#revka wanted

[moss-flesh]

also aila has siblings now coz thats an amell thing

i have names and personality ideas but woof

[shivunin]

First Touch

Merry Christmas @scribbledquillz! I said it at greater length on AO3, but thank you so much for sharing your Revka with me. This is but a fragment of a much greater and lovelier whole, but I'm glad to share it anyway. Here's to our girls being absolute fools over each other for another year!!

(Warden/Warden/Zevran | 4,083 Words | No warnings | AO3 Link)

Summary: Denerim's alienage is a dangerous place without friends, as Tabris learns when she is young. It is fortunate, then, that someone reaches out of the alley shadows and snatches her from danger when she needs it most.

“If only I could recollect it, such  A day of days! I let it come and go  As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;  It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;  If only now I could recall that touch,  First touch of hand in hand—Did one but know!” —Christina Rossetti, “Monna Innominata”

Later, Arianwen would not remember what the fight was about. 

It didn’t matter, really. She fought with the other children in the alienage constantly, over any cause they could dredge up. Oh, she’d admit readily enough that she’d thrown her fair share of first punches, but they were sparse in comparison to every hurt.

She didn’t remember what started that fight, but she did remember how she felt. One of her teeth had been lost three or four alleyways ago, her hair had been torn from the braid her mama’d wound it into that morning, and her bottom lip was swollen and achy. The breath burned in her lungs with every pump of her legs and her pursuers were gaining on her. It was only a matter of time before they caught up. And then—

Quick hands reached out of the darkness and yanked her bodily into a hidden alcove. Whoever had found her, their grip was strong around her wrist and then her upper arm. Wen opened her mouth to protest or bite (she hadn’t decided which), but her captor clapped a hand over her mouth before she could yell. 

“Quiet,” a low voice hissed. “’Less you want them to catch you. Do you?” 

Wen stopped struggling, but every aching muscle stayed braced. This could be a trick, a trap. Nobody had ever bothered before, but then they’d never knocked her teeth out before, either. There was a first for everything. 

The feet that’d been following her neared their hiding place and thundered past. Wen closed her eyes and counted: three, four… Her captor would have lifted her hand and moved away to check, but Wen shook her head. They waited there in tense silence, both of them breathing shallowly, Wen’s split lip stinging worse every second there was a sweaty hand pressed to it. 

At long last, a final pair of feet dashed past. Wen waited one second, then another, and sagged back against soot-smeared bricks. Her captor—savior?— stepped back at last and surreptitiously wiped her hand on her trousers.

“Thanks,” Wen said, drawing the back of her wrist across her mouth. Not good enough; her tongue still tasted copper-hot. She turned her head and spat, then gathered her sleeve and did her best to clear her face of blood and tears alike. 

The other girl had stepped back into the dim light of the afternoon. It settled gently over the neat braids of her hair, the warm brown of her skin and the sharp points of her ears. An elf, then. One about her age, though Arianwen did not think they’d met before. Odd, that; it was hard to find any corner of this warren that didn’t already bear the mark of her feet. And yet, here—a girl she’d never seen before, a part of the alley she’d never hidden inside before now. 

“What’d you do?” the girl asked, tilting her head. She was holding something—a satchel, Wen thought. Someone had carefully embroidered little plants into it to hide a long rip in the fabric. 

Wen shrugged in response and ran a hand along her jaw, feeling for the hole where her tooth had been. 

“Must’ve been bad,” the girl said, eyeing Wen’s jaw. 

“It doesn’t take much,” Wen said, and stretched her chin to one side, then the other before offering her hand. “Wen. Arianwen, I mean. Thanks. They would’ve caught me.”

“Could’ve still gotten away,” the girl said, peering down at her hand, “‘fore they caught you. Made it to the market, least”

“Probably not,” Wen said, and thought about taking her hand back if it was going to go on hanging in the air. Before she could, the girl reached out a hand, scarred at the knuckles, and took hers. 

“Revka,” she said, and squeezed once. She was turning away before Wen could squeeze back, peering into the shadows of the alleyway beyond. “They’re gone.”

“Good,” Wen said, and squeezed past to look in both directions. 

“See you,” Revka said, edging away. “Don’t get caught.” 

Wen watched her for a moment, if only a moment. Odd—but odd things happened to her all the time. She turned to the bricks beside her and foot a handhold, then a space for her bare feet. When she glanced down again to check for any watchers, the girl had already vanished. Wen shrugged inwardly and went on climbing. She was quicker on the roofs than the others; they surely wouldn’t catch her if she made it up there.

Whoever the girl had been, Wen was certain they wouldn’t find each other twice. 

|

“Tired?” Revka’s voice was low in her ear. 

Wen roused herself and straightened, blinking at the ruined wall beyond them for a moment before registering the sunset properly. It was a wash of purples, lavender and gold already giving way to lilac and indigo. Soon, it would all be dark. 

“Never tired,” she informed her oldest and dearest friend, yawning wide enough that her jaw cracked. “Not me.” 

Revka huffed and nudged her aside. Wen rearranged her old coat so they’d both fit beneath and rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. 

“Sleeping with one eye open?” Rev asked. 

“Mmm,” Wen agreed. 

In fact, she’d been here since she’d fought with her father sometime in the early afternoon. She’d planned to leave and find something else to do, but the allure of this particular hideout—Revka’s first, and then theirs together—could not be underestimated. She hadn’t slept the night before, too restless to tuck herself in with the sounds of Shianni and her father breathing softly in the night. Something was coming. She could feel it like tiny thorns catching on her skin, like the distant lightning gathering in stormclouds at sea. Something was coming, something bad, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

But right now—she could feel Rev’s chest rise and fall with her breath, could hear the steady drum of her pulse in her throat. Wen’s coat hadn’t been worth much to keep the cold off alone, but she was warm from ear to toe now. 

“Everything alright?” she asked Rev, half-dozing. Her friend shifted under her and Wen wrapped an arm over her waist to hold her still. 

“Fine,” Rev said, her voice creaky. “Fine. Looking for you.”

“You found me,” Wen said, and opened her eyes enough to watch the last of the light fade from the clouds overhead. A thought struck her, and she turned her head to peer at Rev through the evening’s shadows. 

“How long has it been?” she asked, trying to remember. A dash through the alleyway, blood on her chin, a hand reaching out from the shadows…

“Since?”

“Since you grabbed me in that alley.”

Rev snorted and shifted again, but this time she gathered Wen closer. 

“Ten years?” Wen went on, trying to think. “Fourteen?” 

“Thirteen,” Rev said after a moment. “Somewhere near that.”

Wen hummed again and closed her eyes. She was tired, she decided. Not just weary. Tired. Tired of keeping her head down, tired of holding herself taut and careful and still as a rabbit under brush. She was restless enough to want to get away from this place. 

The two of them had talked about it more than once—running off to somewhere new. Kirkwall. Amaranthine. Redcliffe. Anywhere had to be better than here, where the ghosts of their mothers haunted them both. It was all just idle fancy; Wen knew that. Rev’d never leave her brother behind, and they had no way of keeping him properly safe between the two of them. Whatever Wen had known of fighting had gone to rust like a blade left in the rain. Her ma would be ashamed to see it. She was sure of it. But Ma had been a fighter, and Wen was not. 

“Why?” Rev asked, her voice reaching out to drag Wen from her thoughts. 

“Why what?”

“Why’d you ask?” 

“Oh,” Wen pressed her lips together. “I’ve known you longer than I haven’t.”

“Yeah?” Rev’s head moved—thinking. She was always thinking when her chin tilted like that. 

“Sure. I was twelve then, I think. Feels like forever ago.” 

“Forever,” Rev echoed quietly. Her hand brushed back and forth over Wen’s shoulder. “Can’t remember not knowing you.”

That same unease gripped her again, like cobwebs against her skin or the prickle of hair at her neck when she knew someone was watching. Wen sat up abruptly, throwing the coat off of both of them in the motion, and the cool night air gripped her in its greedy hands. 

“We’re—Rev. Listen.”

“What’s—” Rev began, but stopped abruptly when Wen turned and seized her hands. They were callused and worn, scarred as ever, and Wen thought she must know them better than she knew her own. Rev blinked at her, frowning, but Wen was already speaking again. 

“We’ll stay together, won’t we?” 

“What d’you—”

“Promise me. Whatever happens, it’s me and you. Right?” 

“’Course, Wen,” Rev said fiercely, and: “Here.” 

She wrapped her arms around Wen so tightly that Wen couldn’t see anything but the threadbare fabric at Rev’s shoulder. How annoying this fear was, all the worse for its namelessness. She could not even explain it to herself, except that something was changing and change had never been kind to her. The two of them had lost so much: three parents between them, every belief that the world had been kind, and through all of it they’d still had each other. Whatever was coming—if it was bad…the worst thing she could think of was losing the few people she had left. 

Wen closed her eyes tight and tried to will the world to stay just like this, imperfect and cold as it was, for a little while longer. Whatever it needed to be so she could keep holding on to her dearest friend—whatever she had to do to make that happen, she would do it. 

Nothing could stop her. She wouldn’t let it.

Revka held her tight for a very long time, the two of them swaying in the dust-ridden old warehouse, far above the alienage. Before she let go at last, she spoke again. 

“Me and you,” she said. “Promise you, Wen. Always together.” 

|

The early strokes of sunset shone brilliant off the fields beyond Vigil’s Keep. Wen watched the light go, feet dangling over the vast empty space beneath, and waited. 

“Aha—caught at last,” a low voice announced, and she glanced up when Zevran landed on the stone beside her. The upper wall was thick enough to sit on, but it made for a narrow landing space. She was not surprised that he’d made it, but she was surprised he’d found her so quickly. 

“Brooding again?” he asked, and clicked his tongue against his teeth while he bent to sit beside her. “You worry so, mi vida. She will be home soon enough.”

“Of course she will,” Wen said, but her eyes drifted back to the road. It twisted and turned on the way to the Keep, obscuring any visitors with its hills and fences and shadows. Revka had been due back the day before yesterday, and yet she was still gone. 

Of course, clearing the nearby caverns of darkspawn was not without its hazards, but it wasn’t as if the two of them hadn’t faced worse before. They’d been due back yesterday, but Wen had been expecting them for days and she was growing impatient. 

“If we fetch her back,” Zevran said, nudging her side with his elbow, “she will be delighted. ‘Arianwen,’ she will say, ‘I am terribly glad you have come to interrupt my mission. I was lonely, given that I only have a dozen of our best fighters with me.’ We should go now. Come—I will pack our bags.”

“Hush,” Wen said, and leaned against him. “She doesn’t sound like that.”

“Mmm,” Zevran said, skepticism thick in his voice, but he turned his head to kiss her cheek.

“I wasn’t going to chase after her,” Wen said after a moment, her voice quiet. 

“I never said that you would,” he told her. 

Wen sighed, picked up a rock from the wall beside her, and dropped it. The two of them watched it skip off the lower part of the wall and skid off down hill below. They were still watching it when the first call rose up from the gate. 

“Warden-Commander’s back!” 

“Rev,” Arianwen said, flowing to her feet. She hesitated for only a moment, muscles taut, and looked at Zevran. 

“Go, go,” he said, laughing and levering himself to his feet. “I will be right behind.”

She needed no more encouragement than that. Wen turned and ran. 

There were many secret ways in the castle. Some she had found, some had been shown to her by Nate, and others she had made for herself. She took a combination of these now, swinging down rafters and dashing through secret corridors. The whole expedition still hadn’t made it through the gates by the time Arianwen made it there herself, but she could pick Revka out of the crowd in an instant. Could’ve picked her out of a far larger crowd in seconds, probably, so familiar was her shape to Wen. 

She didn’t call out as she made her way down the last of the stairs, the wind dragging her hair loose from its careful braid. She didn’t need to. One of the other Wardens saw her coming and moved out of the way. The others followed suit, laughing or passing coin back and forth as she came. Wen paid them no mind, though she knew this sort of thing sometimes made her Revka uncomfortable. Let them make their bets. She’d already won the only ones worth anything. 

Revka was the last one to notice her, it seemed, for she turned from handing someone a report just as Wen reached her. There was only enough time for her to throw out her hands and Wen was there, nearly unbalancing them both. 

“It’s been weeks,” she said, the accusation plain in her voice, and turned her head to catch Revka’s mouth with hers before Revka could answer. 

She must have split her lip somewhere; Wen could taste blood on her tongue. Likely, there would be other bruises and cuts, and Revka would pretend she was perfectly fine right until she sat for too long and couldn’t stand again. Whatever had happened, Wen didn’t especially care. Revka was back, and she wouldn’t have to wait anymore, and that was enough. 

She pulled herself away at last, when she could no longer ignore the hoots and shouts of their fellow Wardens, but they quieted somewhat when Revka glared at them. 

“ ‘S enough of that,” she said sharply. “Lot of you, get yourselves inside and clean off before you give someone the Taint.” 

There was more grumbling, the requisite ribald jokes, but the rest of the ranks split off to unload their gear and make their way to the baths. Zevran strolled up as the last of them vanished into the Keep, and Revka brightened at the sight of him. 

“There you are,” she said. 

“Here I am,” he agreed, and leaned forward to kiss each of her cheeks. “Ah, the torments endured since you were gone. The sobbing, the gnashing of teeth, the constant pacing and wondering when you would return…”

Wen scowled at him. Zevran winked before he wound up the joke, pressing a hand to his chest. 

“And that was just our Arianwen.”

“Rude,” Wen muttered, but moved out of his way so he could embrace their lover, too. 

“Ah, but you enjoy it,” Zevran said, tipping Revka’s chin up to press a kiss to her mouth. He looped an arm behind her back and caught Wen’s hand, their fingers tangling together easily. He must have seen what she had, which was that Revka was favoring her left leg. 

“‘M—” Rev began, but the other two did not let her finish. 

“Fine,” Wen said with emphasis, casting a look over Revka’s shoulder at Zevran. 

“Really,” he went on, his voice taking on the lilt of Revka’s. “Way you two fuss—”

“Can take care of myself,” they finished together, and Wen lifted a brow at Revka. 

“Right,” she said, tilting her chin up. “So—fuss, then. You’ll carry me up the stairs.”

“With pleasure,” Zevran said, and the three of them made their way to their quarters. 

There was a certain amount of official business managed along the way. They stopped more than once so Revka could sign something or send someone off with the more pressing news. Wen grew increasingly impatient with these interruptions, eventually glaring so balefully at the messengers that they gave up on approaching at all. I was a relief when Wen finally shut the bedroom door behind them and slid the lock home.

“Commanders,” Wen informed Revka as she was sat on the bench before the bath, “are supposed to send other people off for the dangerous work.”

Curls of steam lifted from the washtub—Zevran must have paused to send someone here and draw it for them. 

“Can’t send you on every mission away,” Rev said, and made a soft noise of pain when Wen began to tug her leathers off. 

“Let us leave the bickering for later, yes?” Zevran asked. He’d rolled his sleeves up to test the water. As soon as Revka was stripped of her bloodstained armor, he helped her to her feet and into the sweet-smelling bath.  

“How we missed you,” he said fondly, and crouched beside the tub when she’d settled herself into the water. Wen folded her arms and looked at the two of them, relief warring with irritation in her chest. 

“Sounded like it,” Revka said, and peered at Wen through half-closed eyes. “Planning to sulk?” 

“Yes,” Wen said, but moved close enough to take Revka’s hand. It was wet with flower-scented water, pleasantly warm with the heat of her body, and dear to her beyond words. 

Wen unfolded Revka’s fingers carefully and pressed her lips to the very center of the palm, deeply lined and marked with old scars. She held it still there for a moment, closing her eyes, and listened to the soft murmur of her lovers. Whenever one of them was away, something lay tense under her skin, its teeth bared and back up. The fear tucked itself away now, quiescent in the knowledge of their safety. 

Home had come back to her at last. 

She marked it in the laughing undertone of Zevran’s voice, in the way Revka’s hand lifted to stroke Wen’s hair absently. Home was only in this room when all three of them were, too, but she always knew it when she felt it again. She would sleep like the dead tonight and be glad of it—though not, perhaps, as glad as Zevran would be, for he’d borne the worst of her restlessness this past week. 

As if he knew what she was thinking, Zevran glanced at her across the bathtub and winked. 

“The bed is a better place to rest, if we may pry you from the water.”

“I’m ’wake,” Rev murmured, giving every appearance of the opposite. Wen snorted and rolled to her feet, snagging the drying sheet from the bench. 

“C’mon,” she said, and held the unfolded cloth out to Revka. 

Revka rose, yawning, but only with Zevran’s help. She’d done something to her hip, Wen thought. There was a bruise there, stretching from the swell of her upper thigh to her lowermost rib. In the end, she had to stand still while Arianwen ran the cloth over her body. 

“Bed,” Wen said, more statement than question. Revka tried—she did—to pull away, but she only managed to lean back for a moment before she pressed her face into Wen’s neck instead. 

“There’s letters…” she began, but the rest of the sentence was stolen by her yawn. 

“So you can sleep on your desk instead?” Wen asked, and bent to slip a hand behind Revka’s knees. “C’mon. You can scribble plenty in the morning.” 

And she would be doing just that; they both knew it. There wouldn’t be any stopping her. Rev put her hands around Wen’s neck and sighed. 

“Stubborn,” she muttered, but it sounded more like an endearment than a condemnation. Wen wrapped her arms more tightly around Revka’s waist, savoring the weight and warmth of her. She stepped over loose pairs of boots and the pillows they’d left on the floor last night to deposit her in the bed. Rev shifted only enough to tuck her legs beneath the blanket and move to the center. That would be convenient—neither Wen nor Zevran would have to decide which of them got to sleep wrapped around her. It was a reassurance they both needed tonight, and one they’d both get. 

Wen shed her clothing a moment after Zevran and turned to put out the lamps. Only the fire in the hearth was left, warming the room as it shared its glow. She made her way to the bed by its light, surreptitiously checking the door and other exits. All secure, as it should be. 

The sheets were still cool against her bare skin when she slipped beneath them, but she warmed quickly when she found the others.

“There you are,” Rev murmured, moving her arm out of the way. 

As she had a hundred—no, a thousand—times before, Wen let her head rest on Revka’s shoulder. Zevran’s hand found hers in the dark, his thumb stroking the back of Wen’s knuckles. Rev sighed, contented, and turned her head to kiss first Wen, then Zevran on the forehead. 

“Missed you, too,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. Wen squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe around the thickness in her throat. 

There was so much wrong with the world. They’d seen too many awful things, the two of them. It seemed impossible that they’d landed here, of all places: safe, much of their horrible pasts set behind them at last. They’d taken the Joining cup together, their lips brushing against each other while the bitter taste of blood filled their mouths. They’d fought their way through Ferelden together, too, and they’d killed the Archdemon with both of their hands on a single sword. 

Somehow—and this was stranger to Wen than the rest had been—they’d found new love together, too, in each other and in another. She’d never once known what she was looking for, but Revka had found her anyway. Over and over again, she’d reached out and pulled Wen to safety. It only seemed right that they’d found peace together, too. 

Zevran’s hand tightened on hers. Wen picked her head up to look at him, catching the gleam of gold in his eyes almost at once. He didn’t say anything—wouldn’t want to wake their sleeping love, just as she wouldn’t want to—but she could see the reflection of her own feelings in his eyes. 

Relief. 

It was a relief to be together every time, no matter how long they’d been doing it. How incredible, how unbelievable it was to know that tomorrow there would still be more of this. 

Wen squeezed his hand in turn and set her head back down, breathing as Revka did until her own thoughts began to slow. She wouldn’t remember what she was thinking when she woke again. This didn’t worry her—thinking was overrated, she’d always thought—but for a moment, just before she dropped off, she remembered hands reaching out from the darkness to snatch her to safety. She remembered the burn of a split lip, the ache in her legs from running, and the relief of being still for a moment with someone who did not mean her harm. 

When she woke, she would not remember. That was fine. They’d left those girls far behind, years and leagues away, but they’d found each other again and again. 

Whatever came next—they’d do that together, too.

[avrorean]

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀'𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 & 𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: a lot of these details stems directly from blog-related hcs about the build of elves, particularly the Dalish, how they branch off from City elves, and an actual utilization of elven genetics in spite of Word Of God about elf-blooded humans, a lot of which stems from the DA2 quests around Feynriel.

For all intents and purposes, people typically don't doubt that Nanna is as human as she presents. Little details of her features might stand out as odd if looked at too closely, such as the odd shape or fold of her ear, but might be hand waved as a curious physical quirk.

But Nanna's eyes have always been just a little too big for her face, wide with irises a little too large for most humans. Most notable is the color; it's easy at a quick glance to see the dark color and think nothing of it being more than a darker shade common and unremarkable amongst humans. But closer inspection or a catch of the light would reveal them to be a striking violet with a slight glint of gold to it in the right light, cat-like in its way.

Having been brought to the Circle at an extremely young age and grown up exclusively in its environment, Nanna has never really known her family but other apprentices, especially other elven apprentices, would have pointed it out the likelihood of her being elf blooded in some way. But as she had no memory of her parents, the thought never lingered in her mind. Unbeknownst to her, this is a trait she shares with her mother.

Many years before Nanna or even her mother was born, her grandmother, Badr Amell and the Dalish mage Aylal Enavuna of the Nevarran clan Irosyl, carried on a years long love affair after he rescued her from bandits that had descended upon her carriage during travel.

This went on in spite of her marriage, a pleasant enough, if neutral, political arrangement set up by their families, until Badr had her first child; a daughter, Mahasti, had been born with Aylal's large violet eyes, sharp features and a strange quirk to her ears. Both Badr and Aylal disappeared a few years later after the birth of her son via her human husband, but Mahasti - being too sickly as a small child for travel across wilderness - remained to grow into her role as family heir. And when it came that she had children of her own, all five of them carried varying shades of the same violet eyes.

a hc detail shared with @isalarevas is that other full-blooded elves tend to be able to clock these quirks of elf-blooded children with much more ease than the humans around them, but more often than not tend not to bring it up if they've clearly been socialized as humans.

[themaybug]

had the most heartbreaking thought of what if the Amell family in a desperate attempt to save face visited the Fereldan court to pay their respects to the king. what if Loghain was there and met Kathy's parents, who she hasn't seen or heard of since she was 9 years old? he tells her this and Kathy has to come to terms with the fact that her parents were in Ferelden, they could have come to see her, but they didn't? cries

[jainenkept]

mother...

[scribbledquillz]

Revka Tabris reference sheet for @siriskulksnerding - ask for OC gushing and ye shall receive.

Race: City elf, born and raised in the Denerim alienage

Skin tone: Rich chestnut brown with warm, ruddy undertones.

Eye color: Deep brown with notes of a lighter tone which turn up in brighter settings. In dark places her eyes can appear close to black.

Hair color / style: Revka's hair is solid black, and falls to her mid back. It is thick and - while not as textured as Ceral's bouncy, tighter coils - dose have a soft wave to it which is much more noticeable when she wears it loose. Typically while traveling, fighting or just going about day to day business she keeps the whole of it pulled back into a looser, simple braid - the sort which hangs low and only starts to gather up at the base of her head. She ties it in place with a scrap of ribbon, linen or twine if nothing else is available. Generally it will hang down the center of her back, but sometimes she will pull it to rest over one shoulder. It is washed and cared for regularly, but the routine is quite spartan. She's been known to fall asleep with her braid still in.

Cleanliness: In general, Revka will wash herself with a bowl of water, rag and block of simply soap before turning in for the night. She appreciates, but doesn't require perfumed soaps or oils, and is quite used to making do without as such things were a luxury within the alienage. A full bath typically happens twice per week, though obviously she will bathe if at all possible when she becomes excessively dirty or sweaty. While traveling during the blight she generally waits to bathe until nightfall for the extra sense of privacy the darkness offers, ducking away to wash herself quickly in a source of clean water (pond, river so long as the water is quite shallow / slow moving) and be back with wet hair before anyone notices her absence.

Notable features: Revka lost part of her left ear in the midst of the events which led her to be recruited into the Wardens. A hard strike to the side of her head from the back of a Templar's gauntlet tore deeply enough into the skin to make it unsalvageable, resulting in her losing the top inch and a half-ish of it. The edge is scarred and rough, making it clear it was not a clean cut. The strike also left her with three scars - akin to three fingers from said gauntlet - following the angle of the cut ear beneath her hair on her scalp, two of which are just long enough to peak out onto the edge of her cheek.

She has a small beauty mark - inherited from her mother - below and to the right of her bottom lip, as well as a few other smaller dots here and there on her face / cheeks.

Casual clothing: While traveling during the blight, Revka keeps her casual wear quite simple, though they are well made / maintained having come from her work as a prior seamstress. Around camp she can most often be seen wearing a loose fitting, off-white tunic which falls to her hips and is drawn in by a simple leather belt with a plain buckle. The neckline of the shirt cuts down into a V with laces keeping the cut fairly modest. The sleeves hang slightly from her arms and end in buttoned cuffs around her wrists, though more often than not she will roll these up, making the sleeve end just below her elbows.

For pants she tends to keep to one of two options - either a pair of equally loose linen breeches dyed a dark green or brown which fall a few inches below her knees, or a tight set of dark brown leather leggings which reach down into her boots.

Her boots are sturdy but old, the light brown leather stained and roughened by harsh Ferelden weather. They reach to mid-calf and fasten with three sets of buckles - two about the top of her foot and ankle with the other at the top of the boot.

As for underthings... being small chested, Revka doesn't HAVE to make use of a breast band very often, but chooses to at all times while traveling during the blight for the sake of modesty. When alone or with company she feels comfortable with, she'll choose to forgo one entirely. And smalls - generally they're basic and serviceable. But there are a couple pairs stashed away somewhere in her pack of the much more frivolous variety with LOTS of lace.

Class: Dual wielding rogue. Revka's style (if it could be called any such thing) at the beginning of Origins was far more brawling based than anything refined that could be put into a typical class. With weapons banned from the alienage it would be all but impossible for her to learn any refined fighting techniques, and so most of what she picked up was from her mother's defense teachings and her own trial and error. Eventually her tactics are honed to a more elegant, efficient style thanks to Zevran, who helps build her grasp of the assassin and duelist styles of fighting.

Armor: During the main bulk of her time contending with the blight, Revka makes do with piecemeal leather armor she is able to find, afford or loot. Her having daggers hidden away in the alienage was already a huge risk, and owning armor - even the most basic pieces - would have drawn too much attention. The pieces tend to vary in style / color for that reason, but will have several characteristics in common.

Revka prefers leathers to all other materials, finding them the best balance between protection and movement. Her cuirass is a full, close fitting piece which covers her from waist to mid arm to the base of her neck, and fastens at the sides with buckles. The sleeves meet with a set of sturdy bracers, and those with a pair of fingerless leather gloves to allow for dexterity while giving the more delicate skin of her palms coverage. For her legs she uses padded leather leggings with extra reinforcement put into the knees, thighs and groin, while the rest covering from the knee down being covered by sturdy, well abused boots which come to mid-calf. She does not tend to opt for a helm, finding it limiting for her field of view and hearing, both of which are essential for her style of fighting.

After the events of her capture and imprisonment in Fort Drakon, Revka's original armor is lost and unrecoverable. This is replaced by a new set of fine leathers - the first brand new pieces she's ever owned.

All in all, I generally picture her armor to be very similar to the long sleeved version of leather armor as seen in Origins - minus the weird excessive straps across the chest.

Weapons: Revka uses a mismatched pair of simple steel daggers, both of which are approx. 10 to 12 inches long and easily concealed beneath clothing if need be, though generally are kept in sheaths attached to her belt to either sides of the small of her back (see below). The handles are both wrapped in leather - one dark brown, the other a reddish ochre color - with a simply styled but sturdy pommel Revka isn't opposed to slamming into jaws as needed. She also will use throwing knives, kept on her belt within easy reach. Examples:

Outer layers: One of the few belongings Revka is able to bring with her after her conscription aside from her mother Lysha's amulet (see below) and essentials is a well made shawl which used to belong to her father Hammel. It's a deep jewel tone blue, simply but masterfully stitched by her mother and held in place around her shoulders by a simple brass pin. It offers warmth and a hood to keep her head dry during the frequent wet Ferelden weather while not hindering her movement too severely to be a burden.

Jewelry: Prior to her relationship with Zevran, the only piece of jewelry Revka wore was a simple round pendant which used to belong to her mother. It is made of glass with Forget-Me-Nots preserved inside, backed in beaten silver and hung on a silver chain. She does not remove it for fear of misplacing it while traveling, but generally will keep it tucked beneath both her breast plate and her tunic against her skin to keep it out of harms way while traveling, fighting etc.

Zevran gifts her the golden earring after Taliesin's death and Revka's imprisonment in Fort Drakon. I imagine it as a small golden hoop she wears on her right ear - pierced with Zevran's help.

Both pieces of jewelry can be seen in her tarot card portrait:

Makeup: Generally Revka chooses to not wear makeup simply because she feels it isn't a necessity she is willing to devote time to. If she decides to wear some for a more formal/important occasion, she will stick to simple kohl eye shadow and a touch of color at her lips, typically red.

Symbols: None until she becomes Warden Commander of Amaranthine, when she is given a proper set of Warden's armor with the griffin crest on the breastplate.

Expression: Stern, focused, a look which would most likely be described as uninviting and no-nonsense when not around those she's let her guard down for. In a fight she tends to look rather vicious, pointed elven teeth on display with a clenched snarl, nose wrinkled, eyes dark and pointed.

Favored skill: Revka is quick, light on her feet and clever. She prefers to use her speed and quick thinking to catch her opponents off their guard or pit their attacks and movement against them whenever possible. However she is also know to fight dirty, having no qualms with sweeping someone's feet out from under them, throwing punches or elbows if it means the difference between her life and their's. She has a rudimentary skill in sneaking which is grown only stronger thanks to Zevran's training, and gradually becomes quite competent with stealth attacks meant to cause the most damage to, if not outright kill her adversary.

Things I'd love to see: TEEEEEEEETH! Pointy elven teeth please I would LOVE that, as well as a chance to have her damaged ear visible - I've not managed to get a proper picture with that yet and it's such a prominent part of her appearance. I also see her with a very DA 2 elf style nose, so having that included if the image is in profile would be great as well. : 3

[my-dumb-obsessions]

#hey! my amell is the youngest of five and a twin too! samesies!#dragon age#dragon age 2#amell family#revka amell#warden amell#leandra amell

tags via @immarwaffle

The thing about the Amells is that Leandra says people were hesitant to marry into the family because of The Magic but this is completely contradicted by their status as one of the most influential families in Kirkwall and also the codex entry found in Birthright where it was apparently a shock that Revka had a mage child ("Magical talent, running in one of Kirkwall's most prominent families?")

[miraculan-draws]

hello, Icky! loved the trip down the memory lane with your da2 art reblogs. I'm especially intrigued with hawke's paternal grandparents. love how you crafted that family. that says, have you ever thought through the leandra/amells family tree? personally my dao warden is amell circle mage and the fact that revka had five children to be ALL mages makes my brain go brrrr. must be a colorful family to produce that, to say the least.

Getting back into dragon age means getting back into some old WIPS, and this fic right here is Malcolm/Leandra origins and so goes over the influence and position I think the Amells hold in Kirkwall at the time. I really want to continue it and have been chiseling away!

My warden is an Amell too!! And I DO HAVE designs/thoughts on Aristide and Bethann!!

This one is later, in Ferelden and from Malcolm's POV about the eldest Hawke getting their magic but also makes some mention of the Amells and Hightown

@luddlestons and I's Amells are siblings!! You should check out their dragon age art too they never miss!!

[tragedia]

based on this, meet rook.

i was gonna do an elf and i have started an elven female playthrough, but i need to think through the backstory more for that one.

for this one, he was clear as day in my head with his pale ass and genetic sass, and i've already had a backstory since ages ago. purple hawke (my beloved), this is the spiritual successor and i guess, cousin (first time playing a guy first in da, as my mains are female rogue tabris, mage marian and female mage lavellan).

few things:

name's winfred. human mage. not thorne, but so far that's the only canon divergent thing. one of the four unnamed siblings of warden amell and revka amell's child.

in my head he only has sisters, but i'll leave that only as default and up to plotting, especially if anyone else wants to make characters (5 kids to choose from, you know? and one's a canon warden). i feel like he might be the middle child.

grey warden like his eldest sibling. how that happened and backstory coming soon.

since they rarely send siblings to the same circles, he drew the unlucky straw and got sent to orlais, of all places. whether he ended up in the circle though, is a whole other thing. this has resulted with slight orlesian accent slipping through with certain words sometimes.

the extensive scarring are courtesy of a dragon that he'd acquired young. you'd think this would repel him from dragon encounters, but actually got him obsessed with dragons instead.

[cullenakingirog]

Christmas gift for @akeepsakeforfantasies

A close friend since college, I really wanted to do more gift art for you hhh. You helped me through a lot of parts of my life and I’m always grateful you became my friend. Thanks so much for being there for me and also for befriending me. Thanks also for introducing Dragon Age to me back in college, wouldn’t have gotten into it without you! (Now that and Mass Effect had consumed my life lmao)

I decided to draw your Revka Amell with Zevran cause I remember you rambling about them and I loved it so much about their story and how Revka got together with him and Leliana so I ended up making this portrait esque picture of them, I also fixed up the tattoos for you so I hope you like this and I hope I got this right!

[thepioden]

for the tav asks, 3, 4, 15, and 25?

THANKS I'D LOVE TO

Since you didn't specify, all extant Tavs' answers under the cut

3: Race and subclass?

Themistocles: Tiefling (Devil's Tongue Variant) Conjuration Wizard. He's also technically 1/4 dragon for '3rd generation adventurer' reasons but this is mechanically a nonissue because see above re: Tiefling.

Xilkalyn: Drow Twilight Cleric (thanks, Cleric Subclass Mods!) In the Vanilla game, he'd be a Light Cleric, but he's also my PC from Waterdeep Dragon Heist, where he is a Twilight Cleric of Selune.

Revka: Brass Dragonborn Open-Hand Monk. She's my only girl who wasn't a 5e PC I'm re-using and therefore she gets No Modded Special Privileges or Background.

4: If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found?

T: You probably have to rescue his dipshit tail from that adventuring party in the temple ruins. "Talk fast eat ass" does not get you very far in the wilderness, turns out.

X: Has contrived to get himself to the druid grove and is probably hanging out with Wyll and making himself insufferably useful. Doesn't feel great about the Drow cadaver on the slab in Nettie's chambers though I'll tell you what.

R: You have to break up a fight between her and Astarion, because she wandered into him first, he tried the knife thing, and they got into a STR 8 DEX-off stalemate.

15: What NPC's do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

T: Likes - He has latched on to Rolan like some sort of nerdy leech. Wants to talk Wizard shit and also smack him upside the head also maybe smooch his dumb face? (This is a problem Tim has with a lot of people, including favorite NPC number 2:) Dammon, who he wants to come live in their camp and make them cool magic items. He likes that Dammon is competent but also a fucking weirdo. Tell Tim about the Hells, Dammon. Spare no detail. Dislikes - Lorroakan. That dude is a disgrace to Wizardry, what the fuck. Headcanon that he has Professional Wizard Beef with him from before the game timeline. Raphael. You're just a Cambion, motherfucker, calm down. Same to you, Mizora. You could do better, Wyll. Enver Gortash, because he dicked over Best Girl Karlach Cliffgate.

X: Likes - Xilkalyn actually recruits Minthara (now that you can do it without committing atrocities), so Halsin is his favorite! They get along, being relatively well-adjusted. He's extremely fond of Alfira, because he has a terminal soft-spot for Bards and she's very Nice. He feels religiously obligated to like Dame Aylin but she's. Intense. He's mostly intimidated by Dame Aylin. Dislikes - Holy shit on a stick but Viconia DeVir. She is a microcosm of so much generational trauma and also so much Kalyn Is Actively A Selunite and so much This Is Why People Don't Like Us. The Emperor. Xilkalyn extended so much benefit of the doubt and for what, man. For fucking what.

R: Likes - Has big-sisterly feeling towards Mol that are probably unwarranted and are certainly unreciprocated. Simps for Nine-Fingers because her taste in women is "dangerous." Much like Tim, also think Lucretious is Neat. Blurg and Omeluum! They're chill dudes, she respects what they've got going down, calm down, Lae'zel. Dislikes - the Zhentarim. Rugan didn't deserve that, probably. Orin, because, Jesus Christ, also, give Lae'zel back >:(

25: What arcana major best represents your Tav?

T: Wheel of Fortune

X: The Hanged Man

R: The Chariot

[lexadovah]

Hero of Ferelden Info Sheet

(Stolen from @dreadhorsegirl )

Basic Details

Name: Astrid Amell

Nicknames: Asta

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Bisexual

Age: 19 at start of events in DAO

Height: 5'5

Build: Slim

Race/Ethnicity: Human-Free Marcher

Skintone: Pale with some freckles on her nose

Hair: Strawberry blond

Eyes: Blue-grey

Game specifications

Class: Mage

Specialization: Primal and Entropy, later on Arcane Warrior

Origin: Circle Mage

Religious Beliefs: Agnostic, later on she becomes more interested in what the Old Gods could be (basically follows Morrigan’s line of thinking) and how this connects to the Fade etc

Major Game Decisions

Love Interest: Alistair

Broken Circle: Mages Supported

The Arl of Redcliffe: Isolde sacrificed for the blood magic ritual, Connor alive and not possessed

Nature of the Beast: Brokered Peace

The Battle of Denerim: Warden killed archdemon & alive and well—Alistair made an Old God Baby with Morrigan

Ruler of Ferelden: Anora

Character Attributes

Timid to Assertive scale:

Timid ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ● Assertive

Logical to Emotional scale:

Logical ◦ ● ◦ ◦ ◦ Emotional

Introvert to Extrovert scale:

Introvert ◦ ● ◦ ◦ ◦ Extrovert

Biggest Strength: Fearlessness, not afraid to face anyone head on. Has a very “I’ll do it myself” attitude

Biggest Weakness: Acts without thinking, can come across as careless

Relationship to Family: Doesn’t know who her father is, never met any of her siblings (she’s the youngest of five) and has vague memories of her mother but doesn’t really remember ever feeling safe or loved by her. She has vague memories of her cousins from her childhood and later reconnects with Bethany in the Wardens

Closest Relationships: Jowan and Neria were her best friends during her time in the Circle. She had a relationship with Anders and a mutual crush on Cullen. Alistair and Morrigan during DAO. She was also good friends with Leliana and Zevran by the end of DAO and had mutual respect with Sten.

Core Desire: To have a family and a place to call home

Core Fear: Losing Alistair

Character Arc Theme: finding her place in the world. She’s “too big” for the Circle, she never knew her real family, (besides the Hawkes). She just wants to find her purpose and live happily with her found family

Backstory

Revka had left Kirkwall far behind when she gave birth to Astrid. On a small farm outside of Highever, Revka kept the tiny Astrid strapped to her chest while she tended the gardens and fed the chickens. But when she saw the Templars coming up the road, she disappeared.

The mother and child did not remain in any one place for long after that; she worked where she could to make enough coin to get by, be that collecting herbs for the nights stew in a tavern, or mucking out the stables at a crossroads inn. She never gave her real name, and never let the child spend too much time alone in the company of others.

One stormy night, when Astrid was just five years old, Revka appeared on her cousin Leandra’s doorstep. Tired from running, she hoped to find sanctuary with her estranged family, and remained for a few weeks. Her paranoia kept her at odds with her cousin, and Malcolm Hawke observed that Astrid was already showing signs of magic at an early age—the same as his daughter Bethany. The two young girls were of an age together and became fast friends in that time, the difference being that Bethany was taught to control her magic whereas Astrid was told to ignore it and pretend she wasn’t a mage.

After a heated argument between Malcolm and Revka—in which Malcolm had offered to teach Astrid how to control her powers and Revka forbade him to even look at her child—she disappeared again, Astrid in tow. A few days after this incident, the Templars finally caught up; to Astrid, alone, sitting on the side of the road bundled in nothing but the clothes on her back and a dirty old cloak wrapped about her tiny shoulders. No one ever saw or heard from Revka again.

Her time in the Circle was mostly uneventful. Astrid struggled to make friends and was behind in terms of knowing her numbers and letters. She was adamant that her mother would come back for her, which the other mage children teased her about, as no one’s mother was coming for them.

She eventually made friends with Jowan, a year older than her, who helped her catch up with her reading and writing. She was bunk mates with Neria Surana, who was the closest thing to a sister she had ever known. And despite her early struggles, she had remembered her cousin Malcolm’s words about taking control of your magic and not letting it rule you—she studied hard and gained a firm grasp on her powers, exceeding many other kids her age.

She became defiant as a teenager, asking questions about why they couldn’t be free and finding the rules of the Circle oppressive. She didn’t want to remain in this cage forever and longed for a life outside the Circle walls. Her instructors believed she could be an Enchanter one day, but that just Wasn’t Good Enough. Regardless she started buckling down and studying hard in the hopes of passing her Harrowing and opening opportunities to leave the tower for Circle related business.

It was during this time she felt a rift between herself and her two friends. Neria had become distant, choosing the company of other elf mages, and Jowan was often nowhere to be found. When she did speak with them, they found her constant studying annoying, claiming she was “giving in” to the system.

Astrid was excelling at most schools of magic, but was struggling with healing spells and was soon set up to be tutored by Anders (who was given the tutoring job as a punishment for his latest escapades and a hope to keep him busy). During long hours studying together and her loneliness she started a friends-with-benefits affair with Anders that carried on until he escaped a fifth and final time—but not before she had grasped healing magic enough to take her Harrowing…

[shivunin]

👀👀👀 ship prompts you say???

Could I ask for the lovers, the devil or the moon for Wen and Rev? Pleeeeease?

Well, only if it's you asking <3

For "the devil (unrequited love)," in which Revka hems Arianwen's wedding dress:

Forget Me Not

(F!Warden x F!Warden | 1,114 Words | No Warnings)

"Tomorrow we meet the same then, dearest? May I take your hand in mine? Mere friends are we, – well, friends the merest Keep much that I resign:" -Robert Browning, "The Lost Mistress"

It had been a fine enough wedding gown by Cyrion’s estimation, for all that it was an inch and a half too short. 

It was a far sight nicer than the ones Arianwen had seen mothers and brothers and grandmothers working on through other windows in the alienage. None of the embroidery was very detailed, but it was just fine for a dress she didn’t want to wear. A dress she wouldn’t wear, if she had the choice. 

She hadn’t had choices for a very long time. 

“Ah!” Revka said at her feet. 

Wen held very still in response when she otherwise might have flinched. 

“Alright?” she asked. Revka peered down at her fingertip, where a bead of red blood bloomed. 

“Fine,” she muttered. 

For her part, Wen’s dearest friend seemed as enthused about the wedding as Wen was. It was difficult to see why. It wasn’t as if anything would really change afterward. Nothing ever changed here, and it never would. They both knew that. 

“You don’t have to—” Wen began for the hundredth time, but Revka cut her off.

“Course I do,” she muttered. “Think I won’t help fix this mess?”

Below, the soft snap of breaking thread. Revka popped her finger into her mouth and unrolled the hem of the dress with her other hand. 

“Let you go ‘fore everyone with your ankles bare?” she went on several moments later. “Won’t do it. Turn.” 

Wen turned carefully on the chair, slowing when it wobbled. Revka sniffled. 

“Is your finger alright?” Wen asked. 

“Quit moving,” Revka snapped. Her voice sounded thick. Wen, who’d half-turned to look at her, faced forward again. 

“Finger’s fine.”

“Alright,” Wen said. Her fingers curled in on themselves, but loosened before they could make a fist.

“Can fix it,” Revka said, and sniffled again. Her fingertips brushed against Wen’s ankle, warm and then gone. “I can.” 

“Alright,” Wen said. She wanted to climb off the chair and take off the stupid dress and go back to their little hiding place. She wanted to have never heard of this dreadful arranged marriage. She wanted to fix whatever hurt had been done to Revka. 

But—Wen knew—she’d always been better at breaking things than she’d ever been at fixing them. That task had always fallen to Rev.

Instead of doing any of the things she’d rather do, she stood very still with her hands loose at her sides and pretended she didn’t notice the tears her friend refused to cry. 

|

In the lamplight hours later, Revka bent over pale cream fabric and felt the ache in her wounded finger every time she passed the needle through the thick, fine cloth. 

Sewing was her trade. These days, it as mostly fine embroidery—she’d shown her talent for it enough that the simpler work was usually handed off to others. Her own clothes bore little signs of this: forget-me-nots (always forget-me-nots, bright blue as the sky and twice as kind) obscuring tears and holes in the worn fabric, thin lines of whatever color she’d had on hand joining worn sections of her socks. 

If she checked Arianwen’s tunic (Arianwen slept on the bed behind her, where she’d dozed off halfway through a sentence; Revka couldn’t bear to look at her now and certainly wouldn’t be checking her tunic anytime soon), she would have found her own handiwork there, too. Wen favored thistles. Always had, sharp girl with her sharp teeth and her bloody knuckles. It had never surprised Revka that she liked a sharp flower, too. A wounding thing, however pretty it was, that pricked you back for picking it.

There was a little row of silk thistles embroidered around the collar of the tunic Wen wore now. Revka had put them there last winter as a Satinalia gift. It had taken weeks of bending over the cloth just like she was now, stealing hours after she left the tailor’s shop and before she was forced to bed or fell asleep on her work. Every morning, she’d woken with sore fingertips and a proud thrill in her chest whenever she’d looked at them. 

Wen would never know, she supposed (would never know now, surely; would be marrying someone else within the week), but she’d set every stitch into the fabric with her whole heart in her fingertips. She’d long since been forced to admit that what she felt had grown into something far wilder and messier than simple, unburdened friendship. It had burst through its bounds and grown into something that stung and hurt her when she stretched her hands for it. 

Like thistle, she thought, and made another stitch into the hem of the wedding gown. Her forefinger still ached. There was a little red dot where she’d stabbed it before. A visible wound, that, but the rest of the mess was as hidden as she could make it. The room was already beginning to lighten with dawn. Red-rimmed eyes could be called tiredness, could be from working late over a candle.  Surely even Arianwen would think so, and nobody knew her better in the world. 

It was almost done now. Hemming the gown had been easy as anything, but the embroidery had taken far longer. Only a half hour more and it would be—would be finished. 

Revka paused then, stretching her aching hands. A neat line of thistle wove in and out of itself along the hem, hiding the faint line where the old hem had been. It was pretty. Wen would like it, probably. She wouldn’t climb the dais to her wedding in an unadorned gown. If she’d been able to bring herself to stop there, Revka could have been proud of the work. 

The front hem of the dress was not facing her now. She’d been done with that for hours, actually. She ran an aching fingertip over the line of embroidery she held instead, tracing the flower petal by petal. 

There was a line of thistle carefully embroidered on the hem of Arianwen’s wedding gown. Below, inside the fabric where it would brush against Wen’s ankles, was a mirrored line of flowers. If they’d been lined up on the same face of the fabric, the flowers would have twined around each other without end. Instead, forget-me-nots made lonely loops on the inside of the hem. 

A droplet fell to the fabric, darkening the blue. Revka sniffled, dashed the tears away with the back of her hand, and turned the fabric in her hands once more. 

Almost done. Three flowers more, maybe four. And then—and then it would be finished. 

She lifted her needle to the candlelight, blinked until she could see clearly again, and turned back to her task.

[videogame-ocs]

My DA Canon Worldstate family trees #2- Hawke/Amell family tree

Part 2 of my series of family trees set in my canon DA Worldstate. This time, it’s the family tree of the one protagonist who is a lovable disaster, Hawke! Explanations/reasonings are below the cut and if the picture is blurry (because that seems to be a thing with tumblr now) click on the image.

Explainations:

I couldn’t fit some people on there, like Mara Hartling and Revka Amell’s four other children.

I couldn’t find when Anders was born, although I did make a fan made timeline for my Worldstate once so I might see if I did find it back then somewhere and add it later.

Freya and Anders do not have a marriage symbol because they are not married at least not officially, because I don’t think Anders would risk being seen near a Chantry again and I don’t think they could find someone to marry them given Anders is a wanted fugitive. They regard themselves as married though, and I imagine they refer to each other as husband and wife in private.

I headcanon that Malcom and Leandra were around 19/20 when they met. Gamlenn is canonically 1 year younger than Leandra.

I headcanon Charade to have been born in 9: 11 but after the twins, because Gamlenn never doesn’t know about her.

All of the Amell’s names that are not in dragon age 2 are from The World of Thedas vol.2. Except Livia, who is my Amell and a non canon Warden but I headcanon all of my wardens exist in my canon Worldstate, but never became wardens (except of course Amelia Cousland who is my canon warden), she exists in this Worldstate and survives Kinloch hold.

Freya Hawke has a seriously tragic life as you can imply from the family tree, I really need to post more about my Hawke because I have a lot of thoughts about her.

Fun bonus fact Freya’s eyes (which are golden yellow) and Livia’s eyes (which are an amber) happen because in my headcanon sometimes, very rarely, if a mage is rumoured to be destined for greatness, then their eyes change colour

[scribbledquillz]

Revka: Men only want one thing, and it's disgusting.

Zevran cradling a pair of stinking leather boots: It smells like home. 🥹

[my-dumb-obsessions]

OC Introduction - Cariane Amell

A little OC profile for @thedasincolor's Meet Cute Monday!

Name: Cariane Amell Jahani (after 9:35, Cariane Jahani-Howe)

Featured in: Under Your Command (series, AO3)

Pronouns: She/Her

Origin/Class: Mage

Specialization: Blood Mage, Arcane Warrior, Battlemage

Weapon: Staff of the Lost, Spellweaver

Role: Warden-Commander of Ferelden

Age: (Awakening) 21

Are they inspired by any real world culture? Carie is mixed/biracial. Her mother, Revka Amell was a (white) Marcher and her father, Cyrus Jahani is (black) Rivaini. She identifies far more strongly as Rivaini, which in my personal HC Rivain has elements of Afro-Caribbean, West African, and MENA depending on the region.

What characters are they closest to? Anders, who was her big brother in the Circle; Zevran & Sten, her besties in Origins (ooh, did she surprise Sten when she greeted him in Qunlat!); Nathaniel Howe, her eventual husband.

Do they have any rivals? She and Wynne do not see eye-to-eye.

Did they romance anyone? In-game, she romanced Alistair. In her story, he broke up with her at the Landsmeet and married Anora. She and Nathaniel end up falling in love during the events of Awakening.

What is your favorite headcanon about them? Vigil's Keep is a not-so-secret haven for mages and apostates. Mage Wardens make up 40% of their ranks (12 of 30) a year after Awakening. As Warden-Commander, she mandates that any former Templar who survives the Joining is required to quit lyrium. Yeah, the Chantry hates her.

Are they friendly? She is guarded and professional until you get to know her. But she is incredibly loyal to her friends and anyone she cares for. Once you're in with her, you're family.

What is the happiest ending you can think of for your character? All the ambient magic present due to the Breach allowed her and Nate to (accidentally) get pregnant in 9:41. She resigns as Commander and they move to Rivain to be near her remaining family (her father and older sister, who survived Dairsmuid). Having a child they want to be there for inspires her and Nate to find a cure for the darkspawn taint, which they do with Avernus's help.