, "Well now, where do we go from here?"

While I liked this set up to Gale's romantic storyline and enjoyed romancing him this playthrough, I am not sure he would be a good romantic choice for my canon playthrough with Roisia (I say, completely seriously, as if they were real and I was some sort of matchmaker). There are two things that make me think maybe Roisia wouldn't choose him or, if she did initially, would not choose him again if the opportunity arose. One reason is character-driven and is not the fault of the devs and the other is more about how Gale's romance was written, which falls within the realm of the devs.

Reason the First: The Character

The first is that Gale is extraordinarily slow to open up even when you have high approval with him. Gale is not vulnerable with the PC; he demands vulnerability before showing vulnerability in return. For example, Gale asks the PC to swear to help him no questions asked. Only when the PC swears to assist Gale does he reveal he is, essentially, a ticking time bomb without the sustenance of magical artefacts. (Great, now you have TWO vampires in the party.) And even though the PC should be vaguely aware of Gale's relationship with Mystra, his grief over his loss of favour, etc., he does not reveal the whole story explicitly until after the PC has sex with him.

Now I clearly classify sex as an act that requires some degree of vulnerability and my character would likewise think that sex requires her to be physically and emotionally vulnerable with another, but I should acknowledge that this isn't a universal view nor does it apply to everyone under the sun (or moon, to include types like Astarion). So for Roisia, I think she would find this burgeoning relationship frustrating in that Gale takes before he gives. Usually there is simultaneous giving and taking in a relationship, but the start of this particular relationship feels heavily weighted towards Gale taking and Roisia giving.

That being said, I'm not convinced Gale's guardedness is a good enough reason to avoid romancing him in my canon playthrough because I wonder if this dynamic applies to all of the burgeoning relationships in Act I. I.e., are all the romances in Act I largely framed as your PC meeting the romanceable NPC's emotional/physical/whatever needs?

In any case, regardless of whether Gale would suit as the "canon romance" for my first playthrough, I'm super curious as to how Gale's romance plays out in later acts and down the line! So even if I'm like "Roisia would not choose this for herself", I'll do a playthrough of his romance just to see what it's like.

Reason the Second: The Writing

The second is that much of Gale's romantic story hinges on the fact that he was once a powerful wizard and you are not. So I'm guessing the Weave Scene would feel more magical and more intimate if you are playing a character who has no connection to Mystra or the Weave. Gale is inviting you into his world and, in doing so, showing you who he is and what is important to him.

As a wizard, however, you're already fuckin' there. Roisia may not be as high-and-mighty as Gale was under Mystra's favour, but she is powerful in her own right and in her own ways. And the game acknowledges this: the movements, the incantations, etc. are described as easy peasy in the game dialogue and when Gale asks the PC how they feel, the Wizard-tagged option is "The same as it always does." This can make Gale's whole "Follow my lead" shtick feel condescending and patronising. Where the fuck is the romance in that, Larian???

A Gale/Wizard romance has the opportunity to be a beautiful meeting of the minds and have that contribute to the spark of romance. I love the idea that Gale would write a Wizard PC off as not-good-enough upon their first meeting, only to be continually surprised at their ability and surprised again at their combined ability during the Weave Scene. (E.g., Maybe Gale felt weak after Mystra deserted him, but with you? Together you're a force of nature.) I would've much rather the gestures, incantations, etc. have been described as strange and obscure for your Wizard character, rather than run-of-the-mill-did-this-last-Tuesday. I felt like the devs did Wizard characters a disservice during that portion of the romance.

TL;DR: All-in-all, really enjoyed myself. Not sure if this romance would be right for Roisia in the end, but I'd like to try it out for a playthrough simply because I'm interested in Gale's story and I love him to bits as a character.

[disastermages]

[read it on ao3]

cw for cheating, but with each other, not on each other

--

"Wei-xiong, have you heard about Lan Wangji?"

Nie Huaisang's voice is clear and pressing through the phone as Wei Wuxian leans one shoulder against the door of his apartment, the bag of groceries still hanging in the other hand while he searches for his keys.

The last time Wei Wuxian had seen Lan Wangji had been in his hotel room, they hadn't been able to go to Wei Wuxian’s place, he'd still been sharing an apartment with Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and their little cousin. It would have killed the mood entirely.

"I still have his number blocked, Nie-xiong." Wei Wuxian answers honestly, the door finally giving in with just enough bargaining.

Both Lan Wangji’s arms and his bed had been warm until Lan Wangji’s phone rang, and he'd told the person on the other end, his husband on the other end, that he was alone, and suddenly, Lan Wangji’s bed had nearly frozen Wei Wuxian in place.

He'd waited until Lan Wangji had hung up to climb out of it, pulling the sheet around himself, even as Lan Wangji's suddenly too heavy arms wrapped around his middle.

"Wei Ying, come back?" A steady line of kisses had started down Wei Wuxian’s back, but he'd pulled away and wrapped the sheet tighter around himself before he turned and smiled sadly down at Lan Wangji.

"Lan Zhan, listen, I'm going to shower, and then I'm going home." Lan Wangji did not and does not love his husband, Wei Wuxian knew it, but it hadn't made it any easier to choke down what they had just done.

Anyone who didn't know him wouldn't have been able to see the change in Lan Wangji’s face, but Wei Wuxian had watched sadness creep into his eyes. He hadn't had the heart to stop Lan Wangji from grabbing onto his wrist. "It is too late and dangerous for you to go back, stay here." With me, hadn't been said, but it had been there all the same when Wei Wuxian had begun the task of peeling Lan Wangji’s hand off of him.

"You know I can't, Lan Zhan, your husband wouldn't like it." His words had been cruel, but Wei Wuxian had still tucked a lock of hair behind Lan Wangji’s ear, though he hadn't set that hand on his cheek the way he might have in any other situation. "I'll message you, so you'll know I got home alright, but you won't be able to message me back."

"Why not?" Lan Wangji had looked far too hurt and far too young right then. It had nearly broken Wei Wuxian’s resolve.

"Because I'm going to block you, on everything." He couldn't leave any possibilities, Wei Wuxian had known that first, before anything else.

"Wei Ying,"

"That's enough, Lan Zhan."

When Wei Wuxian had left, Lan Wangji had trailed behind him, all the way to the sidewalk outside of the hotel, as if he had hoped Wei Wuxian would change his mind at the last minute.

He almost had.

Now, there's a pause from Nie Huaisang, his end of the call going almost completely silent, save for the sound of him tapping his fan against something.

"His divorce was finalized." Nie Huaisang says finally, the words running together as if he'd been holding his breath.

They startle Wei Wuxian enough to make him run into the coffee table, his shin smarting while he swears and Nie Huaisang calls his name.

"I heard Er-ge talking to Da-ge about it, Er-ge said that Lan Wangji mentioned you, but then I got caught." Despite everything, Wei Wuxian still chuckles at Nie Huaisang's flippancy. It hadn't changed between high school, college, or post-grad, Wei Wuxian is grateful for it.

"He hasn't been divorced for a month yet, Nie-xiong, I don't think he'll come knocking at my door to whisk me away any time soon." Lan Wangji might not come for him at all, and Wei Wuxian doesn't want that thought to hurt as much as it does, but it's easily pushed back down while he puts his groceries away.

It isn’t until later, while Wei Wuxian is cooking his dinner, when he hears a knock at his door, and it sounds all too familiar not to make him freeze where he stands. He thinks about standing in place until whoever is at his door leaves, but the sizzling of the prawns in the pan pulls Wei Wuxian back to the present. He turns down the heat until it hovers, small and blue, before he wipes his hands on a towel and walks towards the door.

He doesn’t need to look through the peephole to know who was standing on the other side.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji offers in way of greeting, surprise lightening his eyes to something soft. Wei Wuxian feels something twist in his chest.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian hears his own voice, but he doesn’t feel his mouth move, “you cut your hair.” Lan Wangji’s hair had been a dark waterfall down his back the last time Wei Wuxian had seen him, but now it’s cropped short, and Wei Wuxian wants to mourn the length it had been.

“You grew yours out.” Lan Wangji doesn’t take a step into his apartment, but he does start to reach for Wei Wuxian, his hand coming up slowly to catch the long end and run his thumb over it. This time, Wei Wuxian feels his mouth open and close, trying and failing to find something to say, but the point of contact is too much, and his words catch in his throat.

Something crackling and sputtering on the stove stops them both, and Lan Wangji’s hand drops back down to his side.

“My stove is still on.” Wei Wuxian says dumbly, pointing backwards into the apartment.

“Wei Ying has learned to cook?” There’s genuine surprise and curiosity in Lan Wangji’s voice, and Wei Wuxian barks a rough laugh. He hadn’t been able to cook anything without burning it hopelessly and over spicing it the last time Lan Wangji had allowed Wei Wuxian to try to cook for him. He’d had to take over less than halfway through.

“Only a little,” Wei Wuxian assures Lan Wangji, stepping back to allow him inside, though he knows he shouldn’t, “I’m still not as good as Shijie, but it’s okay, no one is.”

Lan Wangji’s cooking had been close, though.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t look back to see if Lan Wangji is following him into the kitchen, he knows he is, and it still sends a shiver down his back, even as Lan Wangji lingers in the doorway behind him. “See! It’s not even a little burned!” That wasn’t completely true, the prawns and the green onions had started to burn, but Wei Wuxian had managed to save them at the last minute, a feat he isn’t sure would have been possible without Lan Wangji on his heels. “Have you eaten yet? The prawns are already cooked, but I haven’t added the tofu yet, I could still make something vegetarian for you.”

What was he doing? He’d sworn he wouldn’t go running back to Lan Wangji again, but now he was inviting him to dinner.

But Lan Wangji had been a married man when Wei Wuxian had promised himself that he wouldn’t go back to him.

Lan Wangji was no longer a married man, though.

Turning to look at him, he catches sight of something soft and molten in Lan Wangji’s eyes, his hand braced tight against the doorway, as if he felt faint.

For a moment, all they can do is stare at one another while Wei Wuxian feels himself begin to soften too, his lips parting.

Finally, Lan Wangji speaks, “I will help Wei Ying cook.”

Everything Wei Wuxian had ever learned about playing host rises up then, he shouldn’t allow Lan Wangji to help, he was a guest, if anything, Wei Wuxian should push him back out into the living room and make him wait on the couch while he finishes up. Lan Wangji is already opening Wei Wuxian’s refrigerator and pulling out various vegetables, though, and he gives Wei Wuxian a look when he sees the state of what had once been a nice head of broccoli.

There’s comfort and familiarity in that particular look.

Wei Wuxian’s kitchen is barely large enough for his own chaos while cooking, but with the two of them working, it’s impossible not to feel the heat coming off Lan Wangji’s back against his own. He wants to press himself into it, just like he used to.

They work in silence, passing the cutting board back and forth awkwardly in the small space. Lan Wangji’s cuts and his knife skills are good, they always had been, but it’s with a smug satisfaction that Wei Wuxian notes that their skills at cutting up vegetables are evenly matched.

Lan Wangji lingers behind him, even after he’s finished his task, his eyes bearing into the back of Wei Wuxian’s head.

Before, Lan Wangji would have wrapped his arms around Wei Wuxian from behind, his nose would have nuzzled into his neck, and Wei Wuxian would have been greedy for it. It’s almost a comfort to know that he and Lan Wangji are just as unsure of each other now.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says softly, his fingers ghosting along the sleeve of Wei Wuxian’s hoodie, but not touching just yet, “come back to Gusu with me.”

A bitter laugh catches against the lump in Wei Wuxian’s throat, but they knock the words forward, “You haven’t been divorced that long, Er-gege, don’t you want to see if I’m really what you want? You don’t want to think about it?”

This isn’t a conversation they should be having in the kitchen, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to argue in this kitchen.

“I have only thought of Wei Ying for six years, I know you are who I want. I do not need to think about it.”

“The plates are in the cabinet behind you, could you grab them, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks, instead of answering. Filling his mouth with silken tofu and prawns and all the vegetables Lan Wangji had tipped into Wei Wuxian’s pan would keep him from literally and physically jumping into Lan Wangji’s arms.

If Wei Wuxian were to turn around, he’s almost certain that he would see hurt in Lan Wangji’s eyes now, but he takes the plates from him blindly, murmuring thanks under his breath before he starts plating their dinner and directing Lan Wangji to the drawer of utensils.

Lan Wangji doesn’t fumble and open the drawer full of sauce packets and napkins first, he opens the right drawer on the first try.

“Your uncle won’t like it.” Wei Wuxian says, continuing the conversation after their empty plates have been stacked on top of each other on the coffee table. Lan Wangji hadn’t objected to eating on the couch with the TV playing on a low volume.

To his surprise, Lan Wangji deflates, “I followed my uncle’s wishes for eight years, but it did not change anything. I love you, Wei Ying. That is all there is.”

They hadn’t used that word for it before, Wei Wuxian hadn’t allowed it, because Lan Wangji had been married to someone else, but now, Lan Wangji wraps both of his hands possessively around one of Wei Wuxian’s, his thumbs stroking back and forth. It’s a plea, Wei Wuxian knows it is.

His mouth hangs open again, but this time Wei Wuxian does not reach and scrabble for the words, “It’s too late for you to go home, Lan Zhan, stay here tonight.” Wei Wuxian knows he shouldn’t, but he leans in close, his free hand coming to rest on Lan Wangji’s forearm.

“Will Wei Ying be here when I wake up?” Lan Wangji leans in, unafraid of what Wei Wuxian might do because of it.

“This is my apartment, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian laughs, and Lan Wangji’s hands tighten, squeezing and hopeful, “shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“You should.” Lan Wangji agrees, allowing their lips to brush as he speaks.

“Lan Zhan, will you be here when I wake up?” Wei Wuxian asks, only half serious as he closes the distance left between them, his hand coming away from Lan Wangji’s forearm to rest on his neck, just like it used to.

“I will be here when Wei Ying wakes up.” Lan Wangji sounds breathless when they pull apart, but he makes his promise all the same, sealing it with another kiss, far sweeter than the one that had come before it.

There’s comfort and familiarity in it.

[the-apocryphal-one]

Ebb and Flow

Summary: She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things. Astarion x Isaniel

Also check it out on AO3 here and ff.net here!

A/N: whelp, here I am. writing fic with my OCs. that never happens. but this cheeky little bastard left me no choice. I fell in love with him so quickly, I had to write how my character did (or is starting to...getting there...feeling feelings...look we're still in EA and I love slow-burn enemies to lovers).

Minor spoilers ahead!

-

A mix of old paranoia and carefully-honed insight tell Isaniel, from the moment she meets him, that Astarion is suspicious. The only reason she even approaches the grass is because the risk of leaving an intellect devourer on the loose is far greater than the risk of exposing her back to a stranger. One is a dangerous beast that could quickly kill her or innocents if left unchecked; the other, she believes, is just an elf she knows to be wary around. He cannot do anything she is not braced for.

She is wrong. He is far stealthier than she’d expected.

-

After she diffuses the situation and they agree to work together, Isaniel subtly flexes her left hand. His dagger had cut into her palm as she’d struggled to pull it away from her throat. It was deep enough to merit healing, and she knows it’ll scar. A lesson.

It’s not an easy thing, to watch your surroundings and look for other survivors and keep someone in your peripheral vision, but she manages.

-

That night, everyone at camp is wary, watching each other, gauging their trustworthiness. They’re all newly acquainted, a collection of cast-off captives with bombs in their heads. It’s simultaneously the most ironclad and the thinnest of bonds. But gradually, one by one, they drift off.

Isaniel tries not to. Decades of learning to embrace Eilistraee and lower her guard around others have vanished tonight. She sits, staring at Astarion across the fire, and he stares back. His eyes are somehow both jeering and flirtatious, the planes and shadows of his face even more beautiful in the firelight. They sit for hours, just watching each other, her quiet declaration that she wouldn’t turn her back on a stranger heavy between them.

But eventually, exhaustion creeps up on her and slips the trance over her head, and then it is morning.

His smugness is unbearable.

-

Isaniel considers herself a practical woman. You can’t not be and survive the Underdark. She will refuse to give up on a cure until her body physically starts to change, but she knows that the second it does, she wants the others to cut her down—the same way she’d cut them down if they began to transform.

So when Astarion asks how she wants him to kill her should she sprout tentacles, she’s not affronted. She sees it as professional courtesy.

After some thought, she decides on a knife. Poison is not gentle, nor quick. Neither is strangulation. A good, clean thrust to the heart or head, though, will be fast and painless. The best result for her and those around her.

His eyes light up with enthusiasm as he discusses her choice, and Isaniel remembers how quietly he’d snuck up on her. This is not just professional courtesy, she realizes. This is a man who intimately knows the art of death, and loves it. And at that realization, the walls that had started to cautiously lower, just a tad, jerk back into place.

When he finishes, she crosses her arms, cocks her head, smiles coolly. “And you? How shall I kill you?”

His teeth flash an almost unnatural white when he grins. “Oh darling, I’d love to see you try.”

-

The night they gain some leads, she finds him stargazing while doing the rounds of the camp. When she pauses to speak with him, it is surprisingly nice. His quip about “taking or leaving” her chin makes her lips twitch, despite herself. And she can’t help but approve of someone who can also appreciate the beauty of the night sky.

Her eyes seek out the moon instinctively. Her hand closes around her sword pendant for a brief moment. Eilistraee, watch over me.

For a brief heartbeat, an echo of a song floats through her mind. It’s the same music that stopped her dead in a marketplace in the Underdark, so beautiful and ethereal and divine it almost brought tears to her eyes. Isaniel would later learn that Eilistraee was always seeking to touch the hearts of the drow, and had been beyond grateful she’d listened. But at the moment, all she had known was that she could not rest until she’d found that music again. Hearing it again now is a promise.

The notes fade, but she doesn’t feel empty like she did that day in the Underdark. Her goddess is with her and loves her, and there is nothing more comforting in the world than that. Even Astarion seems not so bad in that moment, and they bask together in the companionable silence.

But then he wonders aloud what will happen in the future, and the illusion of safety breaks. She briefly mourns its departure; then, she straightens her shoulders and looks back at reality. And reality includes him.

She gives him a taste of his own medicine: “What? Would you miss me?” He laughs, rises, and compliments her. She accepts it, and in doing so deflects. He flirts, invades her personal space. Out of sheer stubbornness, she refuses to step back. To do so would be to admit that he has unnerved her. It’s not just his proximity; it’s this undercurrent of something.

The dance ends; he leaves. The tension drains out of her body.

-

When she emerges from a restless, unsuccessful trance and finds Astarion leaning over her, Isaniel lashes out. Her elbow catches him square in the jaw; he curses and stumbles back, and she almost attacks while he’s off-balance. But she’s a follower of Eilistraee, and somehow, she’s become the leader of their group. Both of those factors give her a responsibility to hear him out. So, she stomps down on those old, false instincts and lets him talk.

It’s almost a relief to find out he’s a vampire. The secret is out, and now she can deal with it. Really, Isaniel feels like a fool for not putting the pieces together. The sun doesn’t burn her eyes anymore, thanks to the tadpole—why shouldn’t a vampire be able to walk in it as well? But she’d just assumed that his red eyes were indicative of drow blood somewhere in his family, the fangs some form of genetic defect.

Astarion asks her to trust him. Incredulously, she counters that he tried to bite her. He retorts that they need each other. And then he begs for a sip of her blood.

Isaniel takes a deep breath. Looking around, she realizes that their brief scuffle woke the others up. She decides to give them the benefit of the doubt and assumes that they only watch because they’re too surprised to actually do anything. But that’s irrelevant right now. She turns her focus inwards and analyzes exactly how much they need Astarion.

He’s the best among them at picking a lock. His speed is blinding. He’s deadly with his daggers. And he moves so silently…

Losing him would be bad, she has to admit. So: keeping him means feeding him. And logically, it makes sense that a vampire would not find animal blood as nourishing. Oh, she knows he’s manipulative, she doubts he’s telling the whole truth with his “I’ve never fed on humans!” spiel—but she does believe him in that, at least.

She certainly can’t half-starve him, but she will not let him eat innocents. So…what other options are there? Letting him feed off their enemies? Plausible; but that is a question for the morning. Because Astarion is ultimately right: it really comes down to whether she can trust him.

Isaniel doesn’t know what surprises her more: that she does trust him, or that the events of this night haven’t cost him all of it.

Well, she trusts him to an extent. She gives him his share of night shifts, she relies on him in battle, and he has easy access to their food. But that’s trusting him not to kill them; keeping him, knowing what he is, requires trusting him to not lose control. It means trusting that if an emergency happens and he needs their blood, he won’t go into a frenzy and drain them dry.

A test, then. If he reverts to a creature of base instinct, if he cannot be reasoned with, if he tries to kill her, she will kill him. Better to discover the extent of his self-restraint now, while she’s alert and prepared to stop him, than later, when circumstances might not be so fortuitous.

So she sends up a quick prayer to Eilistraee, bares her neck, and lies down.

-

He gets caught up in the moment, but her command to stop brings him out of it easily enough. He lets her go, breathless and smiling, thanks her, and stalks off.

Isaniel can’t be angry at him; after all—and this is very hard to admit, even to herself—she almost got caught up in the moment too.

-

Sometimes she would catch him gazing at the sky, during the day, open wonder on his face. Now she knows why.

Isaniel can understand that. With her eyes no longer burning, she can drink in the tableau around her in a new way. There are shades of color she couldn’t quite discern before, and everything seems so much richer in the sun. How many drow have been able to do this? Very few, most likely.

It’s not enough to make her want to keep the parasite—it could never be enough—but it is something she can’t help but appreciate.

-

The day the sickness strikes, Isaniel gives the order to make camp where they stand, long before night falls. They’re all just too exhausted to keep traveling, even to search for a suitable place to rest.

That’s not the only thing they’re too exhausted for, as it turns out. Not one of them can muster the energy to scout for nearby threats, or camouflage, or stand guard. Even Lae’zel’s attempt at a “mercy kill” is sloppy. They’re all so pathetic a kobold could walk into their midst and kill them.

Between talking Lae’zel down and doing her customary rounds of their parody of a camp, Isaniel’s low energy reserves are completely barren. As she crawls into her bedroll, for some reason, her mind turns back to Astarion’s panic.

He’s usually so self-assured. Smiling in the face of anything. Ready with his rapier wit. The complete unraveling of his composure is…alarming.

But before she can think much more on that, a fresh wave of tremors hits her. She squeezes her eyes shut, curls into a ball, and prays.

-

The next morning, Isaniel wakes up with heartache—and fury.

How dare it? How dare that parasite approach her in the guise of her dead husband? How dare it speak with his voice, ignite her skin with his touch, dishonor his memory by wearing his face? The sickness of the previous night is completely forgotten; instead, she shakes with rage as she brushes her hair, checks her equipment, gears up. Her fingers itch to play her lute and vent it all out in jagged, discordant music—but no. Astarion’s pale form is up and about, but the others are still sleeping.

She pauses and subtly studies him. He looks much better now; his movements are fluid again, his step springy. Even his hair somehow seems extra fluffy.

He turns, catches her staring, and winks. She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch, damn them. Definitely back to normal.

At that, the memory of the dream rears its head. Her anger, which had started to simmer down, flares up anew. Isaniel scowls as she struggles with her sword belt, her normally dexterous fingers made clumsy by emotion. Curse that tadpole to the Hells—

“Well hello! Feeling better, are we?”

Astarions voice rings from right next to her, and she jumps. Eilistraee’s sword, how did she not realize he was a vampire sooner? No one can move that silently and swiftly and still be mortal.

“I certainly am,” he continues, without waiting for her answer. “This morning I find myself free of pain and with a new trick. A new power. Last night, the risk of transformation—it all feels like some terrible dream now.”

A dream…

Isaniel doesn’t know why she opens up to him. Maybe it’s because he’s around and she needs to get it off her chest. Maybe it’s because his witty tongue actually does make her chuckle, despite herself. Maybe it’s because he draws her eyes like the moon draws the tide.

Regardless, she ends up spilling the contents of her dream, anger and pain leaking into her voice. Astarion doesn’t really say anything; he just listens, eyes bright with curiosity and intrigue. But just listening is enough; she can feel an invisible weight lifting off her with every word out of her mouth.

When she finishes speaking—with an exhale of relief—he asks if she enjoyed it. Her fists clench at the memory of that intruder’s touch on her skin. “No, it felt invasive. Uncomfortable.”

“We had the same dream, then. The worm’s trying to be…enticing.”

Had he also seen someone he’d loved? But that blank look, the flat voice…there’s more to it than that, she’s sure. Isaniel hesitates, then pushes him to share. He lent her an ear, in his typical flippant fashion, but an ear nonetheless. It’s only fair to return the favor.

The truth of what he really dreamed about surprises her. She finds herself blurting out, “Your old master? That doesn’t sound ‘enticing’.”

“It was not,” he says, voice raw and low. “I—we don’t need to talk about it.”

And—oh.

That flash in his eyes. That pain.

Her throat closes.

It was brief, but she saw it. She would never mistake it.

It’s the pain of someone who has been trapped in darkness for so long they don’t even know light exists. The pain of someone who lived with cruelty every minute of every hour of every day. The pain of someone who does not let themselves feel pain, does not even acknowledge they are in pain, because that would be weakness and wolves would descend on them if they admitted to that.

It was her pain, before Eilistraee.

Isaniel is not good at comforting people. She knows how to talk people into doing what she wants and how to keep their group more or less from killing each other. But put her in a room with a crying woman or a scared child, and she’s just lost. Emotions are messy and difficult to deal with.

But at this moment, she wants, more than anything, to brave them. To let him know he’s not alone.

She can’t think of anything to say, can’t figure out how to put this epiphany into words, so hesitantly, she reaches out a hand—

And he recoils like a snake. Then, he strikes like one, eyes and fangs flashing, venom flying from his mouth as he renounces her pity.

It’s not pity, she wants to say. It’s not pity, because I know how hard it is to survive an environment that wants more than anything to break you. To pity you would belittle your strength. It’s empathy and support.

But she’s so stunned that by the time she’s able to begin, “It’s not pity,” it’s too late; his retreating back is the only thing that hears her.

-

One of Isaniel’s first memories is of her mother killing her pet bat, then slapping her until she stopped crying.

It was as a lesson, of course: that love was something that would only be exploited. The sort of lesson that every drow child learned young. Other lessons included how to think creatively, hurt others, scheme, and be paranoid—Isaniel still remembers carefully pouring poisons and potions into large, hollow glass beads and stringing them into her jewelry.

The lessons that had really struck a chord with her, though, had been how to create. Her family had been artisans, and had held a relatively secure position as employees to a well-off merchant clan. The plotting hadn’t been as intense as among the nobles, but it was still dangerous. After all, there were rival artisans and rival merchant clans to watch out for or destroy, and Isaniel had done her share of participating in that.

But oh, she had truly loved art, beauty, music. Eilistraee used that to reach her, and through it Isaniel came to love Eilistraee in turn. But it took a long time. Secretly seeking information about that music, a flight from the Underdark, and decades of studying the teachings of Eilistraee, testing them, putting them in practice, before the scars the Underdark left on her had begun to heal. Decades in which she found companionship with others of her faith, met her husband, became a mother…lost her husband to the ravages of time…

And now, after such a long time away from the toxic mindset she grew up with, she has come face to face with someone who embraces it. And she is torn.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has grown and nourished, that is appalled in the face of Astarion’s casual cruelty towards others.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has also grown and nourished, that begs her be compassionate and forgiving.

There is a part of her, one that she has abandoned but clings to her like a ghost nonetheless, that screams at her to end the threat before he ends her.

There is a part of her, one that has been with her as long as she can recall, that sees his trauma, and remembers, and empathizes.

Their experiences are not the same. But the darkness is the same.

She does not know what to make of him. She does not know what she should believe or do about him. So she watches, and speaks with him, and tries to understand.

-

Their travels eventually take them to a swamp, and there, they find a Gur. A monster-hunter. That in itself wouldn’t necessarily mean anything, but it’s foolish not to gauge his intentions, considering her company. So, in-between Astarion’s light insults, she inquires.

He says he’s hunting Astarion. Not to kill him, but to capture him.

Ice settles in Isaniel’s belly.

Capture him. And bring him to his “associates” in Baldur’s Gate. Back to Cazador. Back to the bastard who scarred him down to his very marrow. Back to chains and torment.

That’s not going to happen, she thinks vehemently.

Astarion is practically vibrating in place, his red eyes hard and uncompromising, his hands hovering close to his daggers. And yet, he still waits for her order. Out of genuine respect for her authority? Trust that she’ll neutralize the hunter? She’s not sure, but something about it is…a little touching.

She gives the word, and he lunges.

-

The battle with Auntie Ethel is tough, but manageably so. They all stay away from the cliff edges and destroy her illusionary copies as soon as they appear, they put out the fires near Mayrina and keep her out of harms’ way, and while the hag’s spells are powerful, they all somehow manage to avoid the worst of the damage.

But Auntie Ethel is one of those types. The type that likes to taunt and mock with a loud, clear voice that rings across the battlefield. And through some hag witchery, she knows how to hit where it hurts.

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

She’s not near him, but Isaniel can see Astarion’s flinch—then his strikes resume, much faster and more furious than before. Her own teeth grind with outrage and sympathy, and she redoubles her efforts, and soon the hag is brought down.

She is not feeling quite as sympathetic when, after bidding a crestfallen Mayrina farewell, Astarion blithely remarks that it was a pity the young mother-to-be couldn’t see the funny side in her husband being resurrected as a zombie.

-

And yet, he voiced his approval back when they helped Karlach.

It’s not like that outweighs it. Life isn’t a set of scales. Helping one woman doesn’t balance out being amused at another’s pain. The people Isaniel hurt back in the Underdark wouldn’t care or forget just because she helped someone else now. Words and actions have permanent, tangible impacts.

It’s not like she wants to “fix” Astarion, either. People can’t be “fixed”. They can be broken or damaged by others—but never returned to who they once were. They carry the scars and lesions on their heart, like Isaniel does. With time and support, they hopefully heal, but that’s only if they want to.

It’s more like—and she might be projecting a bit, or biased because of her past—remembering Karlach gives her hope that Cazador didn’t destroy Astarion’s humanity.

-

Maybe it was inevitable.

Isaniel weaves throughout the party, smiles freely, even dances and sings. It’s impossible not to—the tiefling’s joy is infectious, the gentle warmth of the wine is infusing her body, and the moon is full and smiling overhead. All of her problems will still be there tomorrow, but tonight is a night for forgetting, and celebrating, and living.

The back of her neck prickles, again. This time she doesn’t ignore it. This time, she turns, somehow already knowing what she’ll see.

Sure enough, there’s Astarion, lurking on the fringes of the party, a glass of wine in hand, eyes fixed on her. Under the moonlight, his hair is practically glowing, his skin silver-tinted. He looks like some ethereal king of night and winter, standing there silhouetted against the darkness. It’s striking.

Striking. Oh.

She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things.

A jostle jars her out of her thoughts; she’d stopped moving right in the midst of the dancers. She mutters an apology to the tiefling couple and hastily clears the floor. Glances up again.

Astarion is still watching her.

Before she consciously decides to do it, her feet take her towards him. She falters when her mind catches up to her body, almost turns and runs. There’s something in his eyes, something in the air, something between them that crackles with intensity and promise.

But it’s too late to run—he’s coming towards her, too. Her heart lodges itself in her throat. Stay strong, she tells herself.

Whether she wants that strength to resist the shifting currents in their relationship or to swim towards them, she does not know.

[jackdawyt]

Dragon Age: Inquisition is one of my favourite games of all time. I love everything about this game, from the compelling hero’s journey, to the roster of lovable characters, to making the Inquisitor my very own unique protagonist. Few games compare to the experiences and tremendous moments that Inquisition provides, not to mention the Trespasser DLC which revealed the true intention of the game’s villain, and paved the story forward for future titles.  

I think it’s rather telling how good this game is, considering we’re still talking about it nearly 6 years later after launch, discovering new theories and mysterious hidden deep within the lore. Heck, if Dragon Age: Inquisition was a mediocre experience, I don’t think I’d have a YouTube channel today with thousands of recurring views weekly talking about the game, and where the story is going to go since the events of Inquisition.  

However, there is something critical that I feel is necessary to discuss regarding Dragon Age Inquisition’s original marketing demos and the expectations they set for the finished game.  

Following up to the launch of Dragon Age: Inquisition, I used to obsessively re-watch the first original gameplay demo shown at Pax Prime 2013. At the time the game was in its pre-alpha build, however, there were many impressive features and dynamics showing just a glimpse of what we’d come to expect once we got our hands on the game.  

In retrospect, these promises were scrapped before the finished project released.

This post is not meant to be a negative outlook, poking holes at BioWare’s effort, but an investigation and critique into BioWare’s game design, more specifically, the cuts the developers made tackling Inquisition’s complicated release, and how they’ve learned since.  

For the uninitiated, Dragon Age: Inquisition released in November, 2014, a month after the next generation of consoles launched. As the game was jammed in-between two gaming generations, it was designed to ship on both the previous generation of consoles (Xbox 360/PS3) and the current generation (XB1/PS4).

In order for the game to predominantly run on the lower spec consoles, many gameplay cuts, downgrades and setbacks were made to the final project.  

I’m not talking about conceptual ideas in pre-production that were drafted for the game, like The Architect making a cameo appearance in a “Here Lies The Abyss” alternative twist, or the Hero of Ferelden, Hawke and The Inquisitor meeting up in a potential drafted prologue. Of course, there were plenty of ideas, concepts and story threads that were canned and reworked because the developers had better, and frankly more relevant plans for the game.

I’m talking about actual features and mechanics that were incorporated and designed into the vertical slice demo that was shown off to the fans at Pax Prime 2013, and then were removed later on just before launch.

I would like to point out that the gameplay I’m going to show was alpha footage, and the developers made sure we all understood that it could easily change, nobody lied to us. If anything, BioWare were so eager to show off the next Dragon Age game, that perhaps this was the biggest detriment to the project.

I’ll have the full Pax gameplay demo linked for those who want to watch it fully. But without further ado, I’m going to be revealing the Dragon Age: Inquisition we almost got.  

Cut Content:  

The demo starts with a significant cut, originally Dragon Age: Inquisition would’ve featured stunning party member cutscenes when entering new areas for the first time.  We see Varric, Cassandra and Vivienne discussing how prepared they are since the Inquisition formed. Varric banters that he’s outnumbered by the ladies once again.  

We can assume that these dynamic banter cutscenes based on your party members were replaced with Scout Harding’s area report.  

The models and textures for the characters and armours look very different too. Cassandra has a more angled facial structure, like her original concept art. And, the Inquisitor’s armour and textures don’t even exist in the final game, I remember attempting to recreate this look, a thousand times over, however, no fabrics in the game have this orange texture.

Helmets also appear in conversations, which is a huge pet peeve of mine, I’m still upset to this day that we can’t see helmets in conversations and there’s no mod to fix it. However, they added this feature in Mass Effect: Andromeda, so maybe we’ll see it in the future.  

In general, this demo showed that there was going to be a lot more cutscenes when entering new areas, in party banter, and for minor conversations with smaller characters.  

Upon inspecting the gameplay, we can see the camera’s placement was significantly adjusted. The demo had a third-person feel, whereas the game ended up with a pulled back camera, probably to suite the tactical camera for combat. Fortunately, there are mods that actually fix this issue.  

The UI has evolved since the demo, there used to be a Skyrim-esqe navigation compass that was replaced with a radar. And the party member icons are different, but that’s just nit-picking.  

The combat is more or less the same, however, it does seem more reactive and heftier in the demo. Most likely because the camera is more zoomed into the action. There are some tweaks though, the enemies react more to the Inquisitor’s attacks, the stumble, flail and even run away, as opposed to just taking the damage and then attacking you back.  

However, minor these cuts may seem to you; they did change the game a fair amount adding more immersion to the overall experience.  

Even so, the most obvious and upsetting cut when watching this demo regards the entirety of Crestwood, the area has been dramatically reduced in the final game.  

In this demo, the Inquisitor is given a conflict. One of the Inquisition’s soldiers asks the player how does the Inquisitor want to handle their armies' movements throughout the area.  

The Inquisitor could send the Inquisition army to save the town of Crestwood.  

They could lead the soldiers to tend to the nearby wounded.

Or they could bolster every solider to the Keep, leaving both the wounded and the town of Crestwood.  

Each choice had a consequence, and both Mike Laidlaw and Mark Darrah spoke on having multiple ways to approach the situation. For instance, in the demo’s scenario the Inquisitor decides to leave the town while it’s under siege, instead, they find a secret entrance towards the Keep. Using Antivan Fire, they burn the invaders’ boats which would prevent them from escaping after their attack. The Inquisition take the Keep, and head back to the ransacked town filled with newly fresh corpses. A dynamic cutscene of Varric mourning the dead plays out, adding emotional impact and weight to the decision the Inquisitor just made.  

And this was just a side questline...

The demo ends with the developers reiterated the tactical and dynamic approaches when showing the Inquisition taking over the Keep at The Western Approach.  

According to Mark Darrah, you could weaken enemy defences by doing things like drawing out the troops or poisoning their wells.  

Then, once you claimed the keep for yourself, you’d get a quest called ‘This Water Tastes Funny’, in which your Keep's well was poisoned and you’d have to go find fresh water.

The Keep’s themselves were originally designed to have a lot more influence and reactivity throughout the world. Once captured, the Inquisitor could choose a dynamic choice for the Keep’s overall goal, if you had enough Inquisition agents. 

The Keep could be specialised based on the Inquisition’s advisors. You could choose to run your Keep as a Military outpost, boosting fortifications. It could be a Keep of espionage and secrets, for information gathering, or you could make it a Keep of connections and merchants for diplomatic purposes. Each different speciality had a different advantage and aesthetic to suit its purpose.  

Adding more choices and roleplaying values for making the Inquisition your own army, having a say in what aspects it should grow in.  

That sums up the majority of the cuts made since this demo. I will say it’s unfortunate seeing these unfinished features that shaped the game in a completely different direction, that inevitably couldn’t make it into the finished project.  

But I think it’s wrong to pin the blame of this cut content on anyone because the developers were tackling a console generation shift, and they wanted everyone to have the opportunity to play the game without having to get a new console. Can you really blame them for that?  

Perhaps many of these features may be designed into a future title since the developers wanted them so much in Inquisition? And speaking of the future title, at least the next Dragon Age game won’t be coming out in between a console generation, it is being designed strictly for next-gen, so there shouldn't be any console setbacks and limitations.  

Even still, when Dragon Age 4 does eventually get a gameplay reveal, don’t set your expectations in stone based on that reveal. The finished project will look very different. These days gameplay previews aren’t always accurate, and that’s just a dilemma of the entire games industry, not just EA and BioWare.  

Wrapping up on a positive note, BioWare have learned from this experience, and they’re approaching Dragon Age 4 with a “show, don’t tell” strategy. They will be proceeding with caution when marketing and revealing the next Dragon Age game, and that may play a part in why we haven't and won't see anything official for a while.  

I don’t think I could end on a better note then the Narrative Director, John Epler’s message about Inquisition’s development. John said: “A good 90% of 'bad' decisions are, in fact, the best decision at the time. Game dev is all about making the best decision you can at the time, with the resources you have. A lot of stuff you thought was weird or awkward came down to a gut call of 'this is the best I can make this and I trust it's good enough'. Sometimes we're right, sometimes not.”

BioWare decided to make these cuts to Inquisition because they realised it was the right thing to do for the entire project, perhaps they felt they couldn’t deliver these features to their full capacity, or they wanted a change of direction. They believe these decisions were made for the greater good of the game, and I commend them for that.  

Dragon Age Inquisition is an incredible RPG with tons of personality, that not many games can even mimic. Although the game had some minor setbacks with the fair amount of content that was cut, the game is just as amazing without those initial features.  

Like I said, perhaps we’ll see these mechanics in the next game, if not, then at least it has been a learning experience for BioWare, that they can utilise for the development of Dragon Age 4.  

In any regard, let me know your thoughts down below on this gameplay demo relating to the finished game, and don’t forget to check out my latest news update!

[otakween]

107 Ghost (2007) - Volume 4

I don’t know why I zoom through anime but take like 20 years to read manga. Gotta fix this...

Notes:

-Ch. 18-

-So just to keep score, Zehel can cut the bonds that tie a spirit to misfortune and Fest can bind two souls together (kinda like cupid?) I’m not sure Fest’s power really fits Castor’s character. I look forward to figuring out more about Labrador’s ghost

-Ayanami’s power gets explained a little more which I was grateful for because this whole time I’ve been kinda confused how his possession works. 

-Kuroyuri and Haruse share an (off screen) “platonic” kiss. I see what they did there...Why is everyone a low key vampire tho?

-Everyone looks good in their mourning clothes. It’s always nice in manga when characters aren’t always wearing the same thing

-Gayest scene yet: Frau telling Teito he likes his “soul” and Teito blushing and acting all tsundere. I don’t really ship it, but it’s kinda hot I guess 

-Ch. 20-

-The politics of both the Black Hawks and the Ghosts having secret agendas within their respective institutions is pretty interesting. Very much too sides of the same coin 

-So Lab is “Prophe.” I think it’s funny that Ayanami calls him “beautiful” cuz their character designs are kinda similar lol (hair-wise anyway) 

-I like that this volume sets up Teito’s long journey ahead. It’s been awhile since I’ve read such a long running manga so this feels pretty epic compared to what I’m used to (I’m not counting Cyborg 009 cuz that hardly had a continuous story). 

-Frau and Teito sing together! I forgot about that part. Too bad it probably won’t get animated :/ I’d love to hear their singing voices 

-Bastien being reincarnated as a tree is really beautiful. I wonder how this works though. Do things always get reborn nearby to where they die? Frau said he had to search for Mikage. I wouldn’t mind a side chapter or 4koma dedicated to this...

-Ch. 21- 

-Concepts introduced in this chapter: the God houses & the Emperor. Apparently the God houses choose the Pope and the Emperor who have equal power. The Pope secretly wants to revive the Raggs Kingdom. Kinda sounds like American politics...

-We find out that Shuri passed the begleiter exam which makes me wonder if he cheated/paid his way to success cuz the last time we saw him he was pretty pathetic. I bet we’ll run into him again...

-I’m realizing that 07 Ghost has a pretty similar plot structure to Avatar: Teito awakens to his powers, the Imperial folks are like the fire nation and Teito has to go on a pilgrimage to get strong and defeat them. 

-Ch. 22- 

-Okay the bishop’s exam feels a lot like the hunter exam from Hunter x Hunter. I’m willing to bet there was some inspiration there...

-Apparently they just let Teito bring his pet into the exam? (”He’s my emotional support dragon! ;A;”) 

-I would have failed on question on. Math is haaaard D: 

-Ch. 23- 

-So we finally learn the names of all of the ghosts: Zehel, Fest, Prophe, Landkarte, Relikt, Ea, Vertrag. Their symbols are very tattoo-worthy (ya know, if this series was good enough to get tattoed over...which it isn’t) Landkarte is apparently just German for map. It probably sounds a lot cooler to Japanese people cuz it sounds like a pretty dumb name to me lol 

-I liked the revelation that those closed off halls Teito fought Ayanami in were actually the exam room. Their weird architecture makes more sense now

[anoldfashionedlife]

COVID-19: Sunday, April 12

Easter.

I read an article from the February issue of 1843 about headphone use in public spaces: "Headphones have destroyed our sense of common purpose,” the author writes. "A bedlam of babble in a handful of headphones.” Now, I read everything in the context of a global emergency: if we can’t be together together, how can we be alone together.

I run to Times Square. I leave my house and run my normal route to and across the Manhattan Bridge. I run a few blocks down Canal to Broadway, where I turn right and head north. Broadway will take me all the way to Times Square where it meets 7th Avenue and a whole mess of other things. It's an arterial avenue that cuts through the city from bottom to top.

I run through SoHo, which is empty. SoHo hasn’t been a “cool” neighborhood for a long time, but it’s still popular with tourists. It’s also the closest neighborhood when I need something from a big brand like CB2 or Uniqlo and don’t want to pay for shipping or wait a few days for it to arrive.

I pause at Houston because I’ve always paused at Houston. There’s little traffic so I could cross, but it seems safer to wait for the signal. “Look both ways before crossing, even when crossing a one-way street.” Advice given to incoming freshman at NYU—patronizing and comical, but useful because bikes and assholes don’t always follow the traffic rules.

I get the signal to cross, and I cross to the median where I pause once more. Out of habit I wait for any cars turning onto Houston, not paying attention to pedestrians, but there aren’t any. Everybody has different criteria for “when you become a New Yorker.” For me it was the first time I didn’t hesitate to yell at a driver turning into me as I crossed the street: “Fuck you! I’m crossing here!"

I didn’t live in New York on September 11th—I was a sophomore in high school in suburban Indiana—but I’d read accounts of New Yorkers in the days after who came out into the streets for no other reason than to be with other people, to commiserate and to mourn. Union Square was one place where they'd congregate, not only because it was a public space but because it was the largest and closest public space to the World Trade Center not cordoned off by the NYPD.

When I approach Union Square I slow down to keep my distance from others, mostly people coming out of the Whole Foods. I cross 14th Street into the park and most of the people there are homeless men, sitting on park benches with no place to go.

On the north side of Union Square I run past a bucket drummer, a nuisance in normal times but now a sort-of beacon in a sea of silence. I can hear him all the way past 19th Street three blocks away, and if there wasn’t a light breeze I could probably hear him for another few blocks.

Between 22nd and 23rd the sidewalk widens. There is plenty of space, but I run into the street to keep as much distance from others as I can. As I pass between two parked cars I lock eyes with an Asian woman who, behind a mask, looks at me as though she’s caught her pre-teen son out with friends instead of staying home to study for the PSAT: disappointment mixed with anger.

Continuing up Broadway I skirt between the Flatiron Building and Madison Square Park. Broadway between Flatiron and the ACE Hotel is an interesting mix of Yuppie District—sweetgreen, Milk Bar, Opening Ceremony—and the 28th Street Flower and Bargain Districts, but everything is closed. I run past a homeless man huddled next to an access ramp and think about white flight. In the 50s and 60s we fled to the suburbs. Today we've fled to our apartments.

I run through Herald Square and notice that the garbage cans outside Macy’s are empty. Garbage cans in Manhattan are never empty; they’re almost always overflowing with the detritus of petty consumerism: plastic Starbucks iced coffee cups, Chick-fil-A sauce, Hop-On Hop-Off bus maps.

I think about one of my favorite bars in the city, it’s nearby: Keens is one of New York’s oldest steakhouses, but if you’re not eating there—which I’ve only done twice—you can still order a drink at the bar, and they mix a good Manhattan.

I continue up Broadway and run past security personnel guarding empty office buildings and police officers patrolling empty public spaces. I make it to Times Square, and I think to myself: there are too many people here. There aren’t many people, but it still seems like too many.

I read the displays. Disney says: “Thank you to all the healthcare workers and first responders around the world / We are grateful for you.” T-Mobile says: “Please practice social distancing.” American Eagle says: “We are in this together. We are stronger together.” Clear Media says: “Not all superheroes wear capes.” Sephora says: “To all the healthcare, emergency, and social workers: \ You have our immense gratitude \ Thank you. \ We belong to something beautiful.” Green Giant says: “To all on the frontlines, you are the true giants.” Below the ball-drop is an impressive four-piece vertical public service display: “PL \ EA \ SE \ Practice \ social \ distancing \ & help \ save \ lives. \ cdc.gov/covid19 \ Prevent the spread of germs \ Please \ Stay \ Home \ When \ You \ Are \ Sick \ Prevent the spread of germs \ cdc.gov/covid19.” Amazon advertises a new album from The Strokes called The New Normal. #nystrong

What isn’t missing from Times Square is the guy who walks around carrying an “end is near” sign: “Because of sin Noah’s ark was built. No one believed him. Flood came—they perished. End is near. Judgement day is coming. Repent today. Confess Jesus as Lord and Savior. Only way to heaven.” That he isn't at whatever off-brand church he belongs to on Easter makes his message a bit less convincing.

I think about another one of my favorite bars in the city: Jimmy’s Corner, an old-school bar with boxing memorabilia covering the walls. You’d think in a place like Times Square it was actually owned by Yum! Brands or something, but you can find Jimmy there most nights.

I leave Times Square and run east on 42nd Street. Bryant Park is utterly empty. No homeless men, no vagabonds. Nobody except me and a park employee tending to the garbage cans, replacing one empty bag with another.

The emptiness isn’t surprising, but I should explain why. Since its inception the Bryant Park Corporation has been particularly aggressive in keeping out undesirables. First by removing park benches and adding metal tables and chairs. William H. Whyte, an urbanist in the 1970s, championed them as giving park users a semblance of agency in public space without actually providing it.

More importantly, removing park benches eliminated a surface on which homeless people could sleep. Over time, more and more features were added: upscale food for sale, movie nights on the lawn in the summer, a skating rink in the winter, Fashion Week. Sharon Zukin describes it as “pacification by cappuccino.”

Urban thinkers and advocates have been asking this question for years: Who’s city is this anyway?

I run a few blocks east to Grand Central. Once inside I don’t break pace as I run down the ramp towards the main concourse. For some reason this doesn’t strike me as unusual until I reach the main concourse. Shocked, I stop and take in the sight of an empty, cavernous space normally brimming with activity: commuters catching a train upstate if they don’t live in the city, the subway if they do; tourists careening their necks up to the ceiling painted with the constellations; me grabbing a drink at The Oyster Bar or Campbell’s Apartment, just because.

I’m lucky that my friends and family haven’t been infected by coronavirus; the hardest thing so far has been weeks of quarantine. I haven’t cried during this pandemic—I’m no “boys don’t cry” kind of boy, but doing so seems like an admission that things won’t resemble “normal” for quite some time. But standing here, taking in the sight of my city hollowing out like this, I tear up.

I turn around and run back home. I run down Madison Avenue to Madison Square Park. I turn left onto 23rd Street and then right onto Park Avenue South. Left onto 18th Street, right onto 3rd Avenue, left onto 12th Street, right onto 2nd Avenue. I cross Houston and take Forsyth to the Manhattan Bridge back to Brooklyn.

Back home I put a bottle of sparkling wine in the freezer, but it doesn’t fit because it’s full of frozen food, so I put it in my oversized ice bucket that once graced the tables and suites at the Waldorf Astoria. I bought it salvage a while back and don’t use it as often as I’d like: it fits two bottles comfortably, but one bottle looks silly, like a kid wearing his dad’s tuxedo jacket. I was hoping it’d be a fixture of backyard barbecues this summer, but that seems unlikely.

For dinner I make Ethiopian food. The doro wat turns out quite well, but the injera that’s been fermenting for a few days is an utter failure. I eat the stew with rice.

[psyentifically-minded]

The heros of the Sumerian mythology are as follows:

Atrahasis (Utnapishitim): Atrahasis was a wise man warned by the sea God Enki of an impending flood disaster causing Atrahasis to build an ark with his family carrying seeds and animals with him, the sky God Enlil who ordered the flood is initially enraged that Atrahasis and his family have survived but makes Atrahasis and his wife immortal agreeing to deal with mankind in kinder ways in the future. In later myths the hero-king Gilgamesh seeks Atrahasis out seeking to learn the secrets of immortality.

Adapa: Adapa was an Apkallu of the sea and servant of the sea God Enki. Adapa was the first of the seven Apkallu sages sent by Enlil and Enki to teach humanity, Adapa taught religious practices and observances. Adapa broke the wings of the wind Goddess Ninlil in a dispute after Ninlil had overturned Adapa’s fishing boat, as consequence Adapa was summoned before the Anunnaki to answer for his crimes, he had been warned by the God Ea to be humble and appologise but not to eat any of the food in the realm of the Gods as it would be the food of death however unknown to Adapa, moved by his humility the Gods offered Adapa the life giving food of immortality which he refused heading Ea’s advice.

Bine: Bine was a carpenter who made wings for demons out of the souls they had collected so that the demons could ascend from hell. Eventually Bine was made a guardian of the underworld. This is one of the earliest mythologies describing demons as collectors of souls.

Dimuzid - The Shepherd: (Often confused with another Sumerian King - Dimuzid the fisherman) Dimuzid was king of Sumeria who was said to have ruled for 36,000 years he would later also have been deified as the vegetation God Tammuz. After Ishtar is freed from the underworld she is accompanied by an unwanted entourage of Gallu demons who insist on taking a notable person back to the underworld in her place by way of equal exchange, a soul for a soul. Ishtar manages to disuade them from taking the rulers of Umma abd Bad-tibira who are poverty stricken, however when arriving in Uruk they find Dimuzid lives in luxary, not mourning his wife Ishtar’s absence and flirting with courtesans, the Gallu immediately sieze him and Ishtar gives him over to them as her substitute, the Gallu proceed to violate Dimuzid but he escapes to the home of his sister Ngeshtin-ana (Geshtinanna). The demons persue Dimuzid there and eventually find him hiding in a pasture where they drag him back to the underworld of Irkalla. In a different account Dimuzid dreams he will be killed and his sister informs him it is prophecy as soon as she says this Gallu demons arrive for him and he escapes from them several times before arriving at the house of old woman Bilulu where he is killed. In some versions Bilulu is a courtesan of Dimuzid and she is killed by Ishtar out of jealousy.

Enkidu: Often depicted as bull-headed Enkidu is a wildman created by Enki to curb Gilgamesh’s arrogance for Enkidu was as strong as Gilgamesh. Enkidu is seduced by the Hierodule (sacred temple prostitute) Shamhat under the order of Gilgamesh and is bought into society where he wrestles with Gilgamesh over the way Gilgamesh mistreats his subjects, he then convinces Gilgamesh to go on an adventure to kill the demon Humbaba. Enkidu also travels to the underworld to retrieve items Gilgamesh drops there where he becomes a shade telling Gilgamesh of the horrors of the afterlife or is otherwise struck dead after being cursed for killing the bull of heaven, in any case the death of Enkidu spurs Gilgamesh to seek out a means of becoming immortal.

Gilgamesh: Gilgamesh (as depicted in the above image) was the king of Uruk and was said to be one-third divine gifted with incredible strength (nephilim), Gilgamesh was a tyrant and was known to exhaust men with games, tests of strength and forced labour while oppressing women by forcing them to sleep with him on their wedding night. The people called out to the Gods who created Enkidu as equal to Gilgamesh in strength. A trapper spots Enkidu who is causing him issues and tells Gilgamesh who in turn sends the hierodule Shamhat to seduce Enkidu, after sleeping with him for several days Shamhat brings Enkidu to a shepherd camp to learn to be civilised, here Enkidu is introduced to a human diet and becomes the night watchman. Learning from a passing stranger about Gilgamesh’s treatment of new brides, Enkidu is enraged and travels to Uruk to intervene at a wedding. When Gilgamesh attempts to visit the wedding chamber Enkidu blocks his path and the two fight. After a fierce battle Enkidu acknowledges Gilgamesh’s superior strength and the two become friends, they agree to a journey to the cedar forest to slay the demonic demi-god Humbaba in order to gain fame and renown. The pair are warned by the council of elders and Gilgamesh visits his mother the Goddess Ninsun who graunts the protection of the sun God Shamash for their quest. Ninsun adopts Enkidu as her son and Gilgamesh leaves instructions for the governing of Uruk in his absence. Gilgamesh and Enkidu journey to the cedar forest and every few days camp on a mountain to perform a dream ritual. Gilgamesh has terrifying dreams about falling mountains, thunderstorms, wild bulls and a thunder bird that breaths fire, despite similarities between these dream figures and the demon Humbaba, Enkidu interprets these dreams as good omens and denies that they represent the forest guardian so as to ease Gilgamesh’s fear. As they approach the cedar woods they hear Hubaba bellowing and have to encourage eachother not to be afraid. As they enter Humbaba threatens and insults them, he accuses Enkidu of betrayal and vows to dismember Gilgamesh and feed his entrails to birds. Gilgamesh and Enkidu charge at Humbaba, the mountains shake, the sky turns black and the sun God Shamash sends 13 winds to bind Humbaba capturing him. Humbaba pleads for his life and Gilgamesh pities him, Enkidu however is enraged and tells Gilgamesh to kill the beast. Humbaba curses them both before Gilgamesh kills him with a blow to the neck. The two then cut down many cedar trees including a gigantic tree that Enkidu plans to fashion into a gate for the temple of Enlil. They build a raft and return home along the Euphrates with the giant tree and the head of Humbaba. Gilgamesh and Enkidu then come across the Goddess Ishtar who is weeping over a tree she has planted that is inhabbited by evil spirits, Gilgamesh drives these forces out and to show thanks Ishtar fashions him a “Pukku” and “Mikku” (probably a drum and drumstick) out of the tree. Ishtar then attempts to seduce Gilgamesh who rebukes her speaking of the lovers she has abused. Furious Ishtar asks the sky God Anu to unleash the bull of heaven Gugulana on them. Gilgamesh drops loses his Pukku and Mikku in the underworld where Enkidu travels to reclaim them in some myths Enkidu becomes a shade telling Gilgamesh of the horrors of the underworld before fading away while in others the Gods open the underworld to allow Enkidu to return and tell Gilgamesh of his terrible experiences. Ishtar leads Gugulana to Uruk where it causes destruction drying up the Euphrates river and surrounding marshland and creating a pit that swallows 300 men. Enkidu and Gilgamesh slay the bull which the Gods then place into the heavens as the constellation of Taurus. They offer the heart of the bull up to the sun God Shamash and Ishtar wails causing Enkidu to throw a remnant of the bull at her. Enkidu then has prophetic dreams that a terrible bird will carry him to the underworld and the Gods curse him to die....

[mint-moon25]

LONG - STEMMED - ROSES - QUITE -

BEAUTIFUL - 2 - REMEMBER - OUR -

BIBLE HUB.COM - FREE - ISAIAH 61 -

2 - REV'D - '2 - COMFORT - ALL WHO -

MOURN - AND - PROVIDE - 4 THOSE -

GRIEVE - IN - GOD'S - CITY - ZION - 2 -

BESTOW - ON - THEM - A - CROWN -

OF - BEAUTY - INSTEAD OF ASHES -

THE - OIL - OF - JOY - INSTEAD OF -

MOURNING - AND - A - GARMENT -

OF - PRAISE - INSTEAD - OF - A -

SPIRIT - OF - DESPAIR' - WHEN -

GRIEVING - 2 - THINK - OF THE -

PERSON - MORE - THAN - HOW -

WE'RE - AFFECTED - SULLI - HANGED -

HERSELF - 2ND - FLOOR - OF - HER KR -

HOUSE - FOUND - BY - MANAGER THE -

NEXT - DAY - NO - WORK - LAWS - YES -

OF - KOREA - ESPECIALLY - CONTRACT -

SHOWBUSINESS - OF - SEOUL - SNOW -

GARMENT - OF - PRAISE - DURING THE -

MOMENTS - OF - GRIEF - PRAISE SULLI -

DURING - THAT - TIME - HER - SINGING -

SHE - LEFT - AT - YOUTUBE - THE NICE -

BOY - LOOKS - WHEN - PRETENDING - 2 -

B - ONE - KOREAN DRAMA - PRAISE -

HER - ACTING - MANY - OF - THOSE -

YOUTUBE - MUSIC - VIDEOS - NOT -

ALLOWED - 2 B - SHARED - AT YES -

TUMBLR - WHY - SULLI - HANGED -

HERSELF - KOREAN - CONTROL - AS -

OVER - 1 MILLION - YEARS - OF PURE -

MURDER - ROBBERIES - 5,000 YEARS -

ANCIENT - CHINA - VERY - VIOLENT 2 -

POOR - LIKE - KOREA - SO - DURING -

GRIEF - PRAISE - MORE - OIL OF JOY -

LITERALLY - OIL - THAT - BRINGS - U -

JOY - ORANGE - OIL - MADE - IN YES -

CHINA - OR - BRAZIL - JETSTREAM -

BATHTUBS - REGULAR - CUT - YES -

ORANGES - PLACE - ON BATH AND -

POUR - ORANGE - OIL AS U BATHE -

VICTORIA SECRET - HAS - EXPENSIVE -

CANDLE - POMEGRANATE AND LOTUS -

THEIR - LOTIONS - BODY - SPRAYS - IT -

ALWAYS - GETS - ME - POODLES AND -

SMALL - DOGS - LICKING - MY - LEGS -

BAYFRONT - PARK - PUBLIX GROCERY -

BRICKELL - CITY CENTRE - MALL -

EIGHT STREET EXIT - I'M ALWAYS -

LICKED - BY - SMALL - DOGS WITH -

THEIR - BODY - SPRAY - AWESOME -

SCENT - WAIT - UNTIL - SALES YES -

PLURGE - ON - POMEGRANATE AND -

LOTUS - PUT - THAT - CANDLE - ON -

WITH - ORANGE - OIL AND ORANGE -

SLICES - ON - JETSTREAM - BATHS -

ALWAYS - BIBLE - MY - SCREAMING -

JONGHYUN'S - NAME - HAS - TRULY -

DECREASED - WHILE - RAINING HAI -

WE - MISS - GOO HARA - ALSO YES -

BUT - AS - WE - REMEMBER - I HAI -

LIKE - ALL - THE - FLOWERS - OF -

SEOUL - 4 - OUR - DEPARTED XO -

I - LIKE - THE - DANCING - JAPAN -

IN - HAWAII - DOES - 4 - THEIR XO -

DEPARTED - THEY WEAR - JAPANESE -

CLOTHES - AND - DANCE - IT'S - VERY -

BEAUTIFUL - I - LOVE - JAPAN - AND -

OTHER - ASIAN - COUNTRIES - AS XO -

THEY - SEND - PRETTY - LANTERNS -

IN - THE - WATER - SO - VERY - NICE -

WHAT - MAKATI - VILLAGES - WORLD -

OUTSIDE USA - PHILIPPINE REPUBLIC -

TAX - FREE - OURS - WILL - BE - THE -

NEW - NATIONAL DANCE - TAHITIAN -

PERFORMANCES - CHANGING - THE -

ATTIRE - WE - SPEAK - BY - DANCE -

SPEAK - BY - HANDS - LEGS - FEET -

TAHITIAN - JAPAN - DANCES - FOR -

THEIR - DEPARTED - WE'RE - TRUE -

CHANGING - OUR - DANCES - 2 BE -

TAHITIAN - IN - THE - DANCE FLOOR -

PAY - PER - DANCE - AS - GIRLS AND -

BOYS - COUPLE - OR - GROUPS - YES -

PAY - EACH - DANCE - KIDS - COINS -

ACCEPTED - WE - GIVE - MONEY TO -

THEIR - SURVIVORS - HEIRS - THEIR -

FAMILIES - IF - THEY - LIKE - THEM -

POTLUCK - OR - PAY - 4 - ALL - YOU -

CAN - EAT - DONATE - THE - FOOD -

AND - ENCOURAGING - FRUIT - DISPLAY -

CARVINGS - OF - FRUIT - OR - LIKE - THE -

'BRATZ' - FILM - THE - CREATIONS - OF -

EDIBLE - ARRANGEMENTS.COM - YES -

EDIBLE.COM - EDIBLE - FRUITS - WILL -

HAVE - LAVISH - DISPLAY - SWEET XO -

ONLY - FR - MOSO - BAMBOO - AS WE -

SELL - THOSE - FRUITS - 4 - THEIR -

HEIRS - MORE - PERFORMANCES -

OF - TAHITIAN - DANCE - AND YES -

WHAT - WE - EXCEL - IN - A NIGHT -

FR - LUNCH - OF - SINGING - AND -

SINGING - AND - WE - SING SO XO -

WELL - SOMETIMES - 3 DAYS - OF -

MOURNING - 2 - HELP - THEIR YES -

FINANCES - 3 DAYS - OF - TAHITIAN -

SINGING - ALL - U - CAN - EAT YES -

BANQUETS - NOT - FREE - PLUS EA -

NIGHT - WE - WILL - RAISE - OUR -

NOT - FIRE - BUT - MORE SOLAR -

SEND - LANTERNS - 2 - THE SKY -

NOT - FIRE - SEND - LANTERNS -

2 - THE - WATERS - BUT - COOL -

ONES - LANTERNS - THAT - WON'T -

HURT - ENVIRONMENT AND WATER -

WE - WILL - PROVIDE - LANTERNS -

PAY - PER - LANTERN - 4 - FINEST -

ART - BUY - 4 - YOURSELVES - AS -

SOUVENIRS - 4 - KIDS - THAT YES -

DON'T - DO - TAHITIAN - DANCE - YET -

WELL - LIKE - DISNEY'S - FILM - LOVE -

'MOANA' - WE - WILL - HAVE - OUR -

KIDS - DANCING - TAHITIAN - WELL -

IN - FUTURE - WE'RE - WEARING - 2 -

COSTUME - FLOWERS - ON OUR -

FOREHEADS - LIKE - 'MOANA' - 2 -

MAKATI - VILLAGES - WILL - B - LIKE -

'CROODS' - 'CROODS 2' - ANIMATED 2 -

GOING - BACK - 2 - OUR - PHILIPPINE -

PASTS - OUR - COTTONS - OUR - YES -

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[ladymalstroem]

On Bioware games and female players

Expanding on that last bioware post regarding Anthem being a co-op game. 

One big aspect of this whole thing that I sadly think is going to be neglected in the more mainstream gaming press is how this potentially affects the female playerbase. Keep in mind that the following is based on anecdotes and personal observations, but this is just a blog post on tumblr, so take it with a grain of salt I guess. Under a cut because holy shit this got long.

I’ve been on Tumblr since 2011, and it’s become very clear to me that Bioware games are hugely popular with women. We’re not the core audience (only about 18% played female Shepard in the ME trilogy), but we’re a significant part of it. I’ve seen several women of all ages initially get into gaming through Bioware, from teenagers to mothers in their 40′s and 50′s. In a male dominated industry and community where gameplay skill and owning the hardware is required to take part, in order to get women to play your game it is crucial that you actively invite them. David Gaider’s GDC talk from a few years back is a great take on how Bioware did so through narrative and design choices. Something as simple as letting you play as a woman goes a long way, and then expanding upon it like bioware has done (through letting you play as different sexualities with different romance options, letting you customize your appearance, having storylines that focus on characters and interpersonal problems in a fantasy or sci-fi setting, etc) makes the invitation even clearer. 

Added to that, while old-school tactical RPGs may have felt inaccessible to new players, the more stripped down cinematic action-RPG genre that Bioware developed with their newer titles is forgiving enough for someone who hasn’t built up decades of gaming literacy, something that often applies to women as we’ve historically been excluded from the gaming community as a whole. 

The third aspect of this is the single player focus. Single player allows you to play at your own pace and learn as you go. You can explore the mechanics and story as much or as little as you like, you can prioritize the things that interest you and ignore the things that don’t. You never have an obligation to anyone else to perform well or keep up the pace. The gaming community has long had a problem with how female players are treated, and many women prefer to stay completely away from multiplayer for this reason. Even in MP games that make an effort to invite us, like Overwatch, you constantly see women who are afraid to talk in comms because they don’t want to be harassed. I’ve been in a pretty big discord server for female gamers for a while now, and you see this sentiment all the time. Statistically we have less experience, and therefore less confidence in our abilities. Even though many women enjoy MP and will play it often, many consider SP to be a less stressfull experience, somewhere they can escape to and play safely in.

For me, as an ESL kid growing up, I didn’t realise how powerful a story-driven game could be until I became a little older and learned english. I had my fun with games before that, but it was when I picked up Jade Empire at 13 that I really got spellbound by a game from the first time. I was lucky, in that I had a dad and older brother who introduced me to games and were supportive of me pursuing it as a hobby. A lot of women come into it later, because they never had something like that growing up, back when games were exclusively marketed towards boys. 

Bioware has been a unique voice in the AAA industry in terms of representing women, LGBT people and people of color. They’ve had to face a lot of bullshit accusations for it, and sometimes their effort to please hasn’t resulted in the best situations, but nonetheless their games resonate strongly with women. Women are largely the ones taking active part in the creative fandom, the ones who spend countless hours writing fanfic and drawing fanart for the games, coordinating community events, the ones who will replay the games over and over because there are no other experiences out there like them.

This isn’t to say that women won’t enjoy Anthem, or are too frail to seek out experiences where we’re not the target audience, but many of us have a deep attatchment to the kind of specific character-driven single player RPGs that Bioware is known for. With Mass Effect on ice and the Montreal team severely downsized, that’s one of their SP franchises down. We can’t know for certain anymore that Bioware will continue to produce the kind of SP experiences that gained them its large female fanbase in the first place. 

Anthem being a multiplayer game may alienate a lot of RPG fans, not just women. But women may have even more reason to feel like they’re losing something important to them, given Bioware’s role in introducing so many of us to gaming in the first place, telling us that our preferences and tastes matter in an industry where we’re often ridiculed and ignored. Maybe Bioware wants to move in a different direction genre-wise, or maybe EA wants some of that Destiny cash, and none of us really have a right to say that they can’t do what they want. But the fact that so many are speaking up in near mourning over this is a testament to how invested we are in Bioware’s games. We can find similar games in the indie scene, of course. But that still puts us on the fringes of the bigger gaming industry, whereas Bioware as a triple-A developer would typically put us and our wishes front and centre, without shame or judgement. They made massive progress in including us as a wanted and respected demographic in gaming, but this shift towards multiplayer feels like they, as so many other developers, are now going for the common denominator audience to make some long term money instead of continuing in their carefully built up niche.

I hope Anthem turns out to be good because I don’t want Bioware to downsize even more. I’ll be watching the development with cautious optimism, because I might be totally wrong about the game’s focus and story (and I really hope I am). These are just my thoughts after having seen what little there is of Anthem so far.

[easportsufc2pcdownload-blog]

EA Sports UFC 2

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This post contains frank discussion of Game of Thrones up through Season 7, Episode 7, The Dragon and the Wolf.” If you are EA Sports UFC 2 not caught up with the season finale, now is the time to leave. If writing a season of television worthy of the story Martin began can be considered success, then Game of Thrones' seventh season was a failure. Faced with the immense challenge of being stewards of his work, showrunners David EA Sports UFC 2 Benioff and Dan Weiss have been unable to recreate the magic that turned Game of Thrones into such a phenomenon EA Sports UFC 2 PC Download. That doesn't mean it's a total loss for fans. While the show's quality has dropped significantly, it's still fun for anyone who wants to see big-budget battles while this story reaches some sort of conclusion. This is also good for another reason: Now fans have even more incentive to read how Martin is going to finish this story-if he ever does.

Best of all though was Cersei's meeting with Tyrion: a tense confrontation layered over with past lies and bitter regrets, and beautifully acted by Peter Dinklage and Lena Headey. He admitted that he mourned the deaths of her younger children, even as she could not quite bring herself to have her little brother struck once and for all from her path.

In comparison to last week's episode, where a number of the conversations felt forced and carelessly written, tonight was full of moments of genuine power, from Jon's brief chat with Theon - You're a Greyjoy and a Stark” - to Jaime's bleak realisation that his sister had lied one final, devastating time, promising help that she had no intention of giving, and agreeing to a meeting with Daenerys and her followers that was never more than a hollow farce, given that the Golden Company were already paid for and Euron in on the plot.

Dany and Jon became a thing - check. Jon's parentage was confirmed, along with his status as the heir to the throne - check. Littlefinger was punished for his crimes as the Starks reconciled - check. The Night King used Zombie Viserion to breach the Wall - check. Cersei made her own plan rather than join forces with her enemies - check.

Gilly (Hannah Murray) nearly confirmed Rhaegar and Lyanna were married earlier in Season 7 , but was frustratingly cut EA Sports UFC 2 PC Download off before she could say Lyanna's name. This time, it was Sam (John Bradley) and Bran (Isaac Hempstead-Wright) who uncovered the truth.

The show had already laid the groundwork for the twist with a more cathartic reveal last season when Bran time-traveled to the Tower of Joy, where his father Ned, then a young man, sat beside Lyanna on the bloody bed where she'd just given birth. On the verge of death, she made her brother promise to take care of her son, and some on-the-nose camera work - cutting from the face of the infant to that of Jon Snow - instantly cleared up who the baby became.

[targonian-a-blog]

REQUIEM.

because literally no one asked below the cut, i have written out a transcript of the requiem’s lyrics, a rough translation by yours truly (one that is probably a bit inaccurate), and a brief summary of how each part fits in with the exile arc of taric’s life. 

1 . REQUIEM.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion, et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem. Exaudi orationem meam, ad te omnis caro veniet.  Requiem aeternam dona ets, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.  Kyrie eleison.  Christe eleison.  Kyrie eleison.

(grant them eternal rest, my lord may perpetual light shine on them. you, my god, are praised in Sion and unto thee, the vow shall be performed in Jerusalem. heed my call, and all flesh shall come to thee.  have mercy on us, christ, have mercy on us have mercy upon us.)

this could represent taric’s realization that he let his allies die, and that he hopes their slaughter does not turn them away from their promised peaceful afterlife. not only that, but taric is coming to terms with the fact that this is most likely all his fault. he just wants them to be at peace. 

2 . DIES IRAE

Dies irae, dies illa  Solvet saeclum in favilla, Teste David cum Sibylla. Quantus tremor est futurus Quando judex est venturus Cuncta stricte discussurus. 

(day of wrath, that day the earth will disolve into ashes, as David and the Sibyl bear witness. what tremor shall be made when the judge ventures forth to examine all.)

recalling the events of the day taric’s life as he knew it ended is rather difficult, though i feel as though this is a pretty good general description. note the part where the world dissolves / turns to ash. 

3 . TUBA MIRUM

Tuba mirum spargens sonum Per sepulcra regionum Coget omnes ante thronum. Mors slopebit et natora Cum resurget creatura Judicanti responsura.Liber scriptus proferetur In quo totum continetur, Unde mundus judicetur. Judex ergo cum sedebit Quidquid latet apparebit, Nil inultum remanebit. Quid sum miser tunc dicturus, Quem patronum togaturus, Cum vix justus sit securus?

(a trumpet, spreading marvelous sound through the graves of all lands, will drive mankind before the throne. death and nature shall be astonished when all creation rises again to answer to the Judge. a book, written in, will be brought forth in which is contained everything that is, out of which the world shall be judged. when therefore the Judge takes His seat whatever is hidden will reveal itself. nothing will remain unavenged. what then shall I say, wretch that I am, what advocate entreat to speak for me, when even the righteous may hardly be secure?)

taric’s exile. demacian justice. i don’t feel like i need to say more. 

4 . REX TREMENDAE

Rex tremendae majestatis, Qui salvandos salvas gratis, Salve me, fons pietatis. 

(mighty king, your majesty he who saves the redeemed save me, o save me, your greatness.)

as taric’s world fell apart around him and he set out for targon, he did all that he could do - he prayed that he would return to his former glory, and avenge his allies. 

5 . RECORDARE

Recordare, Jesu pie, Quod sum causa tuae viae, Ne me perdas ilia die.  Quaerens me sedisti lassus, Redemisti crucem passus, Tamus labor non sit cassus.  Juste judex ultionis Donum fac remissionis Ante diem rationis.  lngemisco tamquam reus, Culpa rubet vultus meus, Supplicanti parce, Deus.  Qui Mariam absolvisti Et latronem exaudisti, Mihi quoque spem dedisti. Preces meae non sum dignae, Sed tu bonus fac benigne, Ne perenni cremet igne.  Inter oves locurn praesta, Et ab haedis me sequestra, Statuens in parle dextra. 

(remember, blessed one, that i am the cause of your path, do not forsake me on that day.  seeking me wearily, you took your place, you redeemed me, suffering death on the cross.  do not let your sacrifice be in vain.  just and avenging judge, grant redemption before the day of reckoning.  i utter the cry of a repentant man.  guilt reddens my face.  spare me with your mercy, oh god.  you who has redeemed all others and called out to the lowly, you have given me hope.  my prayers are not worthy, but your mercy and goodness decree that i will not burn in everlasting fire.  place me among your sheep and separate me from the goats, setting me on your right hand.)

i see this as a sort of internal conversation between taric and the protector, during the time that he was being imbued with its powers. taric begs for forgiveness, and repents for his actions that lead to the death of many innocent men. the protector - the force that taric has been praying to - has begun to set him upon the path of redemption and salvation.  

6 . CONFUTATIS

Confutatis maledictis Flammis acribus addictis, Voca me cum benedictis.  Oro supplex et acclinis, Cor contritum quasi cinis, Gere curam mei finis.

(when the guilty have been purged and given over to the flames, call me with the blessed. i pray in supplication on my knees, my heart heavy with guilt, safeguard my fate.)

taric sees what the world will come to without his intervention; one where the void has taken over, and slaughtered the people of the land. seeing this, he vows to fulfill his duty as the protector, even if he is not entirely sure of what his duties are. the protector’s powers have brought a dead man back to the brink, yet they can take away that gift just as easily; when his duty is done, taric will succumb to the fate that the gods have put off.  when the void’s corruption has been purged, he shall be called to the mountain to die; his fate has been sealed. 

7 . LACRYMOSA

Lacrimosa dies ilia Qua resurget ex favilla Judicandus homo reus.  Huic ergo parce, Deus, Pie Jesu Domine, Dona eis requiem.

(my tears mourn the day when they rose from the dust, adjudicating mankind. spare them, god,  oh merciful ruler, grant them rest.)

similar to passage 2, this could be a description of the day the void slaughtered his men. once again, he is seeking redemption for his actions, and a peaceful rest for the deceased. this continues on through several parts. 

8 . DOMINE JESU

Domine, Jesu Christe, Rex gloriae, libera animas omniurn fidelium defunctorum de poenis inferni, et de prof undo lacu: libera cas de ore leonis, ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum, sed signifer sanctus Michael repraesentet eas in lucem sanctam, quam olim Abrahae promisisti et semini ejus. 

(lord jesus christ, merciful king, protect the souls of the deceased from the infernal flames and ravines of hell. remove them from the jaws of the lion. do not let them succumb to the darkness, or be corrupted by the void.  let st. Michael lead them into the light that you had once promised to your spawn.)

see above passages. 

9 . HOSTIAS

Hostias et preces, tibi, Domine, laudis offerimus: tu suscipe pro animabus illis, quarum hodie memoriam facimus: fac eas, Domine, de morte Iransire ad vitam, quam olim Abrahae promisisti et semini ejus.

(they offer their sacrifice to you, of both prayer and praise. receive it for those souls who we commemorate today. Allow them, my lord, to cross from death into the life which you had once promised to man and his seed.)

see above passages. 

10 . SANCTUS

Sanctus. Sanctus, Sanctus, Dominus Deus Sabaoth! Pleni suni coeli et terra gloria tua.  Osanna in excelsis.

(holy, holy, holy, my lord, god of sabaoth. heaven and earth are full of your light. hosanna in the highest.)

for this verse and the next, i feel as though taric would be coming to terms with his newfound goals and aspirations; he can redeem this world, and protect others from the cruel grasp of fate - he can bring forth light into the void’s corruption. 

11 . BENEDICTUS

Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini. Osanna in excelsis. 

(blessed are the harbingers of his word hosanna in the highest.)

see above passage. 

12 . AGNUS DEI

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem.  Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem sempiternam. Lux aeterna luceat eis, Domine, cum sanctis mis in aeternum, quia pius es.  Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis, cum sanetis tuis in aeternum, quia plus es.

(lamb of god, who banishes the shadows, grant them rest.  lamb of god, who banishes the sinners, grant them everlasting rest and eternal light, alongside your saints forever, as you are merciful. grant them eternal peace alongside your saints  and your mercy, forever.)

for one last time, taric wishes for his allies’ safe passage into the afterlife. perhaps, at this point, the savior he is talking about is himself; he now has the power and the motivation to truly avenge the fallen. 

[readbookywooks]

Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor

It is told that after the flight of Melkor the Valar sat long unmoved upon their thrones in the Ring of Doom; but they were not idle, as Feanor declared in the folly of his heart. For the Valar may work many things with thought rather than with hands, and without voices in silence they may hold council one with another. Thus they held vigil in the night of Valinor, and their thought passed back beyond Ea and forth to the End; yet neither power nor wisdom assuaged their grief, and the knowing of evil in the hour of its being. And they mourned not more for the death of the Trees than for the marring of Feanor: of the works of Melkor one of the most evil. For Feanor was made the mightiest in all parts of body and mind, in valour, in endurance, in beauty, in understanding, in skill, in strength and in subtlety alike, of all the Children of Iluvatar, and a bright flame was in him. The works of wonder for the glory of Arda that he might otherwise have wrought only Manwe might in some measure conceive. And it was told by the Vanyar who held vigil with the Valar that when the messengers declared to Manwe the answers of Feanor to his heralds, Manwe wept and bowed his head. But at that last word of Feanor: that at the least the Noldor should do deeds to live in song for ever, he raised his head, as one that hears a voice far off, and he said: 'So shall it be! Dear-bought those songs shall be accounted, and yet shall be well-bought. For the price could be no other. Thus even as Eru spoke to us shall beauty not before conceived be brought into Ea, and evil yet be good to have been.' But Mandos said: 'And yet remain evil. To me shall Feanor come soon.' But when at last the Valar learned that the Noldor had indeed passed out of Aman and were come back into Middle-earth, they arose and began to set forth in deeds those counsels which they had taken in thought for the redress of the evils of Melkor. Then Manwe bade Yavanna and Nienna to put forth all their powers of growth and healing; and they put forth all their powers upon the Trees. But the tears of Nienna availed not to heal their mortal wounds; and for a long while Yavanna sang alone in the shadows. Yet even as hope failed and her song faltered, Telperion bore at last upon a leafless bough one great flower of silver, and Laurelin a single trait of gold. These Yavanna took; and then the Trees died, and their lifeless stems stand yet in Valinor, a memorial of vanished joy. But the flower and the fruit Yavanna gave to Aule, and Manwe hallowed them, and Aule and his people made vessels to hold them and preserve their radiance: as is said in the Narsilion, the Song of the Sun and Moon. These vessels the Valar gave to Varda, that they might become lamps of heaven, outshining the ancient stars, being nearer to Arda; and she gave them power to traverse the lower regions of Ilmen, and set them to voyage upon appointed courses above the girdle of the Earth from the West unto the East and to return. These things the Valar did, recalling in their twilight the darkness of the lands of Arda; and they resolved now to illumine Middle-earth and with light to hinder the deeds of Melkor. For they remembered the Avari that remained by the waters of their awakening, and they did not utterly forsake the Noldor in exile; and Manwe knew also that the hour of the coming of Men was drawn nigh. And it is said indeed that, even as the Valar made war upon Melkor for the sake of the Quendi, so now for that time they forbore for the sake of the Hildor, the Aftercomers, the younger Children of Iluvatar. For so grievous had been the hurts of Middle-earth in the war upon Utumno that the Valar feared lest even worse should now befall; whereas the Hildor should be mortal, and weaker than the Quendi to withstand fear and tumult. Moreover it was not revealed to Manwe where the beginning of Men should be, north, south, or east. Therefore the Valar sent forth light, but made strong the land of their dwelling. Isil the Sheen the Vanyar of old named the Moon, flower of Telperion in Valinor; and Anar the Fire-golden, fruit of Laurelin, they named the Sun. But the Noldor named them also Rana, the Wayward, and Vasa, the Heart of Fire, that awakens and consumes; for the Sun was set as a sign for the awakening of Men and the waning of the Elves, but the Moon cherishes their memory. The maiden whom the Valar chose from among the Maiar to guide the vessel of the Sun was named Arien, and he that steered the island of the Moon was Tilion. In the days of the Trees Arien had tended the golden flowers in the gardens of Vana, and watered them with the bright dews of Laurelin; but Tilion was a hunter of the company of Orome, and he had a silver bow. He was a lover of silver, and when he would rest he forsook the woods of Orome, and going into Lorien he lay hi dream by the pools of Este, in Telperion's flickering beams; and he begged to be given the task of tending for ever the last Flower of Silver. Arien the maiden was mightier than he, and she was chosen because she had not feared the heats of Laurelin, and was unhurt by them, being from the beginning a spirit of fire, whom Melkor had not deceived nor drawn to his service. Too bright were the eyes of Arien for even the Eldar to look on, and leaving Valinor she forsook the form and raiment which like the Valar she had worn there, and she was as a naked flame, terrible in the fullness of her splendour. Isil was first wrought and made ready, and first rose into the realm of the stars, and was the elder of the new lights, as was Telperion of the Trees. Then for a while the world had moonlight, and many things stirred and woke that had waited long in the sleep of Yavanna. The servants of Morgoth were filled with amazement, but the Elves of the Outer Lands looked up in delight; and even as the Moon rose above the darkness in the west, Fingolfin let blow his silver trumpets and began his march into Middle-earth, and the shadows of his host went long and black before them. Tilion had traversed the heaven seven times, and thus was m the furthest east, when the vessel of Arien was made ready. Then Anar arose in glory, and the first dawn of the Sun was like a great fire upon the towers of the Pelori: the clouds of Middle-earth were kindled, and there was heard the sound of many waterfalls. Then indeed Morgoth was dismayed, and he descended into the uttermost depths of Angband, and withdrew his servants, sending forth great reek and dark cloud to hide his land from the light of the Day-star. Now Varda purposed that the two vessels should journey in Ilmen and ever be aloft, but not together; each should pass from Valinor into the east and return, the one issuing from the west as the other turned from the east. Thus the first of the new days were reckoned after the manner of the Trees, from the mingling of the lights when Arien and Tilion passed in then- courses, above the middle of the Earth. But Tilion was wayward and uncertain in speed, and held not to his appointed path; and he sought to come near to Arien, being drawn by her splendour, though the flame of Anar scorched him, and the island of the Moon was darkened. Because of the waywardness of Tilion, therefore, and yet more because of the prayers of Lorien and Este, who said that sleep and rest had been banished from the Earth, and the stars were hidden, Varda changed her counsel, and allowed a time wherein the world should still have shadow and half-light. Anar rested therefore a while in Valinor, lying upon the cool bosom of the Outer Sea; and Evening, the time of the descent and resting of the Sun, was the hour of greatest light and joy in Aman. But soon the Sun was drawn down by the servants of Ulmo, and went then in haste under the Earth, and so came unseen to the east and there mounted the heaven again, lest night be over-long and evil walk under the Moon. But by Anar the waters of the Outer Sea were made hot and glowed with coloured fire, and Valinor had light for a while after the passing of Arien. Yet as she journeyed under the Earth and drew towards the east the glow faded and Valinor was dim, and the Valar mourned then most for the death of Laurelin. At dawn the shadows of the Mountains of Defence lay heavy on the Blessed Realm. Varda commanded the Moon to journey in like manner, and passing under Earth to arise in the east, but only after the Sun had descended from heaven. But Tilion went with uncertain pace, as yet he goes, and was still drawn towards Arien, as he shall ever be; so that often both may be seen above the Earth together, or at times it will chance that he comes so nigh that his shadow cuts off her brightness and there is a darkness amid the day. Therefore by the coming and going of Anar the Valar reckoned the days thereafter until the Change of the World. For Tilion tamed seldom in Valinor, but more often would pass swiftly over the western land, over Avathar, or Araman, or Valinor, and plunge in the chasm beyond the Outer Sea, pursuing his way alone amid the grots and caverns at the roots of Arda. There he would often wander long, and late would return. Still therefore, after the Long Night, the light of Valinor was greater and fairer than upon Middle-earth; for the Sun rested there, and the lights of heaven drew nearer to Earth in that region. But neither the Sun nor the Moon can recall the light that was of old, that came from the Trees before they were touched by the poison of Ungoliant That light lives now in the Silmarils alone. But Morgoth hated the new lights, and was for a while confounded by this unlooked-for stroke of the Valar. Then he assailed Tilion, sending spirits of shadow against him, and there was strife in Ilmen beneath the paths of the stars; but Tilion was victorious. And Arien Morgoth feared with a great fear, but dared not come nigh her, having indeed no longer the power; for as he grew in malice, and sent forth from himself the evil that he conceived in lies and creatures of wickedness, his might passed into them and was dispersed, and he himself became ever more bound to the earth, unwilling to issue from his dark strongholds. With shadows he hid himself and his servants from Arien, the glance of whose eyes they could not long endure; and the lands near his dwelling were shrouded in fumes and great clouds. But seeing the assault upon Tilion the Valar were in doubt, fearing what the malice and cunning of Morgoth might yet contrive against them. Being unwilling to make war upon him in Middle-earth, they remembered nonetheless the ruin of Almaren; and they resolved that the like should not befall Valinor. Therefore at that time they fortified their land anew, and they raised up the mountain-walls of the Pelori to sheer and dreadful heights, east, north, and south. Their outer sides were dark and smooth, without foothold or ledge, and they fell in great precipices with faces hard as glass, and rose up to towers with crowns of white ice. A sleepless watch was set upon them, and no pass led through them, save only at the Calacirya: but that pass the Valar did not close, because of the Eldar that were faithful, and in the city of Tirion upon the green hill Finarfin yet ruled the remnant of the Noldor in the deep cleft of the mountains. For all those of elven-race, even the Vanyar and Ingwe their lord, must breathe at times the outer air and the wind that comes over the sea from the lands of their birth; and the Valar would not sunder the Teleri wholly from their kin. But in the Calacirya they set strong towers and many sentinels, and at its issue upon the plains of Valmar a host was encamped, so that neither bird nor beast nor elf nor man, nor any creature beside that dwelt in Middle-earth, could pass that leaguer. And in that time also, which songs call Nurtale Valinoreva, the Hiding of Valinor, the Enchanted Isles were set, and ail the seas about them were filled with shadows and bewilderment. And these isles were strung as a net in the Shadowy Seas from the north to the south, before Tol Eressea, the Lonely Isle, is reached by one sailing west. Hardly might any vessel pass between them, for in the dangerous sounds the waves sighed for ever upon dark rocks shrouded in mist. And in the twilight a great weariness came upon mariners and a loathing of the sea; but all that ever set foot  upon the islands were there entrapped, and slept until the Change of the World. Thus it was that as Mandos foretold to them in Araman the Blessed Realm was shut against the Noldor; and of the many messengers that in after days sailed into the West none came ever to Valinor - save one only: the mightiest mariner of song.