#or at least it's the inquisitor's symbol

[galedekarios]

the map of dragon age: the veilguard

[source: x]

[pileofsith]

Nameless

Part Eleven - Boy Page 8/8

Tion Medon intends to offer comforting words; hits a nerve instead. The comic is also available here on AO3.

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[shimylli]

So after some time to think about it, I will share my own though on Solavellan ending in Dragon Age The Veilguard, so SPOILER ahead.

ON ROOK AND SOLAS

First I would like to share a bit about them, because I really enjoyed their dynamics on the game.

« – Letting the veil collapse... – ... Is what you want. Making amend isn't about what you want. »

I wish so bad those words, and the whole cinematic would have been from my Inquisitor perspective. That she could be the one angry, and also saying the right word, she derseved it, after all this time.

But I am not angry at all, because like I said, I enjoy Rook and Solas relationship.

Solas treat Rook the way he would have never treated Lavellan. There is such a cruelty in trapping someone in an eternal and lonely prison, and Rook - specially if you play it as a supportive and forgiveful one - is one of the least to deserve it.

Rook see the manipulative, abusive and cruel side of the Trickser god. Solas never really let is guard down this time, He doesn't allow it considering how close he was to stop everything by the time of Inquisition.

Rook forgiving and believing in Solas, still, despite everything he has done to her, was also really impactful and satisfying. And for Solas, it was the first step through healing.

INQUISITOR INTERVENTION

As he still proceed on his plan, he hear the voice of the Inquisitor, and turn so fast.

It is so hearbeaking, and after all this time, he still calls her " Vhenan ".

And for her, he lets his guard down, again.

« – You think you've come too far to come back, but you're wrong. »

Lavellan plays a really mature and forgiving part, and I think it makes sense. In Inquisition, I played an angry Lavellan, the one who scream in elvish and then say " I would have had you trust me " while angrily entering his personal space. But it has been 10 years, and like us, she had time to think about it, to take distance and make peace about their relationship.

Solas is looking for every way to proove that he is undeserving of her forgiveness, give many excuses.

«– I forgive you ! »

I was so happy about the Voice Acting, when Lavellan assertively cut him and scream at him this sentence. She already failed 8 years ago to convince him to stay, and she will not let her second chance pass.

And then...

MYTHAL AND SOLAS

Ugh. Where to start.

I like what they did with Solas and Mythal relationship, seeing how abusive and manipulative Mythal was. In a way, it makes the time between Solas and Lavellan in Inquisition even softer, as she accepted him for the person he was and wanted to be. A person who gave advice and share his wisdom. An equal.

I also don't think that Mythal and Solas were romantically involved, and it would have been better to avoid the companions comment about it, making it moreconfusing. Actually, it would have been even better to not have the team reuniting to watch and comment the really personal memories of Solas like a TV Show.

Mythal is the third to offer forgiveness by sharing the weight of their mistakes, and even so I wish she would have been an optional intervention, I have to recognise that the scene is intense and painful - positevily - to watch.

This is the moment the Lost Elf theme start to play as the same time as the main DA TV theme with violin, they managed to make it even sader.

His body language. He is breaking, getting crushed by the weight from his pain. To see him, so vulnerable, so small, it was heartbreaking. And when Mythal release him, say the last word that finally free him, is like he can no longer stand, he fall crying.

Obviously, he was no longer bounded to Mythal since long, and every bad decision he took in the past were taken freely. Still, metaphorically, it was really symbolic. The guy has been suffering for thousand years.

SOLAS AND LAVELLAN

«– Banal Nadas Ar lath'ma Vhenan. »

And then Lavellan walks slowly towards him, and softly kneel to look him in the eyes. She is caring and supportive, and start saying reassuring words in elvhen. I feel like them speaking in elvhen makes so much sench, has it is kind of their tongue of truth and sincerity.

I love that Lavellan grew to be this person Solas could trust, and could be there for him, show compassion. She does not look submissive, but caring. She definitely is in control of the situation, and she chose to be here for him. Despite everything.

And again, the animation. The emotion in their looks. The tears in Solas' eyes.

The sadness of his gaze while he decide to take the hardest decision, and pay the consequences of his actions.

And while Rook and Morrigan look at him, proudly, there is this little frame.

Lavellan, smiling, lookind down. A bit of sadness in her eyes. I think it is the moment she realise that she have to take a decision. See him take his responsability, keeping him as dear memory, or leave everything to be by his side. And my head still remember what she said to him after the Well of Sorrow mission : " No matter what, you will be by my side. ".

I am not upsed by the ending. This is exactly what I had envision before the release of Veilguard.

Sure, Solas was the victime of Mythal abuse, but the pain and suffering he caused around him were all from decisions he took freely. He needed to make amend, and not a sacrificial reparation. The decision is even harder as it mirrors his fear that we know. Dying alone.

Every other ending is painful to watch when you remember that.

So for him to take his responsability, knowing that he would lead him to a life of solitude. Only, when he chose this path, with the end that awaits him, does it makes sens that the Inquisitor offer to follow him. The world is saved, she leave it in the good hands of people she trust, and she deserve to finally take a break.

And again, the game let you decide if you want to follow him, you can have a Lavellan who think that it was too much for her. But to me, it is the culminent point of their story taking a mythical level.

«– Ar ghilas vir banal. »

Solas speaking elvhen sounds so beautiful. Again, he rejects her, telling her that only terrible thing awaits her if she follow him. He wants to protect her, she doesn't have to face the same consequences as him, she has done nothing but trying to repare his mistakes. I think it shows that he still care, that he would not make her selfishly take the same burden as him.

I know, it is not a grand gesture, but the way he looks at her. I do believe she means everything to him.

And the kiss was so soft. I think us, solavellan fan are not use to it. And it bugged me also, as we had in the past more intimate scene. I think I would have prefere if he at least hugged her while kissing. Still, I think it goes well with the caring and softness of Lavellan, in this specific situation, who is in front of a bruised man.

I kind of count on the artist to make something more emotional.

So far, I enjoyed the ending, I just have a problem with the execution, and now that I am writting all of it, I realise that I even enjoyed the cinematic, I just think I was expecting more. A Trespasser level ending, that would feel more personal.

But I am also in peace with the ending, this is exactly what I wanted for them, and I am sure that they will make of this fade prison a special place for them to grow happy.

And again, thanks to the Solavellan fan to provide us with content that should be in the game. The way he looks at her :

I think this picture alone help me make peace with the end.

And I will just finish with my Lavellan and Rook smiling. I love them so much.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 41

Adric missed K9 and would write him letters. (Short story: A Boy's Tale)

Tegan missed Nyssa a lot and felt as though Turlough had a bond with the Doctor that she wasn't company to. (Short story: Qualia)

Early Gallifreyans worshipped one of their two moons (Pazithi Gallifreya) as a virgin goddess. (Novel: Cat's Cradle: Time's Crucible)

After Inquisitor Darkel dismissed the Sixth Doctor's charges from The Trial of a Time Lord, she had to go lie down in a dark room for a while because he and the Valeyard were too much for her. (Short story: The Inquisitor)

There are roughly one million versions of Clara Oswald according to the Encyclopaedia Gallifreya. (Short story: Citation Needed)

The Master tried to interfere with the Fifth Doctor’s regeneration into his Sixth, but the Doctor had psychically called out to his former companions (Nyssa, Tegan, Turlough, etc etc), who convinced him to ignore the Master and helped him regenerate. (Audio: Winter; Television: The Caves of Androzani)

The Doctor keeps a copy of Every Gallifreyan Child's Pop-Up Book of Nasty Creatures From Other Dimensions in the TARDIS library. It pops up in four dimensions. (Novel: All-Consuming Fire)

The Fifth Doctor talked so much about River Song after meeting and becoming absolutely enamored with her that Tegan pushed him against the wall and demanded that he stop. (Audio: Expiry Dating)

The Seventh Doctor met Katarina as a young girl. He gave her family enough gold to feed them for a year. (Short story: An Unfulfilled Dream)

In 1969, a journalist named Chrissie Allen did an article on Amelia Williams. Amy told her she wanted to write a story about a young girl lost in New York City, who is scared but will use her magic powers to take on the world. She was very confident when she said the girl was really out there in New York. (Short story: The Girl Who Never Grew Up)

The Eye of Harmony located in the TARDIS is only symbolic of the real Eye of Harmony on Gallifrey. (Novel: The Eight Doctors)

If someone accesses the Eye of Harmony without the Rod, Sash, or Great Key of Rassilon, they will be turned inside out and killed. (Audio: Insurgency)

A young Magnus, who would one day become the War Chief, once tried to drain Artron energy out of a sphere retrieved from the time vortex. He was opposed by the First Doctor, referred to as "Thete," who set the energy free after discovering it was alive. This was considered to be their "falling out" moment. (Comic: Flashback)

The Fifth Doctor has tried to sacrifice himself so often that Nyssa can recognize his blank face as an I'm-about-to-sacrifice-myself face. (Audio: The Darkening Eye)

Each incarnation of the Doctor thinks that they make their own identity, but in reality, the TARDIS knows that their travels are never "accidental." For example, she could have easily returned to 1960s London when the First Doctor was trying to drop off Barbara and Ian, but she said she thought it was more important that he have fun and learn from his human companions who the Doctor actually was. (Short story: What the TARDIS thought of "Time Lord Victorious")

The Doctor's TARDIS bedroom (at least at the time of his Fifth incarnation) had an original Jackson Pollock on the door. It had a four poster bed with awnings, silk sheets, and a toy rabbit. The Fifth Doctor would hang his coat up with a Mickey Mouse hanger and sleep in question mark patterned pajamas. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

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[salted-bird]

Unique interactions aside I adore how Sinclair Who Shall Grip's character is reflected on the gameplay side, we are told through his Uptie story that he doesn't believe in Faust's cause as much as he *wants* to, and it shows, because he is just godawful at the job she gave him.

For starters, Nails, the thing that defines the faction; Shall Grip Sinclair can't inflict any stacks of it.

All other N-corp IDs we have so far can apply at least one Nails, and we are informed in N-corp Don's Uptie story that the nails possess a symbolic importance for them because "the reason we pierce evil with nails beeth to utilize them as tools so the One Who Grips may enact justice". It's all about the One Who Grips, and even at his worst Sinclair is unable to aid her beyond the surface level, quite literally he can't help Faust carry out her Execution because the skill requires Nails and he can't give them.

Though it doesn't end there, the more you use them the clearer it becomes that the Faust Who Grips and Sinclair Who Shall Grip IDs don't mesh together at all. Faust's nails inflict Bleed count, Sinclair needs Burn Count, Faust's passives heal SP, Sinclair needs to stay at low SP, Whistle gives Fanatic to two allies, Sinclair hogs one stack due to always being the lowest SP ally by kit-design, but then there's how he can't make proper use of the Fanatic buff because of the SP heal ruining his tails flips, so rather than helping it's like trying to put a torn band-aid over a wound when that Fanatic could be going to someone actually capable of benefiting from it.

Sure, his skills include effects that involve other N-corp units, but first, it's a selfish interaction, they can help Sinclair but the most he will give them is a pathetic 2 Bleed on the last hit from Amoral Enactment, and second, what little ways they have to help Sinclair pale in comparison to letting him fight alongside IDs from other faction, what's a 15% damage increase compared to rolling 30 on each one of Self-destructive Purge's coins, and what's 5 Burn Potency compared the obscene amounts of Burn Count Liu Hong Lu can provide for his second skill and E.G.O? The N-corp effects are pretty much just there as lip-service, which applies to Sinclair's half-baked belief in their cause too, he shines the most when going against Nails and Hammer, and that keeps being the case even for the ID that's supposed to be on their side.

I find it funny how the closest to a synergy you can find between Faust and Sinclair is Faustie's Gaze buff, which sums up their relationship perfectly. She points to something and Sinclair kills stuff, Sinclair's core personality remains unchanged just like how the only thing that Gaze does is provide a crude damage-buff that doesn't help with any of Sinclair Who Shall Grip's obtuse mechanics, but the 'Sinclair kills stuff' part is enough for Faust.

Lastly, another point that I love is Sinclair's physical types and resistances.

All his skills deal Blunt damage, which is exactly what the N-corp Inquisitors are weak to.

Other N-corp units deal Blunt damage too, but they also have Pierce skills that the Inquisitors endure, Sinclair on the other hand doesn't waste a single bit of damage when it comes to killing them ASAP, and unlike the rest of N-corp Units, Sinclair Who Shall Grip has an Ineffective resistance for Blunt, at the same time his resistance against Pierce is normal rather than fatal, meaning he can go against the Inquisitor enemies without worrying about dying in a blink because they simply can't strike his weakness.

But of course, there's one N-corp character who Sinclair can't deal with, and it isn't Kromer, you must have seen already how she gets staggered if you bring Sinclair against her.

No, the one Nails and Hammer member who can claim the title of best counter against Sinclair Who Shall Grip is funnily enough, Faust Who Shall Grip.

Emitter is weak to Lust but it doesn't matter because Faust resists the physical type of all her skills, her passive ruins Sinclair's rolls to the point he can hit 0 as a coin value, and guess what, Sinclair's base E.G.O, Branch of Knowledge, has a fatal weakness to Pride, the element of Faust's Execution skill.

There's something so twisted yet beautiful about the fact that even in gameplay terms, Sinclair can't hope to go against Faust, while she could easily get rid of him if she ever felt like it.

But of course, what I find even more beautiful is that Sinclair Who Shall Grip has one small means of rebellion left, one last tool that can he could use to hurt Faust if he ever dares go against her: Branch of Knowledge, the E.G.O that encapsulates Sinclair's sin.

Emitter also has a fatal weakness to Gluttony, and unlike Sinclair Who Shall Grip's own skills, its physical type matches Faust Who Grips fatal weakness to Slash, making it the ideal tool for killing her.

Given how turning a blind eye to everything as a way to cope is a big part of Sinclair Who Shall Grip's character, I like how the one thing he could theoretically use to break free from his dependence on Faust is a manifestation of his inner psyche literally called Branch of *Knowledge*, I would assume these are all coincidences if it were any other game but PM has put crazier details on their works before.

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

Docktown, Minrathous (in the daytime, in contrast with the gameplay reveal video), reminding us that Minrathous is built on an island. maybe the magic-monorail-looking bridge here is actually the single bridge that goes to Minrathous, like in the lore?

Docktown is the home of Neve. the distinctive floating building is in the distance again. compared to Ferelden, the buildings in Minrathous are like another planet entirely! Tevene architecture/design is so hostile - spikes on chairs, spikes on the sides of buildings.. I wonder if the doorway here is the entrance to the tavern/bar here [second image]. if you look in the window to the left of the door, the figure on the right could be the 'bouncer' at the top of the steps in the bar image. also, outside of here are tables and barrels, like you might expect outside a tavern establishment.

I'm curious about the heraldry of the boat in the harbor with the blue unfurled flags. it reminds me a bit of this Fereldan heraldry, but the animals are the wrong way round and it isn't quite right. either way, the heraldic animal is also present as the prow of that boat and one other.

Elf Rook (either City or Dalish but without vallaslin applied in CC), Emmrich and Harding. Rook is a sword-and-shield warrior here, Veilguard symbol on their chest plate, Warden symbol on their shield. Maybe this Rook has the Grey Warden background? anyways, looking closely at Rook's chest plate here, with the gray metal armor, the purple Veilguard symbol on the left, the 'bandolier' of three brown leather pouches across their chest, and the diagonal lines on the plate going the other way, it looks like maybe this Rook is wearing the same 'iconic[?] Rook outfit' as in the key art, or at least the torso piece. They both also have the metal shoulder plates, purple fabric over the elbow area, brown leather gauntlet etc. It's just that in this screenshot Rook isn't wearing a helmet/hood (or has them toggled off in the Options menu? ^^). anyways, I love that purple seems to be the 'iconic[?]' color for Rook, and also look at how this long-haired Rook's hair flows and sits around their neck and shoulders! and again the detailing is cool, like scratches on the shield and stuff.

Harding's arrow is glowing. Is her bow or arrow enchanted or have some kind of stat buff, or could this be an example of her magical powers in action, like her tarot card art might suggest? also, we can see from the tall skeleton/undead statues in the background and the skull-lid vases in the foreground that this shot is from the Necropolis.

The groupshot at HQ is so [cat crying screaming].. 🥺🥺 I love it so much, with the round table it has like Knights of the Round Table vibes or something and it's so nice to see everyone together and in their casual outfits too. I hope there are lots of moments like this in the game. ^^ Davrin is whittling wood, something that reminds me of Halsin and my Inquisitor (who is Dalish, and also had that hobby). Did some people.. bring their chair of choice to the meeting room hh? Davrin's looks like it was carved from a tree stump. Harding and Neve have a comfy sofa. Emmrich's looks kind of gothic and Nevarran. Taash's stool [?] is gold and practical-looking.

Taash looks so bored hhh. here we can see Bellara without her magical gauntlet. Do you think Manfred and Assan come to the team meetings..? :D Lucanis has impeccable tailoring, with lil bird-skull looking buttons at his collar. he's buttoned right up and professional looking even in his casual downtime, even when some of the others are the opposite. unsurprisingly his casual clothes have that blue-black corvid feather sheen. surely he has coffee in his mug. ^^ I wonder what Neve's drink of choice is though? from the way Lucanis leans here, do you think Lucanis and Emmrich is one of the companion-companion relationships that might develop like Taash and Harding?

Harding looks so cute and cozy on the couch with the cushion and her slippers, I can't take it. and I really love Neve's casual look with her scarf and hair like that!!

I think this scene is probably from the Lighthouse. Game Informer mentioned that it had a library, which is the central area of the The Lighthouse, and that it's there the party will often regroup and prepare for what’s next. Could this be one of those moments in there? ^^ in the background are stacks of books, and books on shelves, like a library would have. on the table is an assortment of scrolls, maps, papers. you can see a feather quill pen and red wax seals. having the maps in front of Davrin, a Warden and monster-hunter who has probably travelled far and quite a lot, is a nice touch. some of the books look quite ornate and arcane-ish, and are there a few of the 'Bellara'-style triangles on the table as well? and what do you suppose is the blue diamond-looking thing with white veins on the table?

(I'm also curious what the golden thing in the top right is.)

we can tell from the way it looks but we also know from a file name that this is the Rivain Coast. it's beautiful, it looks so bright and hot, the water is so blue. we first saw this locale in the Thedas Calls trailer from Dragon Age Day 2023. again, in the distance, we can see that statue.

From a file name, this is Arlathan Forest. everything is suffused in soft golden light, almost whimsical and Fable-like the Game Informer piece said. this shot is framed with those familiar trees with orange foliage e.g one, two, three. this place reminds me of some of the elvhen ruins we got to see in Trespasser. in the top right is green Veil/Fade shenanigans. a place where the Veil is weak, or the edge of this particular Veil bubble? past the wall of green it looks like some of the buildings are broken thanks to the warping, and there are floating rocks.

and look closely at some of the assets -

there's an owl, which are associated with Falon'Din and Andruil. lots of those howling Fen'Harel wolf statues. they look just like they do in DA:I (I don't mean that they look bad graphically or old or anything, just that the details are the same!!) which is awesome for consistency (also cool to see these return, so many of the art assets in DA:I were rly cool), and might even be the same assets being re-used (which is sensible and sensical for game design, something Mark Darrah talked about before). nb, just in case, I'm not saying this as a comment against asset re-use, it makes sense to do and I was excited to see these DA:I or DA:I-style ones in these caps!

[bucketsofmonsters]

Where the Light Enters - Part 4

cw: unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual sex, enemies to lovers, past childhood sexual assault, past sex trafficking, referenced noncon, panic attacks, happy ending, the tags look scary but this is mainly a story about recovery

Cole/Female Inquisitor

word count: 3k

ao3 link

Masterlist

The place they were currently staying was called Haven. 

She hadn’t understood the first few times, had thought they were saying that this place was a haven for them in this fight. 

It didn’t feel like a haven to her. 

Haven was a lot of things. 

She was told there had been important things here, years ago. Some sort of religious symbol. She’d been told about it like it would mean something to her. Very little that they said meant anything to her, but at least usually it was about things in current times that might actually affect her, not just legends of some artifact long gone. 

It was also allegedly a home, a place where they could seek refuge. If that was what it was, she thought she would probably hate it less than she did. 

The cold was the first thing she took grievance with. She’d had to pull strings and call in favors to get enough furs to be able to survive the cold, let alone feel anything close to alright in it. 

Everything was so far apart too, insisting you go out in the cold in order to get anywhere. 

There was also the matter of how open it was. She was accustomed to squirreling herself away, letting her existence fade into the back of people’s mind when she did not need anything from them. 

Even as an important figure for this group she’d stumbled into, she thought she’d be able to hide on occasion if it weren’t for the fact that there was no way to move in the open space against stark, white snow without drawing the attention of everyone within a mile radius. 

Haven was a lot of things. Easily defensible was not one of them. So when the enemy came, seeking the power that had embedded itself into her palm, there was little they could do. 

When the first chance to flee presented itself, she took it, running through old paths half remembered by some chantry member who’d been there far longer than they had. 

She’d immediately taken the side of abandoning it all. This place was worth nothing to her, less than nothing even. 

And so they fled. 

They were out before the army could even really draw close. 

Cole was nowhere to be found as Haven was taken, as their sanctuary was razed to the ground. 

They escaped into the mountains, where it was somehow impossibly colder than Haven was. She was glad she’d been layered in her furs, half convinced she’d have frozen to death by now if she hadn’t. Every time she saw one of the chantry folk in their robes she would wonder how they could be standing and moving around like they were. Even in as many layers as she had, her hands were frozen solid, planted firmly between her thighs trying to sap some heat from the rest of her. 

She saw a layer of frost developing on Cullen’s armor and shivered sympathetically. She hadn’t even considered how cold the metal would get in temperatures far below freezing. 

Him and Cassandra seemed completely unphased by this, instead bickering about something in the corner. Josephine and Leliana quickly joined them, all fighting about something.

They kept trying to draw her into the conversation and get her to make choices. She steadfastly refused, bundled up on a crate under a hastily constructed overhang, trying to avoid the snow that lay in both directions. 

She did a silent head count as she sat there. Bull came over and ruffled her hair affectionately, leaving her another blanket before heading off to help his Chargers. 

She saw Solas stomping around and groaned internally, wishing that he’d been left behind somehow. 

Varric smiled at her in the distance, off helping some stragglers alongside Blackwall.

Some new mage was there, and Cullen came over to inform her that his name was Dorian and he’d warned them of the coming attack. 

She gave him a polite wave and then went back to ignoring him. 

The only person she recognized who was missing was Cole. 

It was too much to hope that he was permanently gone. It was not unheard of for him to disappear for long stretches of time. She was sure he would be back, sooner rather than later. 

But still, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to find them, out there in the mountains, where even the monster that had come to hunt them couldn’t seem to find any trace of their army. 

She wondered even more so when they found this new home. 

Skyhold, someone had called it, she was fairly certain.

She shouldn’t have wanted to see him there. He was a nuisance more than anything. 

And yet she found herself looking in dark corners and seeing if that vacant look would show up in anyone’s eyes as they got that nagging feeling that they’d forgotten something after Cole left them a little better off.

She wondered if maybe she’d begun forgetting him. 

She wasn’t sure why Cole hadn’t made her forget it all already. It would make things easier for him.

But then again, he seemed a lot less concerned with ease than she was.

No, making things easy and safe was never something Cole wanted. 

Part of her thought that he did it very intentionally. That one of two things was happening. That either he wanted her to remember all the threats, to make her careful, or worse, he thought remembering him might help her. 

But she didn’t want to think about that so she stamped it down deep inside her. 

And then, one day, a week into moving into Skyhold, she saw him. He was up on the battlements that lay on the edge of their new castle. He was perched on an overhang with no one else looking up at him. 

She could see him. She wondered if she was the only one who could or if it was simply that no one had bothered to check. 

Either was acceptable, so long as no one questioned him too much. With the secrets he’d gathered, she’d prefer if no one but her ever noticed him again. 

Because that was the problem. He needed her alive, but somehow he hadn’t seemed to realize that he didn’t need her safe and happy, didn’t need her in a position of power. 

Just alive.

She wondered why he hadn’t plucked the thought right out of her head the way he had so many others. 

She didn’t expect to see him again for a while after that. He seemed more than content to lurk in the shadows on his own, far less friendly than he used to be. She stopped looking for him at all after she saw that he’d found his way to Skyhold. 

It was unbecoming to look for him like this. 

The next time she saw signs of him, he wasn’t actually present. There was a small pastry on her bed with a little nineteen piped atop it, one she recognized instantly. She’d been given one just like it on her birthday years ago, a lower number written across the top then, though she could barely remember what it was. The years all blended together. She’d been given it by someone who’d thought they were doing something nice. She supposed in that way it was a perfect mimicry.  

It probably meant it was her birthday. 

It turned her stomach to look at it. Even if it hadn’t been tied to a wretched man, it reminded her of her march towards undesirability, closer to losing the only thing protecting her.

She picked it up and disposed of it immediately, trying to purge the thought of it from her mind. 

Cole graced her presence a few hours later. “I didn’t mean it to hurt,” he said, her heart skipping a beat as he appeared out of nowhere. “It was your birthday and I saw it. I thought it might help. It’s hard to tell with you, everything is so tangled in the hurt.”

“Fine,” she spat. “Next time you’re not sure, just leave it alone.”

“I don’t know how to help.”

“That’s why you should leave it. Since when do you try to help me anyway? What happened to me causing the hurt and you wishing you could kill me.”

“I can’t kill you. I should still do something.”

“There is nothing you can do for me,” she said, not even angry at him. It was simply true, a fact that she was informing him of. She was beyond helping. “Focus on people who might actually appreciate it, alright?”

She didn’t wait for a response before storming off. 

Two weeks passed before she saw him again. He’d taken her advice and left her alone and she was better for it. 

And then, in two weeks, Bull’s eyes got vacant in that familiar way that she’d come to understand meant Cole had helped him and she got mad. 

It usually didn’t matter, when anger overtook her. It wasn’t like she was allowed to let anyone see. 

But Cole had caused this, and she could be angry at Cole all she liked. Nothing she could do would make him buy into the meek girl everyone else saw so she could be as mad at him as she wanted. 

So she went to see Cole. 

She didn’t know where to look but it was like he knew she was looking. He showed up for her so quickly and she wondered if maybe he didn’t realize how upset she was.

“You helped him,” she shouted, accusationally. “You helped Bull. You know what he’s done! How could you do that?”

“He doesn’t know he’s done anything. It’s a mistake. You could tell him and he would stop.”

She was fully aware that she was being unfair and it did nothing to stop her. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“You hurt people,” he said softly. “And you deserve help.”

“It’s not the same,” she insisted.

“No, it’s not. You know you’re hurting them.”

Her breath came in stuttery and she hated that this was affecting her, that she couldn’t even be angry properly. “I’m doing what I have to. I don’t have another choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he said, irritatingly and never-endingly inexpressive. She couldn’t read him, not even a little, and yet he could peer directly into her head like it was nothing. 

It just wasn’t fair.

“Shut up,” she hissed. 

“You can be mad if it dims the hurt,”

It made her ten times as angry to be given permission to be mad. 

She picked up the thing nearest to her, some dusty book someone had forgotten about, and threw it at him. 

He dodged it easily, without even thinking. 

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her as hard as she could. The sound of it echoed through the stone hall. It didn’t make her feel any better. 

She left without Cole the next day. 

They were heading to a desert somewhere to go close rifts. Solas had begged her to look for elven artifacts and she’d promised him they would and then immediately disposed of the request mentally. 

She’d brought that new mage with her, Dorian she was pretty sure his name was. 

He seemed lovely by nature of his greatest virtue, not being Solas. 

Bull offered to tag along. He never seemed to stop offering lately and she didn’t have the energy to shut him down, so he came too. 

Blackwall also went with them, just by nature of being in the armory when they were suiting up to head out. She didn’t mind. He was a good shield and endlessly noble, set on ensuring she didn’t get hurt. 

He seemed distressed over how young she looked, not enticed by her like some of the other men in the Inquisition were. It didn’t matter to her, as long as he kept her safe. 

It was a quiet affair. Dorian was a chatty one, trying endlessly to strike up conversation, but neither she nor Blackwall would take the bait, just stomping through the desert. 

Bull tried to engage him in conversation but Dorian was not fond of Qunari so that devolved quickly. She didn’t pay too much attention, more than content just kicking up sand as she walked. 

A few hours into wandering the hot desert, they found a rift. It was hard to hide from the chaos of the battle in a desert, with far too few things to cower behind until it was all over. She just hunkered down as best she could and trusted her companions. 

She was looking away when a stray spell from that new mage hit her, the bolt of light embedding itself into her shoulder, searing pain shooting through her. 

She yelped, curling in further on herself in an attempt to make herself small. 

It felt like an eternity before it was over. 

Dorian rushed over, apologies spilling out of his mouth as his hand pressed into the wound. 

She flinched away from his touch as it made the wound sting worse. Blackwall went to lift her up before Bull pushed past him, hauling her into his arms. 

She wished Blackwall had been allowed to do it. 

She barely paid attention to anything but the pain as they made their way back to Skyhold. 

It did occur to her that with anyone else, they’d just push through this injury, take a health potion, bandage it up, and keep on going. She wouldn’t even have thought twice about it, except for when she had to feign sympathy. 

She was dropped off at the medical tent at Skyhold and the three men were shooed away, the woman there insisting that they really did not have enough space for three grown men, one of them a Qunari at that, to be loitering. 

They got her fixed up pretty quickly. It wasn’t too severe an injury, all things considered, necromantic spells just tended to leave a lingering bone-deep ache that other types of magic didn’t. 

It would last a long time, she was told. She might feel it when it was about to rain, told like it was a joke that she’d be stuck with this pain, rolling in with the thunder. 

She was given something for the pain when she asked, and she was sure she only got it because she was the Inquisitor overreacting to something that wouldn’t have phased any other soldier. 

And then she was sent back to her room, the tent too busy with actual injuries to deal with her any longer, even if she was a girl who’d stumbled into a leadership position.

Any other leader would have given up their cot immediately, insisted that the medical care go to people who really, truly needed it. She just grabbed her pain medicine and left. 

She should have gone to see Bull and milked this injury for all it was worth. Maybe stop by Blackwall if she couldn’t stomach that, or guilt trip Dorian a little without letting him realize that was what she was doing. 

She returned to her room instead, set on doing it in the morning, knowing she couldn’t avoid it forever. 

But for tonight, at least, she could rest. 

Cole was standing beside her bed when she reached her room and she considered throwing something at him again, like he was a wild animal she could scare off. 

He whipped around, eyes darting down to her bandaged shoulder and then back up to her face. 

“You don’t mind it,” he said. “It means they’ll leave you alone and it means they think you’re small so you don’t mind.”

“I don’t like getting hurt,” she responded. “I don’t know where you got that from.”

“You don’t like it, but it’s easier. You like it when it’s easy. And you don’t mind this hurt quite as much.”

She shrugged, opening her little bottle of pain medication. “Can I just go to bed please?”

“Can I have some,” he asked, staring the bottle down.

“Why?” she asked, already knowing the answer the endlessly selfless spirit would give. “Are you hurt?”

“The pain claws at them, years gone but still in them, like shards of swords lingered. Some nights they want to claw it out but there’s nothing there to take.”

“So what, you’re going to drug people? I’m sure that will go over well, a bunch of soldiers who don’t know their inhibitions are off.”

He paused, seeming to really consider that. “I’ll make sure they know. Remember the medicine, don’t remember me.”

“Fine,” she said, emptying half of it out. “Take some. You just can’t give it to Bull.”

She knew exactly what she was doing. She was picking a fight. 

He just looked sad. 

“I won’t stop helping,” he said. “But I don’t want you to feel sick.”

“I always feel sick,” she said, verging dangerously close to honesty. She couldn’t afford that, not even with Cole. Anything else had been a lapse in judgment. 

His face fell. “Not because of me. Never because of me.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“I won’t give them to Bull,” he declared. “I will help him away from you, do my best to soothe the hurt where you can’t see.”

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She shouldn’t even be mad. “Whatever,” she said with a huff.

“It does matter,” he said. “All of it matters. I didn’t think it did, but you’re a person alongside the bad and the hurt burrows in you. It’s not inside you, not fully. The rot can be cut out.”

“You won’t be cutting anything out of me.”

“I didn’t think I would, but it matters that you could. The rot is a part, not the whole.”

And she couldn’t stay mad, her already flimsy reasons collapsing in on themselves. He was wrong, but it meant something to her that he believed. Maybe just for tonight that could be enough. 

She didn’t have to say as much. He was gone as soon as the thought crossed her mind, leaving her to finally get some sleep.

[pavus]

PROMPT : Armor. DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION ERA. Words: 1042. Characters: Suri Cadash, Blackwall, Leliana, Josephine Montilyet.

“It’s… shiny.”

Blackwall laughed suddenly and despite himself, clearing his throat with a raspy cough when both Leliana and Josephine narrowed their eyes at his unhelpful addition. Neither of their reactions drew any notice from the Herald – from the Inquisitor, from Suri – who was entirely too distracted by the golden chestplate emblazoned with the unsettling eye-sword-and-sunburst symbol of their order.

She rubbed her thick-knuckled fingers over the unblemished surface of the armor. Volcanic aurum wasn’t used for protection by dwarves; it was purely ornamental, used more often for exports than their own, personal crafts. When she tugged at the raised lip that ran across her ribs and pointed down towards her navel, the suit’s leather straps did much to ensure the chestpiece would not budge. She tugged it again, then nodded to herself, finding the fit more than suitable.

“Well, shinier than I’m used to, at least,” Suri continued, though even she caught the doubt that crept into her voice. Ears as sharp as Leliana and Josephine’s wouldn’t miss it. “It just doesn’t feel like me, s’all.”

Josephine opened her mouth to speak, but clamped them together just after. Nothing important, then. Or, at least, she’d quickly convinced herself not to say what she’d felt in an instant. It wouldn’t be the first time the Inquisition’s diplomat corrected her pronunciation of something. All she could do was try not to take it to heart.

Suri understood why they’d cast aside her usual and dressed her like this instead. 

There was a certain amount of gravitas surrounding the title of Inquisitor. Her role was an important one, offered up to her for reasons she couldn’t explain in any amount of detail. There was a green hole in the palm of her left hand, and with it, she closed the even bigger, greener hole in the sky. If there was anything else that distinguished her from the others, she couldn’t know what it was.

No one had bothered telling her why she was so special.

“So… uh,” Suri began, fumbling pitifully through the half-dark of silence. She reached for something – or, rather, someone – familiar. “What d’you think, Blackwall?”

The Warden had been up in her quarters when Josephine arrived with a pair of Inquisitor soldiers carrying a massive and seemingly heavy crate, delivered straight to them from an armorer in Orlais. Behind them, Leliana followed. When he offered to excuse himself alongside the agents, Suri was the one who reached out.

“Can you stay?” she’d asked without hesitating, without thinking. “It’d do me a lot of good. Show me how soldiers might see… all of this.”

Blackwall paused for just long enough to look her up and down. 

“A show’s a show, but you’ll put on a fine one in that.”

“A show is a show, as you put it, Warden Blackwall,” came Josephine’s immediate, but delicately worded interruption. “But naming Lady Cadash the Inquisitor is more than mere pageantry or puppetry. It will not be a simple show of strength, but a moment that will be scrawled upon the pages of history for even those who are not present.”

Suri’s conflicted stare broke away from the warden and the diplomat, circling back around instead to the spymaster. She caught the woman stroking her gloved thumb over the point of her chin as her eyes roamed from her boots to the highest fold in her samite collar.

“The druffalo hide is the color of cat sick,” Leliana said just loudly enough for all those gathered to hear. “Send the atrocious coat back for something prettier. Snoufleur, perhaps?”

Suri couldn’t stop herself from laughing, and once she did, the others followed suit. 

Blackwall snorted. Josephine’s giggle was swept aside with a delicate – and disapproving – sigh. While Leliana often proved herself blunt for a former bard, none of them had been prepared for the words she cut from her own tongue.

“I still have mine.”

Suri squirmed out of the coat, only noticing once she’d been freed of the thing that the leather did look the exact sickly brown-green color of cat vomit. Her duster had been shoved unceremoniously into a chest at the foot of her bed once they arrived at Skyhold, but it was there. It was an option… and one she wanted to take.

“Send this one back, but don’t have another one made,” she continued. Tossing the coat into Blackwall’s arms before moving around her bedside and dropping to her knees in front of the massive trunk, a certain glimmer of confidence swelled inside her chest. Maybe she wasn’t comfortable in the gold, but she’d be comfortable in something else. “A little something shiny, a little something worn – it’s the best way you could dress me.”

Stealing a glance at Josephine over her shoulder, she caught a smile tucked into the corner of Blackwall’s mouth. 

“If you are… absolutely certain, Inquisitor.” Varric called Josephine Ruffles, and from the sight of her ruffled feathers, she could tell the nickname suited. “I assure you that the issue is not monetary in nature. We only lack time.”

Suri issued an involuntary grunt as she hefted the heavy chest open. The first scent to hit her was smoke, caught in the lining of her coat from their last night in Haven. How it managed to cling onto the fabric, even after her walk through the snow, even through their exodus to what would be Skyhold… 

She shook her head to clear the memories away. 

“I know it’s not a money thing,” Suri said under her breath. “But bronto’s better, and the quality isn’t bad, no matter how old it is. I’ll have them see me in this.”

This time, when Blackwall cleared his throat, he did so to draw her attention towards him rather than swipe it away from himself. He held the cast-off coat in his arms, both hands curling deep into the rumpled fabric.

“I’ve always thought you look well in it.”

Don’t grin. Don’t grin. You’ll look like a little girl. Don’t grin at him.

Suri beamed, all flushed round ears and dimpled cheeks and creased skin around her dark eyes. There was no stopping the inevitable.

“This coat wins, then,” she laughed. “And I’ll be keeping all that flattery in my pocket.”

[crestwood-survivor]

Mythal in the Deep Roads Pt. 2: Trespasser DLC

Everyone who has played through the Trespasser DLC already knows that the ancient elves were in the deep roads, but I noticed some things in my most recent playthrough that I haven’t seen discussed. Mainly, the coffin room:

But let’s go through the area first. We exit the Eluvian and find ourselves in this weird combination of elven-dwarven ruins beneath Thedas. One of the things that stood out to me about this area is how Evanuris symbols we find (or at least I could find) are Mythal’s and Fen’Harel’s. There are two giant Mythal statues in this section, one is near the Eluvian we enter:

And the other is deeper into the area:

There's this one:

And finally two handing over the "coffin room" at the very back of this area:

There's also lots of wolf statues, some framing the eluvian:

Or caved in hallways:

On the path leading through the area:

And framing the "balcony" overlooking the coffin room:

Notice what there isn’t? Any statues for the other gods.

All the other elven ruins we’ve seen have had multiple gods portrayed in them, even in temples dedicated to one specific god. For example, the Temple of Mythal had a whole separate area depicting the other gods as well as hart and owl statues. The Temple of Dirthamen also had hart statues and statues of Mythal and Fen’harel. But in the deep roads? It’s only Mythal and Fen’harel. This to me implies that whatever operation was going on the deep roads, it was Mythal’s project.

Let’s go over some of the comments companions make in the area.

Cole has a few things to say. The first thing he’ll say is: “Songs screaming far away. It wants to wake up but can’t remember how.  No one should be here.”

This immediately made me think that Cole was referring to a Titan. Lyrium, the blood of the titans, is frequently described as singing. Cole makes similar comments if you take him through the deep roads in The Deep Descent DLC. Valta also describes what she hears from the Titan as a song, but she also tells us something else that’s important: Titans do not stir lightly. The Titan from the Deep Descent was asleep for a thousand years, and only woke up and started causing trouble because the breach disturbed it. Cole says that the songs are screaming far away, so it’s possible that this is a dormant titan that is near the area we are in.

Dorian will say: “It shouldn’t be this dark. Dwarven buildings are lit by molten rock. That doesn’t just go out.”

I’m not sure what to make of this comment, but it seemed odd to me. Maybe someone else has thoughts on this?

Further in, Cole will make a comment about the Qunari and Lyrium: “The stone sings. The song scares them. It’s the wrong song, the wrong blood. They don’t know how we stand it.”

Is this suggesting that Qunari have a greater sensitivity to Lyrium? What does the “wrong blood” mean? Is it referring to the Lyrium, the titan’s blood, or the Qunari’s blood? If Cole is referring to the Qunari’s blood, this wouldn’t be the first time someone has commented on their blood in the game. Kieran can comment on the Qunari Inquisitors blood at Skyhold if he has the Old God soul:

Kieran: You're the Inquisitor. You're very tall. Mother didn't say you were a Qunari.

Inquisitor: Oh? I'm told it's the first thing one notices about me.

Kieran: I noticed your blood. It doesn't belong to your people.

Here’s where things might get a little tin-foily.

When we get to the end of this area, the part looking over the coffin room, Cole will say:

“They’re all singing. Coffers, coffins, corpses that aren’t dead. A song crying out in the dark.”

The type of coffins/tombs we see in this area can be found in other parts of the main game. Here is an up-close screenshot of the tombs in this area:

And here is an example of the same type of tomb from the Solasan Temple, which is also associated with elves:

Based of Cole’s comment, I think the tombs we see in this room may contain ancient elves that are in uthenera. The “corpses that aren’t dead” part is what really makes me think this is the case. Uthenera is described as an alternative to dying for the ancient elves. When they didn’t want to be a part of the world anymore, they went into uthenera. It sounds similar to a coma. Abelas calls it the blissful sleep that never ends. The Mythal statues poised above the tombs, looking down on them/watching over them, makes me think that these are some of her people that have been put into Uthenera.

I’m not done with this topic yet; I still want to discuss the notes left behind by a dalish Qunari, but this post is already stupid long so it will have to wait.

[littlelostmabari]

Day 2: Armor

Ok maybe I am doing #Veilguard30, whoops. Cullen / Non-Inquisitor Mage OC, established relationship.

Rating: T (lyrium addiction, references to death)

Word Count: 1500

I wrote this thinking about Saoirse from my fic One of the Good Ones, but her name doesn't appear. The POV is not described other than she/her pronouns. Inky in this universe is (spoilers) a bit of a shit. Also don't @ me about Cullen w/ a mage, it makes sense in OotGO 🙃

"The Commander sleeps in his armor."

He'd heard the joke before. Every day. For weeks.

He heard it as he stomped across the battlements to the Herald's Rest for a bite of stale loaf too early for even the kitchen staff to be awake. Someone whispered as they left his office late into the night, when the only other waking minds were the soldiers too ill-behaved or unlucky to be posted during daytime when visiting nobles could bear witness to their antics. Varric mentioned it offhand on a random Thursday in Wintermarch when the Commander had stormed through the main hall of Skyhold to another inane meeting with the advisors and this woman who liked to call herself Inquisitor.

The dwarf thought he was original.

No, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Armies of the Second Inquisition, former acting Knight-Commander of the Circle at Kirkwall, formerly of Honnleath in Ferelden, did not sleep in his armor.

The truth was, he barely slept at all.

She closed the door, gently clicking wood and iron to shut herself away from the moonlight. Inside, three pairs of candles lit every available surface. One pair flickered on the table closest to the ladder to illuminate the path for runners between this office and the atrium of the elven apostate. Another pair were dimmer on the desk that she sometimes occupied when she helped him with supply ledgers.

The final pair, and the ones most frequently replaced, lit up the large wooden desk that formed the center of the Inquisitions armies. That desk was storied with symbolism and the weight of the duty of — oh who was she kidding. The desk was heavy as shit, and she knew because she and Sera had tried to stuff a small wooden wedge underneath it and their combined strength could barely shift the dust that accumulated along the edge. Fortunately the Iron Bull could be bribed.

Anyway, what was she looking at? Oh right, the candles.

Or more truthfully, the man whose face was lit up by the flicker of light. He was sitting, at least, a hand mulling about his three-day-old scruff. The shadow of yet another piece of paperwork struck an odd angle against his cheekbones and across the side of his nose, such that the emotions across his mouth and jaw were unreadable.

He hadn't looked up when she entered, but that wasn't unusual. Even this late at night, patrols and runners moved through his office with stunning regularity; unless something registered a threat or asked intentionally for his attention, he rarely got distracted by the doors anymore. She normally would take her time moving about the office, decluttering, dusting, replacing books back onto bookshelves in the way he had taught her because no, alphabetical order does not suffice, otherwise Genitivi's works would be too far away from the rest of the Chant.

Tonight, however, his hand wasn't just mulling across his three-day-old scruff, and he wasn't just holding yet another piece of paperwork up to the light. His fingers dug into both paper and flesh, tearing where they could and intenting where they couldn't. Eyes wide, she stepped carefully into his vision before moving closer. She was desperate not to startle him.

"Cul," she said softly, her murmur just barely louder than a whisper. "Is everything okay, sweetheart?"

His eyes betrayed him.

His hand fell from his mouth, leaving small red splotches and soft lines where the leather and the seams of his gloves dug into the skin of his cheeks. He dropped the list onto the table, and sat back with a smile that would have looked natural to those who did not know him. He stretched and rolled his shoulders in an effort to relieve the tension in his back and spine, but the creak of leather in need of conditioning suggested that he had spent too long hunched in thought. The wood of the chair legs scraped against stone.

"Hey, Pup, you're early," he murmured in return, one hand leaving his lap and stretching out, welcoming her to take its place. She obliged, sweeping one leg in between his and perching on his left thigh. She could enjoy at least this one of the only parts of him not covered in steel.

"I'm late, Cul. The three bell patrol just came through, and you," — she clicked a nail against his breastplate — "are supposed to be in bed."

He grimaced at the thought of his tardiness, but his eyes betrayed him again. They looked into her face without seeing, and then back down at the paper.

"Those we lost at Adamant," he answered the question she didn't ask. "Inquisition and Wardens."

She reached lingering fingers across the desk to the paper and pulled it just close enough to see that the list was too long. She reached a little farther and flipped it upside down in an attempt to hide it from his gaze, but the list only continued on the other side. He shared her grimace.

"Too many mistakes," he whispered, as if saying it made it reluctantly true. "The Inquisitor didn't bother with the battlements, and sentenced all the Wardens she met to death. Even those willing to lay down their arms. The report from Straud was damning". He made to slam his fist down on the table, but hesitated in the nighttime hours. "If I had been… if I had been at my best, Pup. If I had been focused…"

She pressed her lips gently to his forehead and let them linger. A small incantation left under her breath when she finally pulled away, and she could see the ripple of restoration magic echo down from his forehead to his neck, through his torso, and down to the hands that had started to shake.

"Lyrium might have saved a couple of them, Cullen." Her eyes looked deep into his, where the wrinkles looked ever so slightly shallower. "But you are saved without it. And the Inquisition needs you, Cullen. The best version of you."

"And I am better without Lyrium."

A couple years ago the statement would have been snarled with a snide grin or a sing-song lilt. He would have mocked her, while in the throes of withdrawal. Today it was emboldening, a mantra. He didn't quite yet believe it, but he no longer thought her entirely wrong.

She held him, palm against his cheekbone and fingers nustled in his hair, her forehead to his, until he found his way back to her glade of calm. Then, wordlessly, she rose with her hand on his, and moved them both away from the desk and towards the ladder, and with four candles snuffed, he followed her up into the loft.

The routine was a nightly ritual when they were both at Skyhold in the cramped attic they shared. When either slept alone, they each found themselves a little lost in the moments before bed, missing the parts of their night where touch was shared.

He never let her remove his boots and cuisses. They were almost always filthy, and he thought more of her than to have her wash his feet (even as she protested that they were his feet so she loved them anyway). His hands worked the buckles at his shoulders, where she was just barely too short to reach comfortably, while her nimble fingers worked their sisters on the sides of his torso. He would watch as she removed his bracers, breathing in the scent of her hair. Sometimes he let her remove his gloves, but more often than not she would ask him to pull them off with his teeth while he watched her climb into their bed. There was something primal about him ripping the final pieces from his body, sometimes wrapping items like his fur pauldrons around her, that made her dizzy with need.

But tonight was quiet in both mind and spirit. She brushed her lips against the parts of skin that she uncovered, replacing them with the gentlest of fingertip touches as he placed the pieces on the armor stand with ritual born of unannounced spot checks and stern commanding officers. The rest of his armor, clothes meant for the laundry and leathers in desperate need of new conditioning, were piled neatly next to the stairs for attending to tomorrow.

The moonlight she had shut out so long ago peeked in through the hole in the roof that neither of them wanted to fix. The oblique angle spread a path of silky white across two bodies that tangled themselves together under lightweight blankets, weaving legs over and under and arms across chests and under necks until neither knew where they ended and the other began. With her restoration magic quieting the simmering under his skin, sleep came quickly.

The morning did too.

And, as he did every morning, the Commander of the Inquisition's forces woke before the sun. It had no chance to gleam across steel and fur, even through the hole in the attic roof, until it was already on his body and he was striding across the battlements for a bite of stale loaf.

[rathologic]

P1 Saburov and Viktor are so terribly underrated and it's such a shame because their characters are immensely interesting and way more developed beyond "evil corrupt politician" and "isolated and rich single father with much children cooler than him", which is how I've seen some people halk about them. You are doing god's work

Oh deeply... I do think there's an effect where an important part of both of their arcs as rulers is that they're rendered obsolete halfway through the game, as soon as the Inquisitor shows up and overtakes their authority. from that point on only their associated healer gets to interact with them at any depth, but both of them are also planning to die (...normal reaction to being rendered obsolete) so it's harder for their dialogue to stick outside what's most vital for quests. also since nobody plays changeling route :-(

I see victor reduced to 'wifeguy' more than 'guy with important kids' more often (and enjoy it, even partake!) but he stands out to me as having the most personal, even self-centered wants in the cast- repairing his relationships with (living) family, the wish to leave and finish his university degree; in fact I'd say victor is someone who's been deprived of the things most important to him for a long time, and is in a position where he could get them back, if he only abandoned the project of leading the Town towards utopia which the kains have devoted themselves to for the past 5 years / forever. and nina's soul is present in and tied to that project, but there is some level on which only victor remembers her as a person instead of a divine instrument- and that lends itself to the ability to grieve and move on. if victor kain walked out of pathologic I think he'd ultimately be happy, and I think he's unique among the rulers for that. but the tragedy of all of the families is that they're embedded in a town and traditions that Will Not Let Them Out

whereas saburov is like. he grew up in this town, his mother would've been a Mistress herself, the town's needs and impositions as a structure are so ingrained to him that he doesn't conceive of any selfhood or duty that Doesn't involve his role as The Saburov, putting himself on the line for everything that might befall the town. and the patterns are also so ingrained to him that he starts to think he can change or at least outsmart them. come to think of it, the whole first half of changeling route is his trying to find someone responsible for the plague, and ultimately when there is no such person he takes that responsibility onto himself but He Tries so hard first... clara's presence disrupts the balance and therefore taking her in might allow him to control the balance (and per recent discussion there's a masculinity in his need for control), except the conjectures he makes don't really apply to something completely new and unknown. and to his credit saburov loves changing his mind when presented with new information and there's a lot of guilt accumulating because of it and ultimately he gives up that control to clara, being one of few characters to genuinely grow over the course of the game. But in a way that's still symbolically equivalent with death 🙂

So they're two self-abnegating people who are the "less important" member of their ruling family and become surpassed by their daughters in the town to come, but from totally perpendicular backgrounds that cross just at this point... it's very fun that they don't get along as administrators when rulerhood is the one thing they kind of share

[calkestis]

“what if i wanna stop fighting?”

this hits so hard because it made me realize ahsoka is maybe one of the first in a generation of jedi that never got to be what a jedi was supposed to be: a symbol of hope and peace. they were thrown into a war that made people question what the jedi represent; people stopped looking at them with respect and started seeing them as threats. which is so fucking unfair when you think about it because they’re the least responsible for the sins of the jedi order. they were kids yet they end up carrying all this weight on their shoulders for everything their masters and those who came before did wrong.

and it comes with so much trauma and lots of questions about their role in the world and who they are - we see it with ahsoka, but also saw it with kanan and cal and even the former jedi who were broken and became inquisitors. they never had a choice so they ended up feeling obligated to keep fighting because it’s the only thing they knew. the only thing the jedi order taught them. they don’t even have the option to stop and ask themselves these questions because they’re so caught up in that mess of a galaxy around them. they’re the definition of a sacrificed generation and i want to throw myself into a tar pit

[saint--chloe]

The Devil's legacy

People close to me know I've complained many times about how too much of Satanism is being tied to Christianity, how so many Satanists are merely living in Christianity's shadow. They're doing what has been done for centuries which is using Satan as a symbol of power to combat the institution or values they hate.

I sought to fix that issue at least within my practice and the future covenant I long to write however today I began to wonder if that was possible at all without divorcing key part of the Devil from his totality.

The history of the Devil a few centuries before the Church of Satan is an history of people; socialists, non-conformists, the oppressed, the desperate, revolutionaries, feminists, suffragettes & left wing thinkers using our Devil unique abilities to undermine the Christian hegemony & the status quo. That struggle never really stopped either, the biggest — I guess we'll call them Satanic — organization, The Satanic Temple, is still doing that today.

If you look into a more non denominational Devil in traditional Witchcraft which draws a lot of it's tradition & folklore from the witches persecution, the inquisitor writings on witches and of course the witches account of the Sabbat & their craft, we immediately run into the same issue where our Devil is intermingled just as strongly with Christianity.

Other issues is the nature of our Devil which inherently run contrary to Christianity. Of course many ideas and philosophies run contrary to the religion, that does not make them an adversary sensu stricto. However we are not merely philosophically opposed, we are spiritual foes in the clearest sense. Everything down to Witchcraft in itself is in direct opposition. Combine that with the fact that Christianity is the largest religion in the world and that a huge amount of Satanist are here in the first place due to religious trauma, perhaps completely divorcing Christianity from our Devil is a foolish quest. For now anyway.

There is this delusion shared by many that the struggle against Abrahamic religions is over, that it's now "cringe" or beating a dead horse to oppose them. I don't know how you can possibly be alive in this world, or see the news and believe this. Of course we'll never beat them in numbers. We will always be the minority. Our Devil in his great wisdom favors quality over quantity.

I'm not claiming the Craft should be about Christianity, it absolutely should not at all be. It was simply maybe an error on my part to want to erase that part of our Devil that ties him to it. It is a part of him and a shining part of our legacy. After all, without that side of him we would not be free.

[wyvernne]

III. In which the Holy Knight wins Diluc’s favor

for @mmmairon

read on ao3

The moment you step through the tavern door Diluc levels you with an irritated look. You grin, knocking the door shut with your hip. “That’s quite the way to greet your guests, sir.”

Even from this distance, you can see his jaw working in irritation. Can he smell the blood?

“You look awful,” he says quietly. You make yourself comfortable at the bar, sighing at the ache as you settle down.

Today the Inquisitors were kind enough to personally spar with you, four to one. You didn’t stand a chance. Especially considering half of them wield visions.

“Thanks,” you respond dryly. It’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a few sparse customers spread across the tavern, mostly keeping to themselves. “What’s on special today?”

Diluc sets a glass in front of you. “Water.”

You scoff, flicking the glass with your finger. “Do you think I’m a child?”

“I cannot, in good conscience, give you alcohol when you’ve got wounds like that,” he says firmly.

You lift your head, squinting at him. “How can you tell?”

You already know the answer. He can smell it. Diluc doesn’t take your bait.

He startles you when he reaches out, thumb wiping against your jaw. He pulls away, lifting his hand for you to see. You missed a spot then.

“You’ve got blood all over you. Don’t think I can’t tell the difference between yours and others.” He has immaculate self control, seeing as he merely wipes his hand off with a rag. Waste of a perfectly good snack.

You wince, rubbing your temple. “Diluc, I’m really not—“

There’s a clatter, and you stop short. Diluc motions to the jar he’s just dropped in front of you. “At least put salve on that nasty cut on your temple.”

You’ve got far more than that, really. Those bastards in white didn’t hold back at all.

“Give me a glass of wine first,” you grumble.

Diluc sighs. He’s lucky he’s got a nice face. It’s a miracle he keeps customers at all with that sour attitude of his.

———————————

You’ve had far too much to drink. Charles, in all his infinite kindnesses, has supplemented Diluc’s rather stingy bartending with a generous flow of mixed drinks. It’s only you that Diluc is withholding liquor from, seeing as the tavern has gotten infinitely rowdier as the night has gone on.

Diluc chats idly with a patron at the other end of the bar. It’s hard not to watch him, honestly. It feels like a sin not to. Not when the Divines’ most perfect creation is right in front of you, hair tied back with a black ribbon.

Can ribbons be sensual? They look like it on Diluc. Gods. They’re practically a sex symbol when he wears it. Everything is.

The alcohol has dulled both your thoughts and the pain from the wounds the Inquisitors left behind. Hangover or not, it’s worth it now, when all you need to think about is how good Diluc looks.

Gods, he looks so good.

“Are you alone?” You barely manage to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as a man sidles up beside you. You didn’t come here tonight to look for a partner.

“I’m quite content by myself,” you reply. As if he could draw your attention when Teyvat’s most beautiful being is standing feet away. You turn away, and for a single moment catch Diluc’s gaze. Okay? he mouths.

“Listen,” The man’s hand slides up your back. You swat at him, scoffing. Take a fucking hint. “How about you and I get out of here?”

“Fuck off,” you reply sharply. You’re too drunk to deal with a nuisance like him delicately.

“Don’t be so standoffish,” he coos. You flex your fingers. It’s hard to mitigate your strength when you’re intoxicated, but you have no qualms about sending this bastard flying.

His hand slips to your flank. Enough. You shift back, raising your fist.

You don’t get the chance. It takes you a long moment to realize Diluc has one hand around your wrist and the other yanking the man away from you by the collar.

“If you’re going to bother my patrons, get out,” he says firmly. The tavern falls quiet.

The man laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”

Diluc releases him, shifting to block you from his view. His fingers are still clasped around your wrist, but you haven’t the mind to shake him off. Not yet.

“I wasn’t bothering you, was I, sweetheart?” he asks, peering around Diluc’s shoulder to see you.

You nudge Diluc to the side, shaking free of his hold. “Go fuck yourself.”

The man’s smile drops. He scowls, yanking his collar away from his throat. “I was just leaving, anyway.”

Something crosses his face and he grins, leaning close to you. “Ah. Does the Church know a monster is going around masquerading as a citizen of Mondstadt?”

You swing.

————————

You grin, giving Diluc a thumbs up. “You’re welcome. I wouldn’t say no to a ‘thank you’ drink, mind you.”

He sighs, pressing a cloth to your nose. “Keep it there until the bleeding stops.”

“Just give me a drink, for fucks sake,” you grumble. You’re still far too drunk to be making rational decisions, but no part of you regrets throwing that punch. Bastard got what was coming to him.

“No.”

Diluc is angry. He must be, seeing as you struck a paying customer square in the face. That bastard is lucky his elbow caught your nose by pure chance as Diluc was pulling you back. You would’ve concussed him without a second thought.

Diluc speaks again after a long beat, setting a glass down in front of you. “Please, don’t go starting brawls in my tavern again.”

You take a tentative sip, frowning at the realization that it’s just juice. “I was only defending your honor.”

He laughs dryly. “My honor has been stamped into the dirt for decades. Don’t bother yourself with it.”

A hand touches your shoulder. Not again.

You turn, half ready to swing again, but it’s only Harry. He grins heartily at you.

“I’ve come to retrieve this,” he says to Diluc, nodding to you.

Diluc’s jaw ticks. He almost looks murderous, if you could focus your vision for long enough to tell. “Back to the slaughterhouse already?”

Harry bows. “You wound us, Sir. We’re only doing our jobs. I heard a commotion and thought I would fulfill my duty and lend a hand. It’s no surprise this one was the cause.”

“Are they angry?” you manage, tossing the rag onto the counter. The bleeding hasn’t exactly stopped, but it’s slowed enough for now.

Harry scoffs, tugging you off the stool. “Take a wild guess.”

Your head is spinning. Only bad things wait for you back at the Church.

Diluc catches your arm. You turn, surprised. Deja vu, and in the span of such a short time. It’d be romantic if only you were a touch drunker.

It’s hard to gauge the expression on his face when you can hardly focus on the floor in front of you.

“Tell the Church their Knight has been delayed,” he says firmly.

“If it’s a matter of the bill—“ Harry begins.

Diluc raises a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t believe your Knight is well enough to make the trip back. I insist on providing lodgings for the night.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “You think I’d leave one of our own under your care? This intoxicated?”

“I have a room upstairs just for situations like this,” Diluc says. He tugs you out of Harry’s grip.

“Tell the Church to fuck off,” you offer with another thumbs up. It’s probably not something you’d ever say sober, but you’ve enough alcohol in you to dull any reservations you’ve had about criticizing the Church.

“You fuck off,” Harry mutters, raking a hand through his hair. “Don’t come whining to me when the Inquisitors find out.”

“You won’t say a word?” you ask. You’re not far gone enough to ignore the warning he’s giving you.

“I never saw you here,” Harry grumbles. He turns on his heel, clearly irritated.

You don’t dwell on it. Diluc lets out a breath, and heaves you over one shoulder without a second thought for the onlookers around you. “To bed with you, then.”

———————

“Let me know if you feel like you might get sick,” Diluc murmurs, pulling a chair up to the bedside.

“I’m not that drunk,” you slur. Your head is throbbing, but it’s hard to tell if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you were hit in the head today. Twice, at that.

“Is the Church always so rough during training?” he asks.

You open one eye, peeking at him. He’s trying to act nonchalant, leafing through the book left on the nightstand, but his words are pointed enough. “Trying to use the wine against me, eh?”

He scoffs, but doesn’t glance up from the pages. “You’re sober enough to snark back, aren’t you?”

You sigh, rolling onto your side. “I’ve been injured more during training than I have out on the field.”

He looks up, finally, mouth pressed into a firm line.

You sling your arm back over your eyes, grumbling. “I don’t need your judgment.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies quietly. He doesn’t have to. You know better than anyone how twisted the Church’s “traditions” are. Severe injuries during training within the Knights are accidents. Severe injuries during training within the Holy Knights are standard practice.

You can’t even count how many birthdays you’d passed with black eyes from the Inquisitors. It never gets any easier.

Diluc says nothing more. There’s only the soft rustle of pages turning and the steady sound of his breathing to lull you into sleep.

———————

“Diluc,” you press. He’s irritatingly fast, stride just a touch longer than yours so you have to jog every other step to keep up with him. He either doesn’t notice the difference or doesn’t care. You’re not sure which one irks you more. “Have you decided to bring me on yet?”

“I’ve no intention of taking a Holy Knight under my employ,” he replies curtly.

You click your tongue. “I caught up to you. Shouldn’t you reward me?”

It wasn’t exactly easy to catch him just as he was exiting the city gates, especially given how early it still is. There’s also the lingering feeling that he could have left unnoticed, had he so desired. He could’ve left you far behind. It’s hard to decipher his actions, sometimes.

He made enough noise as he was leaving the tavern to alert you, hungover or not.

Diluc ignores your provocations in favor of raising a hand in greeting. You peer over his shoulder to see Elzer, waiting just beyond the end of the bridge.

“Good morning, Holy Knight,” Elzer says warmly.

You repeat the sentiment, but the nagging uncertainty in your stomach only grows at the sight of him. Diluc wouldn’t need his closest aid if he were merely returning to the winery.

“Tagging along?” Elzer asks, as much to Diluc as to you.

“Hardly,” Diluc grumbles. “But I suppose I’ve been left with no choice.”

“I’d rather not return for morning mass,” you mutter. Besides, there’s no doubt the Church has already caught wind of your little brawl in Diluc’s tavern. If you’re already going to be punished, what’s a few more transgressions for the list?

“You should do well to remember your vows. I have no interest in catching the Church’s attention just because they can’t keep their knights in check,” Diluc sighs, exasperated. “Especially after last night.”

Despite his complaints, he makes absolutely no effort to stop you from trailing behind him. Elzer, in all his good graces, slows his pace to match yours with a warm smile. Your hangover has slowed you enough to be a nuisance, but Diluc makes no comment of it. Besides, you’re sure your face is quite the sight, given all that’s happened.

Your little trip ends far sooner than you’d expected, only a ways down the road from the city. Diluc halts abruptly, arm shooting out to stop you.

There, a group of Fatui stand only a few yards off the path, obscured by the overgrowth of trees. It’s not exactly the most secretive of meeting places. It’s… it’s almost absurd, how easy it was to spot them. Anyone with their wits about them could catch sight of their ominous presence just beyond the green.

“Don’t speak,” he says quietly. You sigh, but you’re not stupid enough to disobey him. You trust Diluc far more than any order that could come from the Church. He knows that well enough.

Elzer steps in front of you as you approach. You’re certainly not wearing any favonius insignias, but the Fatui spend their share of time monitoring the Church. There’s no telling if any of them might recognize your face.

From bartending to meeting with the Fatui only hours later. Once again, Diluc’s intentions are impossible to understand.

It’s a small team, only three soldiers and a commander. They seem relatively low-ranking, given their badges. You stay obediently back, only nodding your head towards the group in acknowledgment.

“Sir,” the Commander begins, opening his arms wide. Diluc is pulled into a haphazard hug. You’ve seen the greeting enough between Snezhnayans, but the Commander should know well enough that Diluc is put off by the gesture. He must be testing his boundaries.

Diluc’s expression remains unchanging. You tune out most of the business talk the moment it begins. It’s not what you followed Diluc for, after all. You already know most of what they’re saying is likely coded beyond anything you’d hope to decipher.

Regardless, any intent you had to soak up the information from this little transaction of his falters when you see the weapons. The Fatui are all heavily armed. Every nerve in your body goes alight. Diluc seems strangely relaxed, given the situation.

Even Elzer doesn’t spare you a glance. He has that same, unfaltering smile, pleasant to the point that it’s eerie.

You don’t even have a sword at your hip. It’s utterly belated, but it’s only now you realized neither Diluc nor Elzer have a single weapon. Even all your training is nothing when faced with the sheer firepower each Fatuus holds in their hands. It feels like too obvious a trap.

The talks drag on for nearly an hour. Wine, grapes, mora. Simple business transactions, if taken at face value. But still… there’s something in the air that has your stomach in knots. Something about the way Diluc and Elzer are so utterly nonchalant, even when speaking with their supposed enemies.

The Fatuus just to the right of Diluc shifts. It’s hardly anything noteworthy at all, really, but you can tell from his stance.

He’s stiff, as if he’s preparing himself for something. Everything else drowns out. You can focus only on that rigid figure across from you. His arm shifts suddenly, and it’s—

Well. You can blame your stupidity on reflexes, at best.

You jolt forward, shoving Diluc to the side just as a bang resounds through the air. He catches himself easily, but the words don’t make it out of your throat.

You’re an idiot, truly.

Maybe being around Diluc has dulled your sensibilities. All you can focus on is how hard it is to catch your breath. It feels like you’ve been punched. You grapple blindly at your shoulder, and to your surprise your glove comes away darkened with blood.

An odd sound escapes your throat at the sight. Blood. You’re bleeding.

Whatever Diluc’s intention was, it’s clear you’ve utterly fucked it all up. The thought has your stomach lurching. Idiot. You’re such an idiot.

There’s a deafening commotion, a scuffle only a few feet away. You can’t focus on any of it. Your mind isn’t functioning correctly. Shot. You were shot. It’s hard to breathe. There’s so much blood.

You gasp for air, doubling over. Diluc shouts some distance away and suddenly Elzer is by your side, coaxing you down. You’re bleeding, but your hand grapples to your throat, slick with sweat, as you try desperately to fill your lungs.

“I can’t breathe,” you wheeze. Elzer leans you back, pressing you flat to the ground.

“There, just like that,” he soothes, pulling his jacket off. He folds the fabric over your shoulder with quick efficiency.

“Deep breath,” he instructs. You’re fucking trying. He puts his weight onto the mess of your shoulder, wincing as you sob in response. Your heels kick against the ground, trying to escape the pressure, but Elzer holds firm.

“I don’t feel well,” you manage. You sound like an upset child, voice unsteady and weak.

You can’t even focus on Elzer’s face. You feel hot and deathly cold at the same time, strewn between breathlessness and nausea and feeling like your heart is about the burst any moment.

Diluc comes into view, blood splattered across his cheek. He ducks down, replacing Elzer’s hands with his own. “Doctor is coming. Hold on a little longer.”

Oh no. Just seeing his face has your emotions welling up again, and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. “Diluc.”

“I’m right here,” he replies. Diluc’s fangs are out. You can see it when he speaks, that threatening glisten of ivory hiding just behind his rosy lips.

He should drink while he has the chance. Make good use of whatever blood hasn’t already spilled out into the dirt around you.

You repeat his name, but this time your voice catches on a sob.

He hushes you. He’s shaking. You can feel the way it vibrates through your body. Or maybe you’re the one shaking. It’s hard to tell.

“Elzer, go meet him halfway,” he orders sharply.

“How?” you ask. He seems to know what you mean. You were hit only… minutes ago? It’s hard to judge how much time has passed. Certainly not enough to fetch a doctor, even given how close the city is.

“I ran,” he mutters. Right. He isn’t like you. He isn’t human. He would’ve been fine, even if the bullet had hit its mark. How stupid and thoughtless could you be?

You swallow. “The Fatui?”

“Dead,” he answers dismissively. Diluc swallows. “You’ve lost a lot of blood already. Don’t waste your energy needlessly.” There’s something strange in the tone of his voice, but you can hardly mull over it. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it might. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. You just feel sick.

“It’s okay. Elzer will be back with the doctor soon. Just— just hold on.” Diluc almost sounds frantic. The pressure he’s putting on your shoulder is starting to ache, but it’s hard to focus on what, exactly, hurts.

“I’m going to be sick,” you manage.

Diluc shifts you onto your side just as you begin retching. Maybe it’s by the grace of the Anemo Archon that nothing comes up, but it’s no less embarrassing. Especially in front of Diluc.

When the fit ends he eases you onto your back once more, pressure firm over your shoulder. If it hit an artery, you’ve no more than a few minutes left, at best. The expression on Diluc’s face makes it hard to gauge just how bad it really is.

He’s pretty, at least. A nice view to die before. It’s a petty, shallow thought. Especially given how upset Diluc looks at the situation. Maybe you are an idiot after all.

——————

Getting put on house arrest seems rather unfair, given all the circumstances. Not dying should be celebrated under the Anemo Archon’s grace, according to everything the Church preaches to the masses.

Except, perhaps, when the whole “almost dying” happens because you directly disobeyed orders from the Inquistors. According to them, of course. You were merely helping out an acquaintance.

It only takes a day, locked in your room, for a bottle of wine to miraculously appear on the windowsill. It’s hard to tell if it’s a gift from Barbatos himself or the goodwill of a certain red-haired beauty. You don’t ponder it. Wine is wine, after all. And it’s a welcome treat to pass the hours and stave away the nasty ache in your shoulder.

You’re not one to question a heartfelt gift.

[lafaiette]

WIP Thursday

Tagged by @emmg ! I'm actually finishing the last chapter of a fic unrelated to DA, but I wrote this short snippet after watching all the review videos and getting inspired. I missed writing my Scarlet 😭

I don't know who to tag, to be honest - please feel free to participate if you see this on your dash!

Varric walked into the room with a weary sigh. There were times when the years weighed more than usual on his short frame, as if heavy boulders filled with regrets were pressing on his shoulders.

He forced a smile back on his face when he saw the Inquisitor standing next to a table, studying what looked like a map of northern Thedas - just like he had left her a few hours prior, when he had gone to rest his dusty old bones for a while.

"Ah, Shy, you work too hard."

She smiled at him, but her eyes quickly went back to the map, as if she couldn't look away from it even for a second. The fingers of her real hand were dirty with ink, meaning she had been taking notes, or perhaps writing letters.

She looked tired, pale, and Varric felt a pang of fatherly concern, mixed with pride.

"At least use another candle." he said, lighting one up for her and placing it on the table. Better, but the room was still a bit dark, and her golden eyes looked as bloodshot as ever.

"It's alright, Varric. I'll go to sleep as soon as I'm done checking some things here."

She nodded at the map, and Varric noticed the small symbols she had written on it with a pencil - arrows, some sort of trail leading from Antiva to Tevinter, question marks...

"I doubt Solas' hideout will appear on there, no matter how much you keep glaring at it, Shy."

He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but she laughed, the sound very similar to the one she would make in the past, back when she was still Inquisitor.

"You're right, but I can't help it."

She pushed back her red hair from her face, trying to put some rebellious locks behind her long ears. He noticed her prosthetic arm moved stiffly, and made a mental note to ask Dagna to check it later.

"We'll find him, Scarlet." he swore, locking eyes with her. Her face, free from vallaslin ever since that night at Crestwood, suddenly looked younger as she stared at him, eyes wide.

Then a melancholy smile curled her lips, timid like his nickname for her, but also filled with hope.

"If this 'Rook' you found is as good as you claim..."

"Oh, they are! They're basically my right hand, at this point."

"... Then I'm not worried."

"Last time I heard them, they said they had a good feeling about a new trail." He sighed, staring at the strong flame of the new candle he had lit up. "I think this is it, Inquisitor."

She swallowed and glanced back at the map, just for a moment, the fingers of her left, fake hand twitching at her side.

"I just hope you and your friend will have better luck at talking with him than I did."

"You know me, Inquisitor." Varric gave her his famous lopsided grin, puffing out his chest. "I can be very convincing when I want to."

"Yes." She smiled again, another small victory. But she got serious and worried again, making Varric tense up. "But please - promise me you and Rook will be careful."

"I promise." He even crossed his heart, hoping to make her smile or laugh again. But Scarlet kept staring at him, pale and gaunt, anxious and worried, her love for Solas still burning strong in her heart after all those years.

Varric knew he still visited her dreams. He had - without meaning to - heard her talk about it with Dorian.

"But first..." He glared at her. "Promise me something in return."

Scarlet's eyebrows rose in surprise, and she nodded.

"Please, please, take care of yourself while me and Harding are away." Varric snorted, crossing his arms. "Solas would weep if he saw how exhausted you are. And I don't want him to skin me alive when we'll manage to drag him back to you."

Scarlet giggled - a third victory! Varric cheered - and nodded, the jawbone hanging from her neck swinging back and forth.

"Good! Now go eat something and rest. I'll tidy things up here."

"Thank you, Varric."

She left the room, her fake arm stiff, almost still. Varric turned to the table, instictively stared at Minrathous' icon on the map for a few seconds, then sighed and started putting away all the notes and letters scattered here and there, hoping he would have good news to share with her soon.

[antianakin]

You know what annoys me? Like every former Jedi that gets shown bashes the Order. Show me a former Jedi who left not because of some BS ‘Jedi are wrong’ reason. Have some who left because they acknowledged that they weren’t fit for it or because they fell in love and understood they couldn’t be fully dedicated to both their spouse and the Order. Show me former Jedi who are still fond of other Jedi and the Order.

Yeah I feel like there's maybe been one or two in comics or something? I feel like I remember seeing panels where someone was discussing their grandmother who had once been a Jedi and left because she wanted to start a family, but there was never any animosity or hard feelings or anything like that.

I feel like the reason we don't see it very often is because, like I've been mentioning in my post about Pong Krell recently, former Jedi often end up being FALLEN Jedi who are always then utilized to showcase the theme of selfishness and greed. The Jedi are a symbol of selflessness and compassion within the narrative, so it can sometimes I think be difficult to write a character who has left that behind and NOT have them sort-of... becoming a symbol of the opposite. It places the characters in this strange limbo where they AREN'T part of that symbol of selflessness and compassion anymore, but they aren't a symbol of the opposite either, so what is the point of this character within the overall narrative? We see the problem this causes with any story involving Ahsoka these days.

There seem to be three places where we see these characters go.

First is the fallen Jedi route, obviously. They've left the Order and since gone down a path of darkness. This is where characters like Anakin, Dooku, Barriss, Pong Krell, and all of the Inquisitors end up. Pretty obvious storyline.

The second is where the character leaves the Jedi for any reason and then ultimately has to find their way BACK to being a Jedi as part of their journey. They probably never were fully fallen or anything, but they do lose some part of themselves when they lose their identity as a Jedi and regaining that identity allows them to grow into a healthier, more compassionate and selfless person. This is where characters like Kanan, Cal Kestis, Cere Junda, and Obi-Wan Kenobi end up.

The third is the Jedi critical route and the only one I know of who is on this particular journey is Ahsoka, but I'm assuming that The Acolyte might end up with at least one of their characters in this category. This is where the characters leave the Jedi Order and they don't explicitly end up FALLEN, but they're not at all on a route BACK to being a Jedi either. Or, if they are, it's explicitly NOT a Jedi like they were before and this is what makes them BETTER than the other Jedi.

The point is that there's usually a JOURNEY that is involved in characters who have left the Order or lost their identity as a Jedi in some way. Characters who have left the Order but bear no animosity towards the Jedi and are still fond of them have less room to grow in terms of their identity. You could presumably do a story of a Jedi that ENDS in them leaving the Order. We kinda sorta got that with the Grogu storyline in TBOBF where he attempts to go back to training with Luke and ultimately decides it's not the path for him anymore. It was arguably done for the wrong reasons and this storyline was rushed because it was put into the wrong show, but the concept behind it is actually quite similar to what you seem to be looking for. And it gave me some more complex feelings about that storyline because you're not wrong that it's not a BAD thing to see a story where a Jedi character leaves the Jedi simply because they've decided it's no longer the right path for them and not due to anything negative. This particular version of it might not be the greatest example of this story ever done, but I didn't hate it, either. I appreciated the novelty of it and the overall way it was handled even if I also had some issues with its placement and the motivation behind it.

So it's not like it CAN'T be done, but I think it just feels less compelling to most people because of what the Jedi tend to symbolize within Star Wars. It'd be interesting to see more people attempt to tackle this story for other characters, but I'm also cognizant that there's a LOT of bad Jedi content out there right now and they keep killing off the Jedi or having characters be Jedi critical and all of that, so having more stories of Jedi who LEAVE the Order isn't perhaps what we need more of. I want more stories of Jedi who are happy to be Jedi first, THEN we can look at stories about Jedi who leave the Order amicably.