#rooftop necromancy

[essektheylyss]

I am feeling great hearing that Keyleth's intel is reporting that Rexxentrum sounds like it's about to devolve into chaos with Dwendal evidently on death's door and the Assembly is about to eat itself from the inside following the Vanguard's movement, considering I was presuming that was going to be some significant fallout, but also, rip Caleb and his virtuous idealism for the Empire lmao.

[bossuary]

In a war of skirmishes, commanders who embraced improvisation tended to win more ground. Evariste scooped up loads of strange, powerful saarebas and battlemage spells on the march. Magic that infected and exploded. In those days, they called it ‘spirit’ magic. But that was a reputational thing, a way to exalt Tevinter’s craft above the occult tricks that Nevarran mages performed. What Evariste had taught himself to cast in Seheron, with fire and blood, was a form of necromancy. 

After the army, he wasn’t a tinkerer or a scholar of magical mechanics any more. He was a walking grimoire of spells no battlemage would touch; because they weren’t made for battle.

They were made to remove the possibility of battle.

On a rooftop in Dock Town, with the cloudless midday sun turning the buildings in every direction white as a swan’s ass, a blood-mage fired a spell at Neve…and Evariste slipped into his former self. As easily as putting on an old robe, he tapped into the grimoire. On this rooftop, on this day, there would not be another fucking battle with the Venatori.

The latest chapter of Papercuts is live on AO3.

Chapter Five - Bar the Door

Chapter Tags: m/m, action, violence and gore, Evariste gets real scary, military service, war ptsd, secret past, flirting, pining, insomnia, separation after an argument, smoking/tobacco, magic appreciation, guest starring Neve and Emmrich

[lakemojave]

Tonight at 6pm Pacific: The Direct Actors, A Baldur's Gate 3 "Adventure" pt. 21!!!

After a nice relaxing day at the circus and a HELL of a chat with our divine overlords, the team is ready to hit the pavement and work their way towards Baldur's Gate! Come see @radiofreederry as Dhudlei Durite, Elf paladin, @mayflowers429 and Nana as Leviathan, Dark Urge monk, @caputvulpinum as Micah Harper, Tiefling wizard, and myself as Delilah "Mama D" Harper, Halfling bard!

Character art by @bijillion, recap under the cut!

LAST TIME: After a troubled rest the night before, the day began with Leviathan calling Micah to sit down and talk. What at first began as an admission of his status as Bhaalspawn would turn into a genuine heart-to-heart between the Dragonborn and the tiefling, with the former finally opening up about aspects of his past life as a performer, orphan, and member of the church of Elistriae to the boy. Additionally, Levi pointed out that Micah Harper had been using him as a "human shield" against The Green Knight for the past few days, keeping the lizard between the teenager and the Champion of Ilmater. He offered to continue playing this role, but suggested that the younger Harper be wary of the consequences.

Meanwhile, Mama D was gathering her suspicions about the Green Knight's behaviors, but seeing how much of the group were tired and overworked from a long journey to the Gate, suggested they relax and let loose, enjoying themselves at a circus. While Micah and Dhudlei were initially opposed to the idea, one glimpse of the circus' gates quickly had the former changing his mind, having never known that circuses might incorporate undeath and necromancy to such an extent. Between mummies, the dark arts of cheesemancy, cheating a djinni at his own game, statues of their favorite bard, assorted wonderful performances, and--of course--finally succeeding in preventing the deaths of innocent children at the hands of the Cult of the Absolute--the group reconvened back at camp, with Micah expressing that, for what might have been the first time, having a good day.

However, storm clouds had been brewing on the horizon as Mama D worked with Micah and Leviathan to determine the true cause of The Green Knight's strange behaviors, confirmed on a highly dramatic, cinematic showdown on the rooftops of the camp, with the goddess Shar gloating at her ability to take control of Ilmater's Chosen's body, taunting the rest of The Direct Actors the entire time. With Mama D striking the final blow, Dhudlei Durite remembered his name, purpose, and place in the world, and immediately attempted to apologize for what he had done. Before actually accepting this, Micah prompted Mama D to banish Dhudlei to the realm of Martyrdom so that the paladin could instead confront his god and let everyone begin to soothe the raw edges of everything that happened.

After Dhudlei's return, his subsequent apologies and renewed devotion to his oath, and Lae'zel confronting and swearing off her former god-queen Vlaakith, the party spoke as a group together, affirming to Leviathan that they believed in him and his ability to be a good person in spite of the coiling influence of Bhaal wrapped around him. And after a brief private discussion between Dhudlei and Micah--where they both confirmed that, whatever they each might have felt for each other when this journey began, such feelings had left them--Leviathan had a long, meaningful talk with Mama D about the nature of her impending death, expressing sympathy and concern for her even as she attempted to brush it off. In the end, they both reached a better understanding of each other as friends and companions in their own right, rather than by necessity and circumstance. However, Micah returned from his talk with Dhudlei with frustrations and skepticism, telling Leviathan that while Dhudlei expressed atonement, Micah's own wounds would need more time and effort to heal...

Will the party's camaraderie continue to hold? Will we learn more about Leviathan's past, when he's held it so close to his chest for so long? Will Mama D memento mori? Will Micah Harper ever have another good day? Will Dhudlei be able to mend the rifts his actions have caused? Will the mysterious "Mister Yellow-Eyes" finally be brought to the surface, now that we begin to close the noose around his wayward sister Orin? Find out in another exciting installment of Baldur's Gate 3, starring The Direct Actors!

[iizven]

Fun Facts About Your Tav!

Thank you for the tag @yennefer-of-vengerbergs! ❤

Took me a while to muster up the courage to actually do this tag. Posting about my girl Iizven is so scary. Help! 💀

~Is your character good, evil, or neutral (makes some good decisions, some bad ones)?

She is chaotic neutral leaning more towards good. Very much chaotic though. She's always up to some shenanigans, preferably together with Astarion.

~What hobbies do they partake in?

Climbing! She's been climbing every rooftop she could reach since her early childhood. As a draconic bloodline sorceress, Iizven has the ability to fly, but she prefers the physical challenge of climbing and the satisfaction of reaching the top with her own strength. It helps her clear her head from time to time.

She also enjoys singing, but only in private. She loves to sing for Astarion though.

~Do they own any heirlooms from their family or ancestors?

She owns a necklace that belonged to her mother, whom she always believed to be dead (she isn't 😂). She also has a family sigil ring from her late aunt, who raised her. Although Iizven refers to her as her aunt, she was actually a close friend of her mother.

~ Can your character cook?

She can cook but that doesn't mean she should. 😂 Iizven was raised at her aunt's estate just outside of Athkatla. While she had a very comfortable upbringing with servants to attend to her needs, her aunt ensured that Iizven didn't take that comfort for granted. She taught Iizven to appreciate the hard work of their servants, which included teaching her basic life skills such as cooking. Unfortunately, cooking is not one of Iizven's strengths; she may have the necessary skills to survive on the road, but she definitely prefers to dine at a cozy inn with a proper cook.

~Does your character have a best friend?

Shadowheart. They've been vibing right from the start and quickly became best friends. They both share a preference for dramatic emo make-up and often help each other to apply it. They also enjoy sitting together with a nice glass of wine while sharing the latest gossip.

~Their biggest fear?

Iizven isn't very fond of necromancers. When she was younger she was held captive by a necromancer for a whole year until she was able to escape. He tortured and experimented on her, and Iizven has had an aversion for necromancy ever since.

~Name one of their red flags.

Since she is immortal, much like Dame Aylin, Iizven lacks any kind of survival instincts. As a result, she tends to be quite reckless, and treats her life as a disposable resource. She often puts herself in danger to protect others, much to Astarion's dismay, who sometimes has to remind her that, while he knows she's immortal, watching her die isn't a very pleasant experience.

No pressure tags: @anacdoce @bloodlessdarling @spite-made-me @midnight-musings-of-nyx

[kyurilin]

2: Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

26: Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

2. Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

There is a severe lack of planning in my fanfic writing with the exception of the Shabby AU ideas and mostly since I don't write in chapters UNLESS I decide to post it early to gain interest (ie Stray and Love Is Just Like That, Sometimes) I really don't even know where chapters are gonna end. Mic's BS Life is FAMOUS for not having been planned at all with exception for the ending, while Crumbled Rooftops actually has an outline. Stray is MOSTLY unplanned and was a Follow The Vibes type thing with some talking it over with Shabby to nail down plot points I wanted to get down. Ironically the lack of planning is why stray chapter 3 has hardly gone anywhere as of yet but I also like not planning so that I can follow the vibes and figure out if something works naturally or not as opposed to stressing over how something SHOULD be going (crumbled rooftops chapter 5 suffered from this strongly since I knew what I wanted to do but several iterations didn't feel right).

26. Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

I gotta say Present Mic's Totally Bullshit Life in EVERY sense of the word wild. It started from Aizawa's POV but I wasn't used to writing him yet and switched it to Mic's. Then that vibed so well that almost 4 years ago TO THE DAY I knocked out every bit of the beginning up until Mic and Aizawa meet up again for the first time in years in the span of a few hours. By January/February of 2021 I had until the AWARDS CEREMONY done (and that's about 48k into the story!). This story was not intended to be posted- I was solely writing it for myself as a fun little thing because I'd fallen really hard into MHA and wanted to write it. Stray and a villain au for an OC from Mic's BS Life were started between the time I started this and when I hit the 48k mark. I wasn't interacting with the fandom at all at this point beyond obsessively reading erasermic fic, so my first real foray into interacting with anyone was to join an erasermic discord. Met @purekesseltrash, told them I loved their Rooftop Necromancy fics, formed a friendship, revealed my still in progress story and Bellsa convinced me I HAD to finish it and post it.

It took me till May to finish it (had to cut a smut scene because I wasn't comfortable posting it as is), figured out how to end it, then knocked out the HAPPIEST ending the week my great aunt iris passed because I needed something to distract me (Aunt iris was one of the most iconic people in my life and I looked up to her very much so writing my silly fanfic was a very welcome distraction). Almost posted the story from a McDonald's drive thru.

Even more wild is that this fic STILL gets comments and kudos. I literally just got a new comment yesterday. So many comments have told me that they stayed up all night reading it. @shabby-blog was commisioned by Bellsa to do fanart for it and now me and shabby are buddies because of that. I've been writing since I was 13 but not until I posted this story did I have a story that was a real 'hit'. And LITERALLY all because after consuming all of Vigilantes and as much erasermic fanfic as I could read and the entire anime and manga at the time in 2021 I looked at Mic and Aizawa's friendship and went "okay but what about the two of them healing from the loss of Oboro together and actually showing how it affected them and their friendship".

I owe it nearly entirely to the single panel in vigilantes where Mic tells midnight to call him Mic instead of his name, and now here I am 4 years later (3 and a half since posting) still hearing from people that they love how I wrote the characters growing over the course of the story and that it means a lot to them. Which is something I never expected to see in a comment on a fic I wrote.

[did-you-fall-for-a-shooting-star]

ahhhhhh!!! Tag game!! Thank youuu @pluggedintosaverockandroll

coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party

Tagging (no pressure) @dumbass-prince-of-the-skies @chilipowder9 @unorthodoxsavvy @radio-ghost-cooks @enbyhawk @necromancy-savant

[a-drama-addict]

1, 3, 5, 9, 10, 12, 13, 18, 19, 20, 22, 25, 31, 36, 44, 46, 49 SABRI BLAST!! SABRI ATTACK!!

SABRI BLAST! SABRI ATTACK! [ask game]

1. How old is Rook?

Sabri is 28!

3. What was Rook’s life before their faction?

didn't have one SHOUTOUT CRYPT BABY! no i guess she's always just... been in the Mourn Watch. She was raised with them and doesn't remember anything prior to it.

5. What was life like for Rook before joining the Veilguard?

Pretty... tame? She spent a lot of her time just. Researching. She definitely cleansed the occasional haunting and restless undead, which is WHY she became a warrior. A lot of studying and reading mostly. She spent a lot of time researching necromancy in theory, even though she could never actually perform the magic herself. Also she likes studying insects. SHE GOT THAT WHIMSY IN HER !!!!

9. What is Rook like on the battlefield?

She's strong and pretty good at anticipating where and when an enemy would strike. She's spent a lot of time observing how different armies, factions, types of people fight. Of course that can't give you everything, but she's pretty good at thinking ahead like cornering an enemy to the edge of a cliff/rooftop/etc and kicking them off. SHE WANTS TO PLAN EVERYTHING OUT SO BAD

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

SABRI HEARTS THE HERO OF FERELDEN EMIRA TABRIS!!!!!! no but seriously she knows of them. She thinks Chloe also rocks because like "Woagh a blood mage became the champion of kirkwall? That's cool I wonder if the public knew" then asks varric and varric lies bc he's protecting hawke 5ever.

She knows of the Inquisitor too but. Less. Mostly heard about his alliance with Cassandra because OooOoOoh did you know a PENTAGHAST is helping the inquisition? Crazy

12. Does Rook have any family? Do they keep in touch?

Not that Sabri knows of. No family ties by blood she's ever met

13. Did Rook bring any trinkets/sentimental items to The Lighthouse?

She has an emblem in the shape of a beetle. Beetles are prized in Nevarra and allegedly brings good luck. She always keeps it on her

18. Their fondest childhood memory:

When Sabri was around 7 or 8 years old she tried talking with wisps for the first time. She was too shy at first, having been told that dwarves can't do magic so it might be more difficult to summon or communicate with them. One night she was feeling very brave and asked one of her mage friends to help her find and connect with wisps.

After a long trek to find them in a room, Sabri sat down on the floor and started talking to them. She spent that whole night talking the (metaphorical) ears of those wisps who very eagerly flew about around her while she rambled.

19. What is Rook’s love language? What love languages do they respond best to?

I'd say quality time and physical touch definitely. she's a cuddle bug that wants to spend time with those she loves damn it! in terms of reacting i would also words of affirmation. she goes real well on that

20. What’s it like to see them smile? Their laugh?

Sabri's smile is very warm, always genuine. If she doesn't have a reason to smile she doesn't, every time she smiles or laughs she gets a crinkle in her nose. Her laugh is loud and shameless, she isn't afraid to let you know she is happy, and it's definitely infectious.

22. Most embarrassing memory as a teenager:

Oh man trying to invent some kind of mechanical entrapment that would give dwarves the ability to mimic necromancy when she was 17. She spent months, almost a full year, trying to build a skeletal set of armour that would have necrotic magic infused in the palms of it's hands so it would deal necrotic damage, and hopefully be able to raise and speak with the dead because of the magic.

Loooong story short, after the help of a professor to mimic the spellcasting, the necrotic powers in the palms overloaded and exploded. Her hands hurt like hell for weeks and she was too embarrassed to walk out of her quarters for two weeks straight.

25. How does Rook like to spend their free time?

Reading! Researching! She loves learning things and reading stories!!! SHE WANTS IN ON THE VEILGUARD BOOK CLUB NEOW!!!!!!

31. What specialization does Rook pursue? What called them to it?

Reaper! Because MOURN WATCH FOREVER AND ALWAYS!!!!! RAGHHH. No but seriously she was kind of already training for this as an apprentice in the necropolis anyway, it just seemed... right.

36. What would Rook say are their flaws?

Sabri believes she is too soft. Not as willing to fight or kill as she should be. She would also feel herself too... dwarf-y. She loves being a dwarf, the traditions and cultures from Orzammar, definitely believes in the Stone. But she feels so inadequate to be part of the Mourn Watch. Even the non-mages at least can dream, she can't even do that. No connection to the Fade. What good is a Mourn Watcher with no connection to the Fade?

44. What is Rook really good at?

Sketching! It's mostly mechanical sketches, studies, that she usually does. She keeps a journal where sketches everything that catches her eye, and if she's lucky she can take it with her and study it up close.

46. What does it take to earn Rook’s trust?

Helping people, honouring the deceased in ways appropriate to the deceased person (respecting different costumes from different cultures in that front), being nice to insects and animals.

49. What will always make them laugh?

Assan. Also dad jokes and puns (That whole segment with the giant stone hand.)

[teddybearsims]

oc(s) as obscure associations - august milan

thank you for the tag @raiiny-bay 💖

ANIMAL: jaguar  COLORS: pink, purple, and cyan (full rainbow tbh) MONTH: october SONGS [leave me alone - kaytranada] [father figure - george michael] [drugs - upsahl] NUMBER: 1 PLANTS: venus flytrap SMELLS: overly expensive cologne, menthol cigarettes and weed GEMSTONE: opal TIME OF DAY: 10pm (aka when his goblin streaming hours begin) SEASON: fall PLACES: rooftop overlooking the city, the smoking area outside of a club, early morning diner FOOD: a big beefy burger with a side of boxed mac n’ cheese or poutine DRINKS: coconut water, cold brews ELEMENT: earth ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: scorpio w/ leo sun + gemini moon SEASONINGS: chilli oil  SKY: cloudy WEATHER: stormy night MAGICAL POWER: necromancy WEAPONS: gold plated .50 caliber pistol SOCIAL MEDIA: twitch, twitter, & tiktok MAKEUP PRODUCT: soleil lip blush from tom ford CANDY: jolly ranchers or rainbow strips METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: private jet ART STYLE: urban  FEAR: abandonment  MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: caught between a phoenix and a pegasus PIECE OF STATIONARY: glittery pen THREE EMOJIS: 🐻 💥 🧁 CELESTIAL BODY: sun I tag: @piconoodlez @zinxsims @madfeary @simulation-machine @meoanii @intramoon @theosconfessions 💖

[itswisp]

Meet the OC - Ruannskr

Alright, I know I just did one of these earlier but I feel inspired, so have another one! This time featuring Ruannskr – my ulitharid illithidilich aka what happens when you tadpole Ritari.

Deep down, Ruannskr is still Ritari, although far calmer and more collected; literally how I imagine Ritari to be like when fully matured and aged into a wise old and very knowledgeable woman.

Instead of giving you nasty glares and throwing sharp remarks your way, Ruann gives you the creepy silent stare. It is very unnerving and sends a cold shiver of doom down your spine; feeling like icy fingers stroking down on your bare skin.

She has an overall very calm and obscure demeanor and the only people able to read and interpret her are Limeleech, Kelmvor and Mar’reen. Everyone else is left guessing and wondering.

She still very much practices necromancy and now wields even more power than during her mortal lifetime, making her a formidable and frightening foe.

Ruannskr suffers from partialism but is able to separate herself from her host and her memories, viewing herself as some sort of evolved form of Ritari; superior in every aspect.

She kept Ritari’s horns as a trinket and keepsake and fashioned them into a veiled headdress which she almost always wears, both to honor the sacrifice of her host and to further unnerve the people around her.

Just like Ritari, Ruann prefers the secluded solitude of her home – a hut somewhere in the woods; overgrown with ivy and a brittle rooftop. And at first glance, nobody would suspect anyone living there, but when night falls, light can be seen flickering and dancing behind the windows.

She runs a little shop from her home; selling and mixing potions and other alchemistic reagents while donning her Witch of the Woods disguise, which consists of a long veil and a large cape that fully cover her body and hide her tentacles.

Now and then she also hires mercenaries or adventurers to gather rare ingredients for her; not because it would be too dangerous or hard to do so on her own but because she has much better things to do with her time than herb picking. And if anyone gets burned by a dragon … well, at least it wasn’t her.

Ruann isn’t outwardly hostile towards anyone, unless they threaten or disrespect her first. She still thinks that everyone is stupid and below her and most of the time, she’s right – now more than ever in her illithid form.

Unlike Ritari (or Rerki, on that matter) she isn’t short tempered and it takes a long time until she truly gets angry, but if she does – nothing will be able to save you from her wrath. Especially if you decided to wrong one of the very few people she holds dear.

She doesn’t have qualms or second thoughts about her new diet and will eat whenever an opportunity presents itself – no matter what this opportunity might look like.

I furthermore think her mind would feel like a forest shrouded in a thick, deep fog with bone pale trees without leaves and ghostly wisps dancing between the brances. And instead of garlic and vanilla, she smells of sage and other herbs. (I headcanon that each illithid has their own signature psionic feel to it and also an unique smell)

And, once again, a few amazing visuals of her by the talented and wonderful @unaarista who I simply can't thank enough for taking a liking to my terrible girl and taking her time to draw and bring her to life <3

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Chimney Troll

CR 2

Chaotic Evil Large Humanoid

Daughters of Fury, pg. 52

Don’t be fooled by their scrawny appearance, these creatures tower over the average human, though most of their size is just for show. One of the smallest and weakest breeds of troll, these isolated beasts are considered outcasts and pariahs by their own kind, shunned and hated from birth because of their Wicked Blood. Their origins are not elaborated on, only that some form of fiendish magic, necromancy, or curse has tainted their entire lineage, causing them to lose the incredible regenerative powers that their brethren enjoy. In fact, their Wicked Blood means Chimney Trolls cannot heal naturally at all, relying on magical healing to keep their wounds from piling up... or relying on a strange magical quirk that unnerves other trolls.

Most of them are driven from the wilds their kin call home and into urban areas, where they must learn to survive or perish. Their long, gangly limbs and unusually light weight in spite of their size allow them to move across rooftops with deceptive silence (+8 Stealth in urban environments), they can climb 20ft in a single round, and they can contort their bodies in distressing, unnatural ways to cram themselves into spaces they have no right to. Nocturnal by nature, they spend days crammed inside any structure that can hold them, but--as their name suggests--prefer to nest inside the chimneys of occupied structures in order to have easy access to life-sustaining fire.

Any troll would balk at the appetites of the Chimney Trolls, as the very same substance which causes irreparable harm to their uncursed kin instead restores their health and vitality (though ironically they’re not immune to fire, but their 10 Resistance is enough at low levels!). They can inhale any nonmagical fire within 30ft as a standard action, be it candlelight or campfire, ingesting the flame and gaining Regeneration 3 for three rounds regardless of the fire’s size. It is only this method that allows them to overcome the curse of their bloodline, the fire in their bellies rapidly restoring them from the most terrible of injuries, even restoring any lost limbs and damaged organs. While perfectly capable of creating their own fires (and will do so if they have the time), they much prefer stealing it from active chimneys, the torchlight of patrolling guards or travelers, or from the fire pits of campers, because that means they can also grab a quick meal.

While not plagued with the endless, maddening voracity found in most other trolls, Chimney Trolls still prefer proportionately enormous meals, not only stealing whatever food may be cooking on the fire but having zero qualms with devouring the screaming occupants of whatever home they infiltrate. While it’s possible to reason with them and bribe them with a hefty meal, it’s unlikely they’ll take it; they’re actually among the smarter troll breeds out of necessity (meaning their Int is 8 instead of 5), and they know witnesses to their presence will likely draw the attention of guards or adventurers. Thus, most meetings with a Chimney Troll start with horrified screams as the beast unfolds from a supply closet, ventilation shaft, or chimney, and ends with silent chewing as the troll slaughters everyone within a home and squats in the space until authorities investigate or the food stores run out.

Their inability to heal without fire or magic makes them hesitant to engage in any combat they don’t get the surprise round and quick to flee if their enemies outnumber or overpower them too greatly. Don’t let this trick you into thinking they’re weak, though; their bodies are much frailer than a normal trolls, but they still have a CCB attack (1d6+1 and 1d8+1) and a 10ft space/10ft reach that lets them put it to good use, making them a formidable threat to low-level adventurers and guards alike, especially in the cramped urban spaces they nest in. If they’ve recently consumed fire or see that they have access to more they become much braver, unable to be killed for a short time unless exposed to Acid or Cold damage.

Thanks to their appearance, a foolish attacker may believe it to be a normal troll, which is the creature’s greatest danger. Someone raising a torch in the hopes of scaring it off may just empower it as it sucks the flame from the stick and rapidly begins to heal... but each time they consume a fire, they also gain the ability to exhale a cloud of choking, burning smoke. This Soot Cloud deals 1d6 Fire damage and nauseates a single creature within 30ft of the troll, though a DC 13 Fortitude save halves the damage and negates the nausea. It’s a little bit of insult AND injury, really, to see the weapon you thought would give you an advantage eaten and then regurgitated straight into your face, leaving you helpless to the incoming savage beating.

That’s the luckiest thing that can happen. The unluckiest is that the creature swats the torch from your hand and into a pile of kindling it built in the home it infested, sending the entire structure up in flames. The troll can take the heat--and in fact will thrive in it--but everyone else is likely to just go up in smoke.

You can read more about them here.

[elvenbeard]

BOLD the FACTS

RULES: BOLD what applies to your OC I was tagged by @wraithsoutlaws @pinkyjulien @chevvy-yates and @wistereia thank you so much!! :D

▞ ▟ PERSONAL ▙ ▚

Vince's life was always a rollercoaster and will continue to be one for the foreseeable future. He went from Charter Hill's rooftops to Kabuki's back alleys, from Arasaka's Counterintel department to a landfill... and then back to the top of Night City's seedy underworld and beyond. His parents probably didn't imagine he'd use his several-thousand-eddies-a-month education to one day run the city's most infamous bar and criminal hangout... and be fucking good at the job!

Financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

Medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / non-applicable

Class or Caste: upper / middle / working / unsure / other

Education: qualified / unqualified / studying / other

Criminal Record*: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no / has committed crimes, but not caught yet / yes, but charges were dismissed

*but nothing has come of it so far because he either makes sure the records "disappear" or no one would dare to do something about the smaller stuff

▞ ▟ FAMILY ▙ ▚

An only child of two people that should have never become parents, Vince never had the healtiest rolemodels when it comes to family and marriage.

Children: had a child or children / has no children / wants children*

Relationship with Family: close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased

Affiliation: orphaned / abandoned / adopted / disowned** / raised by birth parent(s) / not applicable

*he is actually very good with children and he never fully excluded the idea from his life, a "maybe one day" scenario... but he's smart enough to know that with his current job and situation having kids would be the worst move imaginable - mostly for the hypothetical kids

**his father died when he was 13, and he has no idea what became of his mother, but they haven't been in contact for 7+ years and counting by 2077

▞ ▟ TRAITS & TENDENCIES ▙ ▚

One thing Vince learned from a young age is that showing your true emotions and intentions will get you nowhere but into trouble. His cold, calculating, corporate mask has become his protective armor that he only drops around people he'd trust with his life, that he knows will not use his vulnerability to their advantage. None of his behavior is an act - he is the bold and self-confident bastard the world has turned him into while he always fought to never fully lose his humanity.

♦ extroverted / introverted / in-between

♦ disorganized / organized / in-between

♦ close-minded / open-minded / in-between

♦ calm / anxious / in-between / highly contextual

♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in-between

♦ cautious / reckless / in-between / highly contextual

♦ patient / impatient / in-between

♦ outspoken / reserved / in-between / highly contextual

♦ leader / follower / in-between

♦ empathetic / vicious bastard / in-between

♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in-between

♦ traditional / modern / in-between

♦ hard-working / lazy / in-between

♦ cultured / uncultured / in-between / unknown

♦ loyal / disloyal / in-between / unknown

♦ faithful / unfaithful / in-between / unknown

(a lot here is "in-between" or "highly contextual" because he's always a bit torn between what he wants to show to others and what he wants. he's a professional killing machine and netrunner, but also an adrenaline junkie that sometimes dashes headfirst into a gig without properly thinking it through)

▞ ▟ BELIEFS ▙ ▚

There are no gods, but with a universe so vast it's unlikely that there's no other life out there - just no Techno-Necromants and the likes please...

Faith: monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic

Belief in Ghosts or Spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking

Belief in an Afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking

Belief in Reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care / in a manner of speaking

Belief in Aliens: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care

Religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious

Philosophical: yes / no / highly contextual

(Not really mentioned here but it fits the category: Vince does belief in fate to a certain degree, even though it goes against his usually rather logical approach to things. There were just too many coincidences in his life - happy and unlucky alike - for him to not believe in some kind of red string leading him somewhere. And that idea of "somewhere", a goal he's led to, whatever it may be, is what kept him going through his darkest moments.)

▞ ▟ SEXUALITY & ROMANCE ▙ ▚

When he was younger, Vince really struggled with his sexuality, negatively impacted by dysphoria. Later on sex almost became some kind of mechanical stress relief that he first had to connect an emotional aspect to, but that made it even better. He crushes hard and fast, but he doesn't love easily.

Sexuality: heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual

Sex: sex-repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable / naive and clueless

Romance: romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable / naive and clueless / romance suspicious

Sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious

Potential Sexual Partners*: male / female / agender / other / none / all

Potential Romantic Partners*: male / female / agender / other / none / all

*Vince had exactly one girlfriend once when they were both teenagers. And both agreed that nope, the other is not what they want after a very shortlived yet eye-opening relationship xD

▞ ▟ ABILITIES ▙ ▚

Excellent schooling and his training at Arasaka paid off. Yet, while he is alright with guns, he still prefers to remain in the background and shadows.

Combat Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor/ none

Literacy Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Artistic Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Technical Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

▞ ▟ HABITS ▙ ▚

Smoking is disgusting, Vince tried it but cannot see the appeal. Alcohol he actually doesn't mind, but it makes him very sick very quickly due to a genetic predisposition. During his last year with Arasaka he developed a drug addiction to cope with increasing stress and a traumatic incident. While he's going through phases of being completely clean for a few months at a time, it is a continuous battle and he's relapsed here and there.

Drinking Alcohol: never / special occasions / rarely / sometimes / frequently / alcoholic / former borderline alcoholic turned sober

Smoking: tried it / trying to quit / quit / never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / chain-smoker

Recreational Drugs: tried some / never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / addict

Medicinal Drugs: never / no longer needs medication / some medication needed* / frequently / to excess

Unhealthy Food: never / special occasions / rarely / sometimes** / frequently / binge eater

Splurge Spending: never / sometimes / frequently / shopaholic***

Gambling: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / compulsive gamble

*most of it Relic-related

**more out of convenience or if things get stressful; he doesn't really like junk food or most street food that much

***he's not completely irresponsible with his money, but fashion, tech, and cars are biiiig weaknesses and all come with a certain price tag

▞ ▟ ▉ ▙ ▚ ▞ ▟ ▉ ▙ ▚▞ ▟ ▉ ▙ ▚▞ ▟ ▉ ▙ ▚▞ ▟ ▉ ▙ ▚

Thanks for reading, I know this was a very long one, but I really love these types of tag games and cannot stop myself from writing xD

Also played around a bit with some more colorful formatting (cause I love particularly what @pinkyjulien always does for his posts in terms of formatting *__* not sure yet if I'll keep it up exactly like this, but it was a fun exercise nonetheless! :D)

I'm tagging @cherryrockpops @peaches-n-screem @imaginarycyberpunk2023 @seeker-of-truth @dani-the-goblin @rindemption @brujebutch @swearingcactus @humberg aaaaaand you if you're reading this. Completely without pressure as always ofc!

Again, thanks for reading!

[blackjackkent]

Rakha is heading towards Aylin to speak with her, but Isobel calls to her from across the room first - and immediately the aasimar seems to forget there's anyone else in the room.

"Aylin!"

"Isobel!"

Rakha watches, bemused, as Aylin strips off her helmet and darts across the room to fall onto her knees at Isobel's feet. The implacable warrior from the battle on the rooftop and in the fleshpit is gone; Aylin's wings have vanished and she is trembling all over, her eyes wide and locked on Isobel as if she is the only thing in the world.

"My love... you were dead," she gasps out. "I saw your body..."

Ah. Rakha remembers that moment on the rooftop. Ketheric spoke of his daughter and Aylin, for the first time, faltered - enough that she was struck by one of the Absolute's tentacles and recaptured. This is why, then.

She loves Isobel. And Isobel, judging by her expression, returns the feelings utterly; there are tears in her eyes as she cups Aylin's chin with her fingers, then pulls the taller woman to her feet.

"I'm here," she says shakily. "And... and so are you. And my father, he--" Her voice cracks and she grips the front of Aylin's armor to steady herself. "He can't hurt us any longer."

Their embrace is fierce, fervent - desperate. "I dreamt every night that you'd come back to me," Aylin murmurs, barely loud enough to hear, against Isobel's shoulder. "That somehow it was all a nightmare dawn would undo..."

"I had no dreams at all," Isobel answers, with a tinge of bitterness. "Nothing but darkness. And when I awoke... my father said you were dead."

Her fingers drift over Aylin's face, along her neck. It's a gesture Rakha knows well. She has touched Wyll in the same way, reassuring herself that he is alive before her, true and solid, not destroyed by the darkness in her.

"His soul was poisoned by the god of death," Aylin answers. "His sick devotion ruined him. But for all his sins... he brought you back to me." She kisses Isobel again, and then again, on her lips, between her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I will be," Isobel says softly. "And you?"

Aylin smiles, wraps her arms around Isobel and lifts her in a spinning embrace.

"In this moment," she says, "I want for nothing." And the joy in her voice equals the misery of all the years she spent in darkness.

-----

Rakha does not move to interrupt this reunion, just watches it in silence. She is conscious of their joy and relief at seeing each other - and also conscious that this is not a scene she is meant to see. She is out of place here, an intruder in their happiness.

All of this does, though, fill in some small gaps in her understanding of the situation. Isobel is indeed Ketheric's daughter - and died. Ketheric's necromancy brought her back. She and Aylin were lovers, torn apart by fate and cruelty. Rakha has - accidentally - been the mechanism for reuniting them.

It could have been different. I could have killed them both. Even now she looks at the paladin and cleric and the beast growls in her head, hungry... It's not too late to try. The thought makes her scowl.

No - this moment of their reunion is a victory for her as well. Isobel lives. Aylin lives. Rakha did not slit their throats and watch their blood spatter out in service of the beast in her mind. She held on, despite all the pain it caused her. She held on. She will keep holding on.

A small victory. Hidden to anyone but herself - and perhaps Wyll and Lae'zel. But a victory nevertheless.

Eventually Aylin and Isobel pause their kisses and embraces for a breath, and Isobel notices Rakha standing at the side of the room.

"Ah! There you are!" she says eagerly, tugging Aylin by the hand towards her. "This is Aylin. Aylin, this is--"

Aylin's eyes flare with eager recognition. "Ho, but we have met!" she says. Her voice rings like a gong in the empty room. "This is the soldier that freed me most valiantly from the Shadowfell," she tells Isobel. "They watched my boot crush the very brain of villainy - and fought well against your changed father."

Isobel frowns, looking down. "May he rest in peace at least, now that he's dead..."

A pause. Then she shakes herself and turns towards Rakha with a wide smile.

"I have more to thank you for than I knew," she says eagerly. "And we have much to discuss. Perhaps we could join you in your camp later?"

Rakha goes still as stone. Her heart starts to thump in her chest with fear. Panic, almost. No. Isobel lived this long because Rakha held on... but to take her into their camp...

The beast uncurls itself and growls in her head, hungry and eager and bloody. Yes. This pretty child of the moon... bring her within arm's reach and we shall slice and slice and slice...

They took Alfira into their camp and that was how Alfira died.

"No," she says, far too sharply, squeezing her fists at her sides. "If you have something to say to me, say it now."

("Rakha..." Wyll murmurs, frowning. "Easy..." He doesn't know what just happened or why it evoked such a response - but he knows the signs by now that Rakha is battling a slip. He shifts just slightly, lets his knuckles rest against her forearm.)

Aylin flares at once. She doesn't understand the cause either - but there's no question she sees the flash of sourceless danger in Rakha's eyes. "Do not speak so abruptly to the mate of Dame Aylin," she snarls. "Daughter of the Moonmaiden, paladin of--"

"Ahem--" Isobel clears her throat hastily, grabbing Aylin by the arm and tugging her back a step.

Wyll is now holding onto Rakha's arm as well, because she has gone even more still and has her eyes squeezed shut, breathing rapidly through her nose. A strained silence stretches between them all.

Finally, Rakha's eyes open again as the beast's flare of rage recedes. Isobel looks between her and Aylin cautiously for a moment before going on.

"Listen," she says carefully. "We need time to figure out what the hells has happened. I thought Aylin dead. She thought the same of me. Let us join you later. I'm sure we'd have much of interest to say to one another."

Rakha's jaw works. Damn it.

Isobel certainly has information she wants - and so does Aylin, who needs to explain herself to Shadowheart. But if they come to camp...

She will need to have Wyll tie her up again, that's all. She will not be responsible for their deaths, not after all the misery she has gone through to keep them both alive.

"Fine," she says tightly. "I'll see you at camp."

"Very good," Isobel says, relaxing. "We look forward to it."

Aylin is still watching Rakha with a certain amount of wariness, but she just shrugs. "Now, you will leave us," she says curtly. "We must take succor in one another's bodies and words."

Rakha blinks. Behind her, Wyll chokes on a soft laugh. Isobel blushes. "Aylin," she mutters, elbowing the aasimar in the side. "We'll see you later," she tells Rakha sheepishly.

Rakha nods wordlessly and turns away. She takes perhaps a small amount of pleasure in allowing them their time for reunion, but certainly none in knowing of their impending visit. If she had hoped for rest tonight, that hope is now dashed.

I hope your answers are worth it.

[danceswithdarkspawn]

Denerim Pyre for the WIP game? 😄

Hi!

So this is an odd one that will probably get reworked eventually. This one is essentially a plot bunny I had so I wrote it down quickly.

It happens in the Denerim arc of Broken Bird (so not written yet). There are some spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins (and Broken Bird obviously) so I'll put the rest under Read More.

So to explain this a little for those who might be unfamiliar, alienage elves can be subject to purges basically whenever governing humans want. Sometimes this is in response to elves killing humans (overwhelmingly in self-defense) or simply to display power. Elves are killed right down to women and children.

Canonically, a purge happens in Denerim's alienage and the Warden is barred entry until the later part of the game. This purge is done under the guise of a recent "murder" of a nobleman's son and to put down an elven riot. Later, once Blight-infected refugees enter Denerim, the sickness is spread to many of the remaining elves. "Healers" arrive in the alienage to tend to the sick. However, this and the purge is a front for Tevinter slave trade; those healthy enough were sold and transported to the Tevinter Imperium.

Funeral rites in Ferelden (as well as other parts of Thedas) typically call for the burning of bodies to prevent possession, necromancy, etc.

Basically this WIP is after Ariel breaks into the alienage and puts an end to the slavers. Later that night, she sits on the rooftops and watches the pyres burn the dead, and blames herself for the purge as she's the one who killed the nobleman's son.

The pyres burn on into nightfall, the smoke drifting heavy across the alienage and into Denerim like a miasma. The smell is stark, pungent, almost sickening; sooty and vile with death. Perched from above, the fireglow through the curtains of smoke illuninate those that are left, those that watch the flames and weep. I would be there with them, if I still felt I belonged. An ache seizes my chest for a countless time; my heart squeezes into my throat, and the figures in the smoke blur and warp until I can blink away my feelings. [...] Eran finds me sometime later, still stuck to the rooftop of our old apartment. He collapses on the ledge next to me, and for a long while we say nothing. The air feels so wrought and heavy, and there are words at the back of my throat, but I can't bear to break what little silence there is. "Are you okay?" And I can't help but laugh, but it comes out more of a wail. I smudge my hand against my eyes. "No." Without hesitation or complaint, he wraps an arm around my shoulders. I crumple into his side. "None of this had to happen," I choke out. Maker, the sound of my own voice is vile; wrought and growling and not me. But Eran, stubborn man that he is, squeezes his arm and shakes me a little. "You know this isn't your fault."

[tenuuchlegch]

"alt!"

Muses of Past & Future

🌍~ Humanity, ever rising and falling like tides across shore. Yet water waned rock over time, as it expanded territory. How fascinating it was, to witness them reach heights many of their ancestors could only dream about, or decline into new lows they could not fathom. Throughout all her centuries of living one fact of them remained constant- that man was both a marvelous and monstrous species.

Alkebu-lan was a creature which existed outside of their perception of time; an almost entirely unknown variable to this generation now. She was an observer of them, keen on carefully remaining an enigma to all mortal and immortal alike. Unlike the two, most infamous individuals of her kind, mystic monkey was content to have history forget visage and exploits. Yet the roots of deep, muddled past would occasionally quiver and call, moving concealed simian to action.

On a building's rooftop in Megapolis, did a portal of purest white, encircled with crimson open, allowing a seemingly human woman to slip through with ease. The stench of a busy, modern city overwhelming once pure, clean air she took in, dark-skinned one wasted no time to scan area. Alkebu-lan would not say she was in a rush, but shape-shifter often found any attention drawn towards her troublesome and if certain creatures were encountered countless questions would be inquired. Golden optics now illuminating with a red hue, searched the port thoroughly until finally stopping at one crate being unloaded from a ship. Twirling her finger once, previous portal closed and a smaller one next to hand appeared. Reaching in did palm find itself inside wooden box as it was being hulled. For a moment she felt around it, pulling out various and valuable items. At last, disguised baboon found what she was looking for and brought out a book with an ominous cover- its leather bindings decorated with carvings of skulls.

"There you are. Mortals really should know better, than to mess with your ilk. But, I suppose I cannot fault a new generation for their lack of understanding," she sighed. Abruptly, did the communication device in ear ring. Tossing the book of necromancy back into another portal behind her, her once stoic countenance portrayed a smile.

"Beatrix! Do not tell me I am missed already~"

A woman's voice came on the other side, her tone clearly fearful but restrained. "Alkebu-lan, would you mind explaining why there is a... unicorn... goat thing in my office?"

"Ah, that would be an abada," shape-shifter replied, scratching her chin. "Hmm, stay there. I will be right over." Hanging up and falling back through another portal, celestial primate soared across an empty, white expanse for some minutes before her head popped up out of floor behind a mortal, dark-skinned woman.

"So, is the abada still here?" she chirped, evoking a surprised jump from the human.

[benadryltarantula]

The Nechronica campaign wrapped up! They beat up the badguy after his anime speech. They made good friends with the former religious zealot girl. No one got annihilated. They decided to pursue the potential secrets of necromancy later. Someone put an enemy's head on their body and lost it. A coinflip decided this person was not malicious and gave them a mew smaller body. They enjoyed a nice emotional fade to black on a rooftop during sunset.

[fartasticdurge]

Nec-romance

part 8/9

Join Bellara in this premiere serial as she recounts her companion's most thrilling and inspirational moments, adding her own artistic interpretation and revealing insider details directly from the characters.

Feel the allure of necromancy engulf you as you ascend from the cool, silent lower halls of the Necropolis to the windswept, Fade-drenched vista of the Lighthouse, mirroring the romantic journey of Rook and Emmrich.

The barrier shattered with a deafening crack, casting the city in a rain of crimson shards that dissolved into the storm-laden air. For a moment, Rook lingered, her breath catching as the final ward that had kept Minrathous locked away fell. Beyond the broken barrier, the city loomed—its streets writhing with corrupted life, twisted spires glowing faintly with the unholy light of Elgar’nan’s influence. Around her, the factions surged forward, each playing their part in the strategy she had spent many nights perfecting.

The Dalish archers moved like shadows along the rooftops, their arrows finding purchase in vulnerable flesh; the mages unleashed torrents of controlled destruction, shattering the lines of twisted magisters. The Grey Wardens cut through the chaos with unflinching precision. Amid the chaos, the Antivan Crows moved with deadly grace, their blades flashing like fleeting shadows, cutting down enemies with surgical precision as they dismantled key defenses Rook had marked.

It was all happening as she had envisioned—a fragile but potent unity born of desperation and trust.

As Emmrich and Harding joined her at the breach, she felt a rare swell of pride and relief, the weight of her choices settling not as failure, but as hope. They had a chance. For the first time, as her companions stepped through the threshold and into the hell Minrathous had become, Rook allowed herself to believe in it.

The journey to Minrathous was grueling, the road littered with the aftermath of Elgar’nan’s influence. The spires of Minrathous, once symbols of Tevinter’s power, now rose like jagged claws against the fractured sky. The streets, warped by Elgar’nan’s magic, twisted into unfamiliar shapes. But for Rook, the city’s darkness was deeply familiar. She had walked these streets before, as a Shadow Dragon, cloaked in secrecy and purpose and she wouldn’t let a god change that.

Memories surfaced unbidden—silent missions in the dead of night, whispered orders that carried the weight of lives. She remembered the cold satisfaction of completing her tasks and the hollow emptiness that followed. This was where she had learned to move unseen, to kill without hesitation. And now, those skills would be tested in the open, against a foe who saw it all.

They had fought through waves of corrupted magisters and twisted creatures, the air heavy with the stench of blood and the crackle of magic. But Rook’s focus never wavered. She led them through the chaos, her voice cutting through the noise with commands that steadied the faltering and drove them forward. Until the giant tendril dropped Viper and Tarquin right at her feet.

“You’re alive!” Rook enthused over her Shadow Dragons.

“Thanks to Solas.” Tarquin said. “He’s been the only thing between us and Elgar’nan.”

“Stay with them.” Rook said as she looked towards Emmrich and Harding. “I’m going to talk to Solas.”

Rook watched him from a distance, her unlikely interlocutor wielding power with precise efficiency, flung the blight tendrils against the crumbling buildings, their grotesque forms smashing against the brick with sickening thuds. The air seemed to crackle with her simmering anger, and with each destructive blow, she felt a new wave of frustration rise within her. As Rook approached Solas, a tendril whipped out with such force that it almost hit her, but Solas reacted instantly and caught it before it could strike.

“You are as surprising as ever.” Solas said in a firm, unwavering tone. “Even I could not have escaped that prison. For you to manage it…”

Flashes of burning molten rage rose in her, each image of her fear and pain from her captivity sending fresh waves of agony through her, like a searing fire that threatened to consume her from within. “I should end you right here.”

“I understand your anger. If there had been any other way–”

“There is no other way with you… If always ends up with someone else paying for your mistakes.” Rook snapped. “Me. The Shadow Dragons. Varric.” Tears welled up in her eyes as memories of Varric, his quick wit, his infectious laughter, and his warmth, flooded her mind, but she blinked them away, pushing the emotions down. “You did something to my mind to keep seeing him.”

“Yes.” Solas responded promptly, showing no signs of hesitation. “And I was wrong to do so.”

“I knew you’d turn on me. All that big talk about freedom and justice, but when it counts, you’re no different than the magisters. You’re no different from Elgar’nan.”

“I know.” Solas said, his voice strained. “I betrayed you because I believed that only I could save this world.” He paused for a moment. “But I was wrong, Rook. I have not stopped Elgar’nan. I have not even defeated his Archdemon. The victories that have been won since Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain escaped are yours, not mine. If we are to save this world, we must work together.”

At the outrageous suggestion, Rook's laughter filled the air, a guttural sound that seemed to shake the very foundation of the rock beneath them. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You just finished apologizing for the last time you betrayed me.”

“I know. I cannot change the past–”

“How stupid do you think I am?” Rook cut in. “The best possible version of this is that we kill Elgar’nan… And then you finish your ritual and drown the world in demons.”

“If joining me and stopping Elgar’nan requires the Veil to stay in place, then I will pay that price, unflinching. I swear by my own foolish pride, by love for friends I’ve failed and hurt, by everything I ever held as sacred.”

If she didn’t know any better, Rook might have believed him, his words as smooth as honey and as convincing as a well-rehearsed lie. He always did seem so earnest in his delivery. The price of his errors was paid in blood and sacrifice, with many lives lost to ensure his heroic image.

“It will never come down by my hand.”

Rook found it hard to believe him. She had no idea what it would require to outwit the elven god of lies. The thought of stabbing him the moment he looked away crossed her mind. Looking at her allies, she realized her plan was flawed and cursed herself for not having a better one. If he managed to get them closer to Elgar’nan, she would ally with him for now, but she refused to let herself hope. Not this time.

Even with the Dread Wolf on her side, albeit temporary, her nerves remained on edge as they headed towards the source of the blight's control. As she observed him, she plotted how to defeat him after he inevitably turned against her, looking for flaws in his defenses. Unfortunately, there weren’t many.

But as the blight seemed to manifest more aggressively the further they got to the source, Bellara was being held among the tendrils.

“We are out of time. I will defeat the Archdemon. Once Elgar’nan is mortal, the final blow…” Solas said as he extended his dagger towards Rook. “…must be yours.”

The possibilities of his trickery and lies spun through her thoughts, leaving her unable to craft a logical rebuttal.

“I can think of no one better to wield this.” He continued with his arm outstretched.

“You need that dagger for your ritual. I’m supposed to believe you would just give it to me?” Rook snapped, unable to come up with any other explanation.

“If you do not trust me to uphold my oath, that is all the more reason for the dagger to be out of my hands.”

Time expanded endlessly before her, nearly coming to a standstill. Thoughts of spells that would kill her, Fade magic to trap her if she would merely touch it came and went, yet his voice pulled her back.

“Please, Rook.”

Her jaw tightened as she seized the dagger, bewildered when nothing occurred.

“Good luck.” Solas said as he started to turn from her. “When next we meet, let us stand over Elgar’nan’s body.”

For the first time since meeting him, Solas turned into the Dread Wolf mid-step as he ran towards the Archdemon and snapped at his neck, pulling him away from the team.

Rook stood in place, dagger in hand, trying to wrap her mind around what just happened, trying to turn his words on every side to see any potential for trickery. His phrasing was a bit odd to say the least, but he did speak in a manner that was odd to begin with, so she put it out of her mind for now.

Bellara's rescue revealed more about Elgar'nan's plans, as she described how he manipulated her mind, making her desire to aid him even more horrifyingly and frustratingly.

It didn’t matter. They got her back and Rook felt her heart swell at the thought of at least one decision that wasn’t a failure, one of their own saved, if only for a while longer as they gathered together among the rest of their allies before they would strike Elgar’nan in his throne.

“No wait!” Bellara called as Rook turned to leave. “There’s something more I need to tell you.”

Bellara took a deep breath and started recounting her time away from them.

“When Elgar’nan was in my mind, I was kind of in his too. I could feel him. His mind, his magic, his… life force?”

With a scowl, Rook crossed her arms and stared pointedly at her. Bellara kept talking.

“It’s tied to the Veil. His life is the only thing holding the Veil in place.”

“I felt the Veil weaken when Ghilan’nain fell. I expect that when Solas imprisoned the other gods, he bound them all thus.” Morrigan spoke as she walked towards them, with the Inquisitor beside her. “And now that Elgar’nan is the only one left…”

“If we kill him, the Veil collapses.” Bellara went on.

“Which is why Solas gave me the dagger.” Rook finished. She pulled the dagger from her side and placed it on the table. She was surprised that anger was not the emotion that filled her. But relief. It was a relief to find the mistake and know she'd caught it before anyone else had to deal with the consequences.

“We still need to kill Elgar’nan. So what can we do?” Rook asked. “Can we tie the Veil to something else  to keep it in place?”

“For an enchantment like that, we’ll need a specific substitute. The Veil was made to be tied to the ancient elven gods.”

“Then let’s tie it to Solas. He’s the only elven god left.” Rook said smugly.

“Binding him will require drawing his blood with the lyrium dagger.” Emmrich said.

“And I doubt he’s going to like that idea.” Lucanis continued.

There were surprisingly many options. The ground began to shake and between tricking him with a fake lyrium dagger that would render him useless after the backlash of such magic, to reasoning with him with Mythal’s essence or try to appeal to him with Mythal’s memories hosted in Morrigan, they had enough options to decide what to do later.

With one more round of plans and goodbyes said and done, Emmrich’s words lingered in her mind as she walked outside and the cold air of Minrathous. How I wish we were already safely home together. I love you, my darling Rook.

Home. I love you. She had been terrified by those words for a long time. They gave her a lot of hope now. She longed to tell her younger self that life didn't have to be so tumultuous. That eventually she would find a place she could call home. That she would find someone who would reciprocate her love without reservation.

But that could wait.

With Elgar’nan’s troops bearing down, Rook embraced the mantle of leadership, preparing for battle.

As they climbed the blighted tendril, they encountered wave after wave of horrors. A darkspawn lieutenant was lurking in one corner, and a spell-crazed Tevinter magister in another. However, undeterred by these challenges, they continued pressing on. Deep down, they knew that Solas was above, engaged in his own battle to kill the Archdemon. Their fates were entwined, after all.

Emmrich and Harding broke the tension as they entered the antechamber, their voices echoing off the cracked marble of the throne room, and Rook welcomed the distraction.

“Hey Emmrich? If I die, will you raise me from death so I can have my revenge?”

“Garding that would require…” Emmrich came to a sudden halt. “But with the powers of a lich…”

“Wait, can you actually do it?”

“Possibly.” Emmrich said, his voice tinged with thoughtfulness. “Never without permission from your mother, of course.”

Despite the terror of what lay ahead, Rook couldn’t stop the small grin that tugged at her lips, remembering how much Emmrich used to be bothered by the conversations, making the sight of them getting along a small victory.

The throne room was still far above them, but they could already feel the suffocating presence of Elgar’nan’s power radiating downward. Tendrils of corrupted Fade energy lashed out from the walls and floor, forcing the Veilguard into a deadly dance of defense and offense. Rook swung her blade in precise arcs, severing tendrils and cutting through darkspawn with the efficiency of someone who had faced death more times than she could count.

Ahead of them, a massive rift opened, spilling more of Elgar’nan’s minions into the fray. Solas’s magic flared somewhere in the distance, a surge of wolf-like energy striking through the air. But even from where they stood, Rook could feel his struggle—the Archdemon’s roar split the air, a challenge that shook the very ground beneath them.

It was Bellara who stopped, her breath ragged but her eyes fierce. “He’s not going to make it alone.”

Rook knew what she meant, but she couldn't help but hesitate, her mind racing with the implications. “Bellara...”

“I’m the only one who can stabilize his spells long enough for him to strike,” Bellara shot back, her voice steady despite the chaos. “This is what I’m here for, Rook. You trusted me before. Trust me now.”

Rook’s heart twisted, but she nodded, clapping a hand on Bellara’s shoulder. “Go. And come back to us. That’s an order.”

With a quick, resolute nod, Bellara darted up the staircase toward Solas, her form disappearing into the shadows. Rook turned back to the fight, her blade cutting a path toward the throne.

The throne room was a cathedral of decay. Tendrils of Blight pulsed across the floor and walls, coiling protectively around the massive figure of Elgar’nan, seated on a throne. His once-glorious form was a mockery of divine power, twisted by his dominion over the Blight. His voice was like thunder, filling the room with a chilling resonance.

“I would have restored the glory your lives are too brief to remember.”

Rook stepped forward, her companions fanned out behind her, ready to strike. “I saw D’Meta’s Crossing and Weisshaupt, and everywhere you left your mark and I didn’t see any glory. All I saw was a tyrant destroying everything he touches.”

Elgar’nan rose, his tendrils snapping around him like whips, the air growing heavy with his fury. “We only destroyed because you resisted.”

The fight erupted, and Rook felt a surge of fear as she realized Elgar’nan's raw power dwarfed Ghilan’nain's, the doubts gnawing at her confidence. The clang of swords and the guttural roar of the enemy were lost to Rook as Elgar’nan’s voice pierced her mind, pulling her into a nightmare of doubts, each one a venomous whisper in the darkness. She saw the faces of those she had failed and heard the whispers of her enemies. “You’ve killed for power. You’ve sacrificed for nothing,” he sneered. “You think your choices matter?”

For the first time, Rook didn’t flinch. “Yes,” she growled, driving her blade into the darkness surrounding her. “Because every choice brought us here. Every sacrifice gave us this chance.”

“You failed to save at Wardens at Weisshaupt. You fled in terror at Arlathan.”

“And then we killed Ghilan’nain.” Rook countered.

“You have nothing. No army. No dragons. No thralls.”

“I’ve got a team. And that’s all I need.”

“I have bound the souls of dragons. I have slain Titans and broken the will of gods!”

“You haven’t broken me.”

Nevertheless, Elgar’nan was a god. His power surged, and in a moment of blinding force, he pinned her to the ground, the earth trembling beneath her as his raw energy crackled around them. His darkness was a palpable presence, coiling around her arms, squeezing the air from her lungs, while his burning eyes seemed to pierce through her very soul.

"Die with the rest of them," he spat, his words laced with venom.

Before he could strike, the room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation. Bellara, bloodied and radiant with the Blight’s energy, stood at the base of the throne. As she sat down, her voice, resonating with immense power, seemed to reverberate through the tendrils that encircled her. “Elgar’nan!” she roared, the sound of her voice vibrating in the air. “Release them.”

“I gave you this power, child.”

“You are not my god.” Bellara's voice, like a thunderclap, filled the space with its raw power.

With a single, terrible motion, Bellara thrust her hand towards him, the Blight bending to her will. The tendrils recoiled, their power redirected towards stopping Elgar’nan as Solas struck the final blow against the Archdemon in the distance. The god faltered, his form flickering as the throne and blight themselves seemed to rebel against him.

“Bellara, no!” Rook screamed, struggling to rise, but Bellara only looked at her with a faint smile before the tendrils wrapped around her form and she was nowhere to be seen.

But she didn’t have time to run to her–with Elgar’nan vulnerable, Rook and her companions ran towards him, striking with their blades, magic, and Solas’s dagger, cutting through the last of his defenses. As the corrupted god fell, his form collapsing and exploding into ash and red light, the Veil crashed down, sending shockwaves that threw them all to the ground in an explosion. Solas appeared in Rook's peripheral vision in the distance, his face etched with sadness, and Rook could almost hear the weight of his sorrow in the silence.

He stepped forward, his hand reaching for the dagger. “I am sorry,” he said, his voice carrying in the distance. “This is the final betrayal.”

But Rook grabbed the dagger just before his magic could pull it to him. Her hand closed around the dagger first, and she met his gaze.

“Please Rook. I do not wish to fight against you.”

Her thoughts were in a whirlwind as she tried to figure out the best course of action. To pull out the fake dagger and try to trick the elven god of lies or try to appeal to his soul, his nature.

“I don’t want to fight you either,” she said, her voice steady as she stood up. “But I don’t want to see the world go through more pain on top of what Elgar’nan has done. Do you?”

“This world is broken, Rook. Because of my mistakes.”

“You’re right. You do need to make up for the damage you’ve done… But breaking the world again is the wrong way to do it.”

“Letting the Veil collapse–”

“Is what you want.” Rook chimed in. “But making amends isn’t about what you want.” Her thoughts drifted back to Davrin and Varric as she spoke. “You have a chance right now to save the world. Bind yourself to the Veil and stop it from falling.”

Rook paused, the dagger trembling slightly in her hand, as the internal battle raged within her over the right course of action. Believing in him. Trusting the god of lies. With a slow, measured movement, she extended the dagger to him, the glint of its lyrium blade catching her eye.

Solas, his back to her and a dagger clutched in his hand, walked towards the Veil tear, his footsteps silent on the stone.

“I cannot.” Solas's voice was calm as he spoke. “To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far.”

“Even if those you’ve wronged asked you to stop?” A voice from behind her asked. Rook turned to find the Inquisitor walking towards them.

“Vhenan…” There was a sense of anguish in Solas's voice as he spoke.

The conversation dragged on and on, and even though Morrigan tried to convince him, alongside the Inquisitor, Solas remained unconvinced. Finally, even Mythal's form appeared, acknowledging the wrongdoing they brought on the world together, and it was only then, with all of their voices united, that Solas finally broke down.

He hesitated, a cold dread gnawing at Rook before his hand plunged down, the sharp blade tearing through flesh. The blood flowed freely, staining the air with a coppery scent as it bound him to the Veil.

“I will go and seek atonement.” Concluding his thoughts, he handed the dagger to Rook.

Rook had no idea what had been said between the Inquisitor and Solas before they left, but whatever it was, it had filled them both with such emotions that they clung to each other as they approached the tear. The Veil, slowly solidifying, sealed the wounds in reality, leaving their forms glowing faintly in its wake.

The aftermath was a blur of relief and exhaustion. Bellara was freed from the tendrils, alive but barely conscious, and the Veilguard stood together as the factions of Thedas praised their victory. The city, though broken, was saved, and for the first time in days, the sky began to clear.

Rook leaned back against a crumbled pillar, her armor streaked with dirt and blood, the weight of the battle finally catching up to her. For once, she allowed herself to exhale, the world quiet around her, but she recognized Emmrich’s steps behind her.

“You know, my love, there’s one thing left on the list.”

She raised an eyebrow, too tired to feign interest. “What now? Rebuild Minrathous brick by brick? Fight another god? Hezenkoss?”

Emmrich shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No. Rest. I won’t tell you how many injuries I’ve noticed besides your left wrist this time. But I’d like to think, perhaps, you’ll listen for once.”

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest, remembering that moment when he pointed out her left wrist strain at their dinner in the gardens. And what followed after. Her smile deepened just a little as she shook her head. “Fine. Just this once.”

He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve as if satisfied. “Ah, music to my ears. I expected you would fight me on this, that you might plan to stay and rebuild Minrathous and help the Shadow Dragons.” 

“I think everyone would understand if I took a few days off.”

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, but her gaze lingered on the horizon. The storm had passed, and the world was saved for now. Behind her, the Veilguard tended to the wounded, and factions once divided shared words of gratitude and relief. They had done what many thought impossible. And yet, standing here, Rook didn’t feel the crushing weight she expected. Instead, there was something lighter, something whole.

As the sun rose higher, gilding the ruins in light, she allowed herself to lean into the silence beside Emmrich. For the first time in a long while, there was no plan to make, no burden to carry—only the faint, steady rhythm of the world beginning again.

The end.