#rook castle

[psin314]

kicking my feet.. in the were wyvern crow spite au.. does he allways look that way or is it a spite influence thing.. how does it play out with the rest of the dellamortes and veilguard seeing that ?

still wip but i have something.

it was interesting to think how the quest (bloodbath) would work here. illario was caught off guard and didn't expect lucanis to turn into... this. so rook had to do something and quickly, because Illario didn't fight back well and his head was about to be chewed off. so rook stabbed the wyvern in the thigh and provoked it to attack him instead. he didn't run far - spite pinned him to a column and now wanted to bite his face off. rook tried to get through to spite and he almost succeeded, but illario came to his senses and stopped spite with his blood magic stuff. he said the same thing and left. fucker.

transformation scheme!! when spite is angry and wants to talk to rook, but lucanis has the strength to resist, he shifts into a humanoid crow-wyvern-like creature. they share the body and sometimes spite can do and say things, but basically everything is under lucanis' control. if luсanis has no strength to resist - a wyvern. if spite calms down, then feathers and everything else slowly disappears within half an hour or two. and when spite gets furious and lucanis can't resist it, he instantly turns into a full wyvern. the transformation is uhh unpleasant, with crunching bones and groans of pain, i won’t draw that. although... who knows. 🗿🗿🗿🗿🚬🚬 wyvern spite won't just turn back into lucanis. he either has to get bored (which is unlikely) and lucanis turns back into his usual self, or rook has to convince spite or bribe him with coffee beans - then it's quite possible.

i haven’t thought about other people’s reactions yet. but I don't think it will be positive. 💀💀💀✋ but rook genuinely wants to help lucanis and won't give up on him. cus he likesss himmmm

+more visible size as a bonus

[michaelnordeman]

Rook/råka. Borgholm Castle grounds on Öland, Sweden (October 2, 2024).

[charliemwrites]

Part 11!!

Sorry this took so long (and that it’s a bit short) I have trouble with scene switching sometimes, and it makes me cut up the story into pieces.

No Content Warnings For This Chapter

Somewhere between your pride and the numbing passage of time lies the way you really feel about the 141. It's undeniable that you're still deeply hurt by what transpired; a chronic ache like a mended bone, only noticeable in the cold, or when you sleep on it wrong. For them, it was easy to reach inside your chest to extract your heart, sternum soft and malleable. It was harder with SpecGru, the bone grew back harder, thicker. You had to crack your ribs open and scraped the chambers on bone shards, but at least they stopped the bleeding.

You don’t miss the 141, not really. It wasn’t just those final, brutal days spent lying alone in a hospital bed that filled those transfer papers. The culprit had been the time that isolation had afforded, to think more deeply, to analyze your position through a less-optimistic lense. Those last conversations had just been your signature on the line.

You don’t blame the gun for firing, you blame whoever pulled the trigger.

Bitterness seeps onto your tongue sometimes. Masochistically, you let it linger. It has no purpose but to raise your hackles and press on that knitted spot until it bruises. It’s your pride, that’s all, lamenting the blood you chose to spill in sacrifice only to have it wasted.

The present is a much sweeter wash for the taste of the past, sticking to your lips and curling your tongue. Honey-balm for resentment, syrup cutting through salt. You focus on the flavor as you stride into the briefing room.

Your captain is already there, a sly smirk for the flush to your faces as Nova follows you in. He’s speaking to Laswell, arms crossed but shoulders relaxed.

Nikto is leaned up against the wall, a shadow without anyone to cast it. He comes to you and Nova as you take seats, angled to face the only exit. He knee presses to yours as you settle in, eyes flicking around.

Nostalgia is a complicated tide rising and ebbing around your ankles. Memories of your time with the 141 in this very room, planning and strategizing, learning where to support your teammates and where they would support you. Jokes made with Soap and Gaz, loaded glances between you and Ghost, a reassuring nod or shoulder squeeze from Price.

That, you think, is where the ache is. Not in missing those moments; you have them with SpecGru now, and without that lingering sense that you don’t quite belong. But in those rose-tinted relationships you’ll never get back (and know you don’t really want again.)

It was never as good as it is with your team now; they were still the team you thought you belonged with. You’ve learned better since but that doesn’t appease the naive 141 operative that put everything into those four.

Your captain has taken the seat you used to have, and he belongs there, a buffer between his team and theirs. You press your thumb to one of the bruises he left on your thigh and settle in.

“Sunshine,” Keegan greets, brushing his knuckles over Nova’s cheek. “Sweets.”

You tilt your chin welcomingly as he nuzzles his nose against your temple, fabric of his mask itching along your jaw.

“Smell good,” he rumbles, low. Just for you and Nova.

“That’s what happens when you shower,” you answer, playing dismissive.

“You should try it sometime,” Nova adds, smirking.

“Only if you join me,” Keegan coos, drawing a spare chair up close. For as tough and distant as he is towards others, he’s long opened his ribs for you and the rest of SpecGru to crawl inside. You admire it now for as much as you distrusted it then.

“Too late,” you say, sharing a look with Nova, “already helped her wash up for the day.”

She whacks you in the knee, startling a laugh out of you. Keegan scoffs, throwing an arm across the back of your chair.

“Nothin’ says we can’t take another,” he drawls, “if I get you dirty enough.”

Beside you, Nikto snorts. Keegan shoots him a teasing look, arching his eyebrows invitingly. The captain is watching, as always, pride and affection smoldering in coal-dark eyes.

And you’re right where you’re meant to be. With them, always with them.

At the front of the room, Laswell politely clears her throat. All eyes turn to her - though you only just notice that the 141 has filed in, perched on the other end of the briefing table, a collective storm cloud.

Laswell kicks off the meeting with a recap of the ongoing mission - basics that all of you read in the docket before shipping out. It’s a big operation, delicate due to hostages. The 141 needed manpower with comparable skills; enter SpecGru.

“One of our best specialists has patched in to explain the parameters in greater detail.”

The big screen at the front of the room lights up. A familiar puff of curly blond hair and green eyes blink into view.

“Gooooood mornin’! Or is it evening? Either way, I hope it’s good.”

Your captain lets out a long breath, trying (and mostly failing) to hide his amusement.

“This is Duke,” Laswell says for the 141’s benefit. “She’s one of our best technicians. I put her on this assignment when I reached out to SoecGru.”

“And you should be glad she did!” Duke chimes in. Her tongue flashes blue as she speaks, and it’s not just the light of the computers surrounding her. Her love of raspberry candies is practically a calling card. “They’re actually pretty decent at keeping communications to a minimum, but porn bots always get ‘em.”

The captain sighs, running a hand down his face. Nova pats his arm sympathetically. Poor guy.

“Anyway! I have their plans for the hostages all drawn up - check this out.”

One loud click of her mouse and the screen flicks to a map with colored circles and wiggly lines. Locations and routes, with little time stamps above each.

“They plan on taking the hostages in waves. If one transport goes down going in or out, they can cut their losses. Lucky for us, they’re super dumb, so I’ve found a 12 minute window where all their teams are out in the open.”

Another image, the transport routes now sporting little icons of angry faces with their tongues sticking out. They're all at various distances along their colored paths, but none of them have made it to whatever the destination is.

“If they’re hit all at once, no group will have time to warn the others,” Duke explains. “Hostages safe, bad guys caught, we all go home and pet our dogs.”

She babbles through the rest of the plan in that controlled chaos way she has, concise and insightful around a casual tone more fitting a high school presentation. The building where the hostages will be taken, every route, down to the vehicles and guns the terrorists will have.

Eventually, she runs out of pertinent information, there are no questions because she’s covered just about everything short of the humidity. Her face pops up on screen again, eyes always a bit glassy from staring at screens too long without blinking. “Lastly, don’t get shot, or I’m telling ma.”

Your captain huffs, that grin finally cracking across his solemn face.

“Do that ‘n I’ll tell her you drop f-bombs like it’s your job,” he replies.

Her mouth drops open in outrage. “It is my job!”

“Yeah? How about that stipend, huh? How much’a that ‘s going to your candy habit?”

Duke’s face flushes, but she’s got that wide smile beamed up to eleven. “Your girlfriend likes me better,” she sing-songs.

He snorts. “Which one?”

“Both,” you and Nova answer at the same time.

Her eyes narrow smugly before she signs off with a little finger wave and a “toodaloo!”

“Your sister, I take it?” Price drawls in the characteristic silence of Duke’s absence.

Your captain shoots him a sideways look. “What, you can’t see the resemblance?” he replies, dry as desert.

You cough into your arm to hide your giggles but Nova isn’t nearly as polite.

As you’re filing out with the rest of the team, you’re surprised that there aren’t calls from your former team. No overtures to justify themselves or half-assed apologies that still somehow make it sound like everything was your fault. You’re almost tempted to check over your shoulder, but you won’t give them the satisfaction of seeming interested. You just don’t trust the sudden silence, even if the captain alluded that there’s some sort of ceasefire in place. You’ve never known the 141 to bend knee to anyone but their own.

A glance at your captain and he’s noticed it too, satisfaction flicking across his face before he catches your eye. He jerks his head. You follow him back to his room, leaning your shoulder in the doorway as he loosens his belt.

“Talked to Price,” he begins.

You arch your brows. “And?”

He blows out a sigh, hands on his hips. “And he wants to talk to you. Him and the rest of the team.”

You groan. “About what?”

He shrugs. “Hell if I know, it wasn’t exactly circle time, doll.”

You roll your eyes. Those useless, cryptic…

“Hey.”

You blink, face going hot when you see the stern look on your captain’s face. Whoops.

“Sorry, sir,” you say. “That wasn’t meant to be at you, I’m just so fucking… ugh.”

“Look, I got ‘em off your back during working hours, but anytime after is outta my hands.”

You puff up, annoyed all over again with the whole situation. It couldn’t be enough for them to ostracize you back then, or try to distract you on-duty now, derailing drills. No, they want your free time too.

“I’m not gonna tell you how to handle this, alright? But maybe getting some of this shit off your chest will do you some good. Let ‘em blow smoke, say whatever you gotta say, and put all this to rest.”

You deflate, giving him a weary scowl that does nothing to deter him from closing the distance. (Not that you wanted it to.)

“Isn’t that telling me what to do?” you mumble, letting your forehead thunk against his broad chest.

“Nah, if I was tellin’ you what to do, you’d be doin’ it,” he chuckles. “If you don’t want nothin’ to do with ‘em, you can spend every night in here for all I care. Up to you.”

You’re only putting up resistance because you know he’s right, it’s just not what you want. It’s easier and simpler to be pissed off and short-tempered with the 141. Safer, in a way.

But there’s no getting any safer, in any sense of the word. Worst thing any of them can say is something you already know, or something that isn’t true. You’ve got your own team for support regardless.

“I hate when you’re right,” you grump.

He smooths a hand through your hair. “If that were true, you’d hate me all the time.”

You nip him in retaliation; he tugs a lock of hair for the trouble.

This is home, you think. Your captain. Nova, Nikto, Keegan. Doesn’t matter where in the world you are, they’re your present and your future. Knowing that, the pain and uncertainty of the past are just ghosts. It’s time to put them to rest like one.

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Masterlist

[rookinthecrownest]

This but Rookanis do we see the vision

[mrs-gauche]

I hope the Lighthouse is full of weird looking magical things/artifacts/tools, that are just so old that simply no one knows what they were even made for, a bit like Howl's Moving Castle? Like, imagine there's a running gag or something where Rook and the rest come across a thing and everyone's like "Oh, better not touch that, we don't know what it does" and then they make a really big deal of how no one's allowed to ever touch. that. thing.

And then later on Rook has another Fade Call with Solas and they have this very serious conversation, when Rook just casually interjects "Oh yeah btw, what is that thing?" and Solas just sighs and waves it off in passing, super annoyed "Ugh, that's just an ancient elven bottle opener. Are you even listening to what I'm saying—"

[syds-silly-art-corner]

ROOK guys i lvoe him <3 rook in howls outfit because he so would and a poorly cropped canvas because i never know what im doing :3

[yj-98]

⸺ KINGMAKER ♜

[diana-bluewolf]

For King & Country!

[mrsrookhunt]

So you're telling me Rook has 5 siblings. And that there's 6 pieces in Chess? But that we don't have their names?

Bestie. I think we do.

[st-enbious]

My Rook! Though, my friends and I share a canon for our veilguard game, so we all chose different chess piece names for all our MCs.

Soooo

My Castle!

(Which is just another name for Rook, don't @ me XD)

I had 0 thoughts when I started the game on what this character would be like but now they've got so much lore.

I love them. And I love that they can be a THEM. So thrilled about that X3

Here's the OG character in game that I built off of :3

[local-ground-apple]

Not-Vil's insolent castle | Howl's Moving Castle au!

Vil as Sophie and You as Howl I just want to say "That's my boy" @ Vil

,,There you are, sweetheart !”

Vil heard a soft but firm voice in the crowd. Usually when he was surrounded by people, he was unable to focus on a particular sound or pick out any face.

He would never remember them later.

Carefully prepared expressions and words thankful for the support of his fans were leaving his mouth almost automatically. If someone was a tad bit observant, they would notice sheer distress and slight panic in his eyes, as he didn’t wish to be almost suffocated by the crowd.

,,I was looking everywhere for you !”

Finally. This time, he finally noticed you in the sea of his fans. You wore a crystally white shirt with few buttons unbuttoned, yet Vil focused on your pink-silver jacket that seemed to shimmer slightly in the sunlight.

You were glowing.

A playful, yet quite attractive smile was dancing on your lips and your eyes seemed to sparkle.

Vil blinked and in that moment you merged with the crowd, disappearing from his sight. Before he could turn his head around or hopelessly attempt to escape from the crowd, he felt a cold hand on his shoulder, warm breath slightly tickled his skin and silky hair brushed gently against it.

,,I’m sorry, I’m late”

You muttered slightly, the beautiful smile not leaving your lips. Vil was left quite breathless. No one from his fans dared to even touch him, given his security guards who guarded him diligently. Yet, you slipped past them with ease. He could hear them from afar complaining and rushing to separate you two, yet you were faster. Your firm arms wrapped around Vil’s waist and before he could even scream or complain, you jumped in the air, lifting both of you.

,,You! Put me down immediately!”

Vil yelled at you, as he floated above the confused faces of passer-by and his fans who were shouting in disbelief. You only giggled at his misery, as you began walking in the air with ease. Your hands were gently holding his, making sure he didn’t fall.

,,Now, you can start walking! It’s quite easy and quite effective to escape from your fans”

You responded cheerfully, as you guided him. Vil was quite hesitant to listen to you, yet he soon figured out that there was no way to properly argue with you. You didn’t seem like the type who would listen; besides he didn’t wish to be dropped from this height.

He began slightly walking, taking small and hesitant steps. Yet, seeing your encouraging smile and noticing that fact that he wasn't falling down, he began to feel slightly more at ease. Perhaps, it wasn’t such a bad way to escape the suffocating crowd of his fans and his relentless manager.

,,See? It’s quite enjoyable”

You said cheerfully with a bright smile gracing your lips, as you stepped on the highest point on the cathedral located in the middle of the city. You two continued walking in the air. No one seemed to notice you two, as you made sure you were high enough not to be spotted easily. Soft, morning breeze was gently brushing against Vil’s face, as warm rays of the sun gently caressed his face.

Vil had no idea who you were. A mysterious figure that seemed to lighten up his day by stealing him away from relentless and suffocating fans. Offering him a magical moment in his dull, overworked reality devoured of any colours. Every time he opened his mouth to ask you about your name, no sound could come out of his throat.

Yet, every beautiful moment had to end eventually.

You carefully placed Vil on someone else’s balcony, gently letting go of his hand. His fingertips lingered for a brief moment, almost as if he subconsciously didn’t want to let you leave. You smiled brightly at his confused, yet happy face.

,,Now, you can get away from your fans. I’ll make sure they don’t follow you or anything”

You assured Vil who was, once again, to stunned to speak. He only nodded in response, feeling quite ashamed for appearing so shy in front of you. After all, he was known for his impeccable appearance and dashing personality. Yet, in front of your literally glowing form, he was left speechless, feeling like a grey mouse compared to you.

,,That’s my boy!”

You exclaimed, flashing him one last brief smile, before you jumped of the balcony.

Next day, Vil woke up old.

He wasn’t only feeling old, as if he aged 50 years mentally in the span of one night filled with magical dreams of you. No, he was old.

Vil had troubles getting out of the bed, his muscles felt sore and his joints were cracking slightly whenever he moved a bit. When he glanced at his form, he was stunned. His legs were thinner and the skin wasn’t as supple as it used to be. Frankly, Vil was scared to look at himself in the mirror. His hands trembled, as he had to hobble carefully to it. He furrowed his eyebrows, noticing that he needed to support his weakened body to even take few steps. His back was slightly in pain and he noted that he probably won’t be able to straighten it soon.

Full of apprehension, Vil finally looked at his reflexion, feeling his eyes watering.

Vil was old.

His hair that used to be blond, now was grey adorning his tired visage. His face was dry and covered in wrinkles. His cheeks were now hollow and devoid of any youth. If it wasn’t for his sore throat, Vil was almost sure he would scream in pure despair. He repeatedly closed and opened his glassy eyes and pinched himself multiple times. Perhaps he was delusional, hoping it was just a nightmare and that he would soon wake up from it.

Yet, no matter how viciously he picked his skin, his reflexion covered in wrinkles stared back at him.

Everything crashed.

Every single hope he had for his future; his beautiful dream he had worked so diligently to achieve it was now shattered. It was over for him. With his shortened life-span, Vil was positively sure he was done for. He could achieve nothing and his career was brutally shattered.

Yet, he wasn’t the one to give up. His whole life he was known for his relentless efforts and his persistent attitude. So, he grabbed some stick that he found on his way and he did his best to try to find a cure for his sudden enchantment.

Vil hobbled from one professor to another mage begging for help. He drank various potions, took part in many rituals, tried every possible spell, yet nothing seemed to work. Crowley couldn’t help him. Neither could Crewel or Malleus, despite their earnest efforts. They couldn’t pinpoint the source of this peculiar curse that made Vil so old in the span of one night. Hell, he couldn’t even speak about this potential curse.

So Vil Schoenheit had only one possible solution to his problem.

He could only dwell in despair, slowly coming to terms with his current appearance and shattered career that was so dear to him.

Until, one day Crowley announced that he knew one person that could offer some help.

Despite the doubtful and vicious voice whispering inside him, Vil could feel a wave of hope washing over him.

Vil had to walk, which posed quite a serious problem to his weakened and old body. Every step felt like a challenge and the longer he walked, the more exhausted he felt. Despite a solid, wooden cane Crowley had gifted him before he embarked on this journey, he still struggled and the walk took him longer than he anticipated.

He had heard about Pendragon before.

A mysterious wizard who had a nasty habit of appearing randomly with their unique Moving Castle and then disappearing. A wizard who feasted on poor ladies’ hearts. A wizard who first broke them and then ate them. A heartless mage who had a personal beef with the Witch of the Waste.

Vil scowled at the mere thought of wizard Pendragon. From the various rumours he had heard, Pendragon didn’t seem like a good person who would manage to help him. He was quite sceptical, yet Crowley had assured him multiple times that if someone could do something, it would be that eccentric wizard. He only had to reach his Moving Castle and successfully get inside.

Vil had noticed it from afar. It was a unique construction, one that you couldn’t mistake with any other building. It was moving at moderate speed, so Vil hoped he would be able to swiftly reach it or at least, keep up with its pace.

Oh, how wrong was he.

Vil had an impression that the castle seemed to mock him. Not moving rapidly, yet not slowing down specially for him. He furrowed his eyebrows, scowling in annoyance. He was way too old to be running after this damn building that seemed to be moving on its own free will.

He panted heavily, feeling as if he was close to passing out. His heartbeat was so fast, Vil was afraid his heart would combust. He had troubles catching his erratic breath, as he attempted to chase after the Moving Castle. He supported himself on the cane, gripping it tightly. He was cursing the castle internally, as he hobbled after it.

,,Stop! Just stop! You..You..y’you…Please, I beg you….just…stop”

Few words left his mouth, as he was desperately trying to catch his breath. Vil was shouting in desperation mixed with exhaustion. He pushed himself and his weakened body to try. He had to at least try to reach Pendragon’s residence to plead for his help. He couldn’t give up so easily, yet he wasn’t able to grip the door handle.

,,Just stop you insolent castle! I need help!”

Vil exclaimed in frustration, feeling anger washing over his poor, unfortunate form. Tears welled in his eyes, as he once again stretched his arm to reach out for the handle, forcing his legs to speed up in one last, desperate attempt.

Then, the castle stopped abruptly, almost as if it had heard his desperate pleads and opened its door invitingly.

No one was inside, when Vil walked in anxiously.

The whole room was quite dark, so he wasn’t able to notice any details or concrete furnishing. It’s not like he planned to. His whole body was screaming in agony, his muscles were burning and his joints were cracking. His throat was sore from screaming and Vil had troubles steading his frantic breathing. His heart was still beating quite rapidly.

Vil felt that he could collapse from such draining stunt he had pulled mere seconds ago.

He saw the faint light from the fireplace and a chair standing before it. He didn’t waste any time and hobbled towards it. He sighed with relief, when he sat down, finally taking a rest his legs deserved. He couldn’t quite feel them, yet he dismissed this feeling. He stretched his hands, hoping to warm them up. He furrowed his eyebrows, the flame was barely ignited and it was slowly dying. Vil reached out to add some more pieces of the wood and watched with the delight the flame growing.

Finally, he could rest for a bit.

,,Oh, Mon Dieu!”

An excited voice speaking in some unknown to him language, made Vil open his eyes abruptly. For a brief second, he thought that perhaps the infamous wizard Pendragon had graced him with their presence, yet when he turned around, no one was there.

,,I’m here! Non, not there, here. Oui, just look down!”

The mysterious voice persisted and Vil has never been so confused in his entire lifetime. He looked down as it was requested and he was quite perplexed. He could see tiny hands made out of flames supporting a small yet bizarre form which was resting on the wooden pieces. He blinked few times to make sure whether he was seeing properly.

His eyes didn’t deceive him.

Before Vil stood a bright flame that certainly had bright, sparkling eyes and a mouth that was spilling random French words.

,,The flame is talking. I must take a break, I’m clearly going insane”

Vil muttered quietly, however the talking flame heard him and only chuckled in response.

,,Oh nonsense, my dear! I’m a demon. A demon who was forced to work for this good forsaken wizard”

The flame exclaimed, clearly excited that he finally had a chance to talk to someone else apart from Pendragon. He didn’t mind in the slightest shock written on Vil’s wrinkled face. Perhaps, it was too much for him in the span of one day.

,,I’m Rook! And you…Hmmm, let me think. Something is not right with you, isn’t it?”

 The flame demon was quite perceptive as Vil remarqued. He opened his mouth to share with Rook that he had been probably cursed, yet no sound left his throat. Despite his many attempts, nothing seemed to work. Exasperated, he threw his weakened arms in the air, clearly giving up.

,,Oh, I see. You’ve been cursed”

Vil’s heart seemed to stop for a brief moment, as his form filled with desperate hope. Perhaps it was his chance to get his old appearance back. He nodded.

,,Can you undone it?”

Rook seemed to ponder over Vil’s shy question that was filled with anxiety mixed with excitement.

,,Bien sûr! However, nothing is free in this world…”

Rook’s voice trailed a second, his carbon eyes staring directly at Vil with anticipation and mischief. Vil was suspicious. He hadn’t met many demons in his entire life, so he wasn’t sure how to talk to one. All he knew was the fact that they weren’t the most trustworthy creatures. One should be extremely careful while making a deal with a demon.

Vil wasn’t sure. He was aware what Rook was implying, yet he was hesitant. It wouldn’t be wise to strike a deal with a creature that could possibly betray you. However, from the rumors he had heard, he doubted that wizard Pendragon would be a better or safer option.

Perhaps, he could let them both try to find a remedy for this peculiar curse.

,,You want to make a deal with me, huh?”

,,You’re quite bright! I like you”

The demon responded, clearly happy with Vil accepting his implicit proposition.

,,I can turn you back to normal once I’m free. In order to liberate me from this misery, you’ll have to find the item Pendragon gave me when we first made a deal”

Vil raised one of his eyebrows questioningly. He was confused with the terms he had agreed to. Which item? It all sounded quite mysterious and more complicated than he had previously anticipated.

,,Which item?”

,,Malheureusement, I can’t really tell you that. The contract bounds me”

Rook explained, sighing heavily and Vil could only roll his eyes in annoyance. Great, so it was way harder after all. However, it wasn’t as if he had many options available to change his fate. Vil decided that he would think about it tomorrow. He had only heard Rook ranting about Pendragon’s vanity before he dozed off.

Vil was awakened by a scream.

Not a pleasant morning alarm.

,,YOU! How did you even get in here, old man?!”

The voice sounded extremely anxious, yet Vil could sense that it belonged to a young person who tried really hard to appear tough. If he wasn’t sleepy and still tired from the uncomfortable chair, he would probably scold this young man for calling him an old man. Even though, he was one.

Vil turned around and he saw a rather short guy who looked quite cute despite a scowl adorning his soft features. He had violent hair that contrasted with his pale skin and bright eyes. He was wearing his casual clothes and he appeared quite surprised and perplexed at the sight of Vil.

Quick, he had to quickly come up with a valid reason to stay here for a while.

Vil looked down at Rook who only shrugged his shoulders, clearly showing him that it was his problem to resolve. Looking around, he noted that Pendragon’s castle was in horrendous state. Never-ending piles of clothes were scattered all over the room; he could see dirty dishes that desperately needed to be washed. The whole ceiling was covered in spider webs and dust. Vil furrowed his eyebrows.

Wizard Pendragon truly was vile.

,,I’m wizard Pendragon’s new housekeeper”

Vil responded casually and confidently. He was manifesting that the guy standing before him buys his lie. Young man seemed to be engrossed in his thoughts for a brief moment, after hearing his declaration. He was muttering something quite quietly.

,,A housekeeper? I don’t think Y/n mentioned hiring someone…”

Violent-haired man eyed Vil suspiciously, before he shrugged his arms in defeat. Whatever. Y/n Pendragon was quite eccentric, so he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised if you ended up hiring someone to take care of this cluttered castle that desperately needed cleaning. Finally.

,,By the way, I’m Epel. I’m Y/n’s apprentice”

He introduced himself, so Vil quickly returned the gesture. Epel didn’t seem to mind him at all, quickly looking for some ingredients for breakfast. He supposed that since Rook let Vil inside, he couldn’t pose any real threat to him, so he could as well make a breakfast for them.

,,Where is Y/n?”

,,Oh, who knows that? Maybe they will return for breakfast…Or not, I’m not sure”

Epel responded, waving his hand dismissively. Great, Vil had no idea how long he would have to wait for you here. Epel found some bread in the drawer and began pouring himself and Vil some cold water.

,,Why won’t you eat some scrambled eggs with bacon?”

Vil suggested, his gaze fixated on deliciously looking bacon and eggs laying in the basket situated on a pile of books. Epel only laughed in response, before he glared at Rook who conveniently avoided his gaze.

,,Because, Rook here won’t let me! Only Y/n can cook on him”

We will see.

Vil reached a conclusion that he had suffered enough yesterday, chasing after that insolent castle and he deserved some fulfilling and delicious breakfast. He grabbed a frying pan and approached Rook menacingly. Epel only shook his head with pity, sure that certain fire demon would refuse.

,,Now, you insolent potato, you’re going to cook some eggs”

Vil’s firm and strict voice send a chill down Epel’s spine who was sure he was some old man who was quite chill. Rook shook his flame head, refusing to cooperate. A dreadful smile crept on Vil’s wrinkled lips that spelled a threat. He leaned down, whispering softly, making sure Epel didn’t hear their exchange.

,,Now, if you don’t cooperate, I will tell Y/n about our little deal and we will see what they do with this information”

Epel had never seen Rook complying so fast. He adjusted his flames in order to let Vil put his frying pan over his head. He could hear crystally clear Rook complaining about the situation, calling him an “old bully” and threatening to burn his breakfast, yet Vil paid him no attention. With a delighted smile on his face, he broke the shell of the egg.

Suddenly he felt a warm breath on his neck and silky strands of hair gently tickling his cheeks. A cold hand brushed against his, before it carefully snatched a frying pan from him. Vil could feel a presence behind him, so he turned on his heel only to face you.

Vil couldn’t utter a mere word, as his eyes widen.

It was you, standing dangerously close to him, offering him the same playful smile. Vil was sure he could recognize your jacket from miles.

,,My, my! Rook, you’re so obedient! Who would have thought?”

Your cheerful voice broke the silence between you two, as you began making the breakfast. You briefly glanced at Vil who was praying you wouldn’t recognize him, yet you made no remark before you turned your attention to flame demon.

,,I will prepare the breakfast, as I always do. Can you pass me the rest of the eggs?”

You asked Vil, not bothering to spare him another glance, as he only nodded in response fulfilling your command. While you seemed to bicker with Rook who was calling old man various remarks, he seemed to ponder over you.

Then, Vil connected the dots.

You being here could mean only one thing.

You were the wizard Pendragon who was the owner of Moving Castle and local tax evasion enjoyer who ate woman’s hearts. A chill went through Vil’s body who felt sick thinking about those rumors. It also meant that you were the person who saved him from the crowd of his fans and walked in the air with him.

,,Soooo, old boy, who are you exactly?”

[ketrinadrawsalot]

Sheila tried on a Rook costume, but she could only move forwards, backwards, left, or right in it.

[castleseer]

Happy Dragon Age Day! Inspired by the party banter where Tash suggests to Lucanis that he should take Rook flying sometime.

[vigilskeep]

at least in times of trouble i’ll always have the most nonsense aus my brain can provide

[rambles-on-dragon-age]

Varric doesn't give you the nickname Rook, your whole faction calls you Rook. It makes no sense to give you a faction specific last name and then your faction doesn't even use it, but yeah.

Hi hi!

This will be a bit of a ramble, sorry.

Varric, as a character, gives nicknames to those he's around for any length of time. (Solas is Chuckles, Merrill is Daisy, Vivi is Iron Lady, etc. Very few people in close contact with him will escape earning a moniker. I can go on about how I think it's one of his ways of telling people he sees them, but I digress.) The player character has been traveling with him for a year/the better part of a year. Varric would have definitely given them a nickname in that time. (Honestly it shocks me Harding doesn't have one by now but maybe he tried and she shut that down like Aveline once did lol) When you're putting out your things in the Lighthouse one of them is his shaving mirror and you have a moment of reflection about what he said when he hands it to you. There's also the whole time where he's giving you advice and guides you (IYKYK) and it's clear he means a lot to a Rook and they're close.

That is to say, no matter what faction you were with, you left in disgrace. You broke some code the higher ups held dear, messed up well laid plan, ignored orders to save people, etc. You didn't "fit the bill" for your faction and were summarily "adopted" by Varric to help in his hunt for Solas. Those things that made you a bad fit for your original faction? Made you perfect for what he's doing. A good person that doesn't let the potential costs stop them; they see what needs to happen to help people and will run head first into it and manage to figure a way through the most fucked up situations possible.

When you first meet Neve, you're introduced as Rook. "Like the chess piece?" Yes! One of the most powerful pieces on the board, "but tends to think in straight lines". Which becomes evident in all our shenanigans as Rook through the game. Rook's ability to claw their way through the worst situations and be flexible and creative means that Solas wouldn't be able to predict them or what they'll do. Which turns out to be right; he doesn't expect you to drop a statue on him in the middle of a massive ritual. Rook saw only "this ritual needs to stop NOW" and found a way, no matter the consequences.

I didn't hear that dialogue my first game, though, because I did my first run as a Shadow Dragon. Neve doesn't comment on the naming convention because instead Varric says you both do work with the Shadow Dragons and she just skims past the naming convention to say "Oh, what a coincidence." You are still introduced as Rook at first; it's not until later when you're in the Lighthouse where you can have the conversation that you've heard of each other even though you've never worked together.

Because even if I've worked in the group beside you under the same boss for 20 years, if you're introduced to me as "Rook" instead of "_____ Mercar" I'm not going to know who you are. It's not until later, probably while you're unconscious and she has a chance to speak to Harding, that she says she knows who you are. (Based on what Bellara says when you find her in the forest, you've been out cold for two or three days. Can you imagine what our detective figured out in two or three days?)

All that to say, if "Rook" was given to you by the Shadow Dragons, Neve would have said "Oh! I heard of a Rook." instead of just "Oh! What a coincidence we're both Shadow Dragons." She doesn't comment on who you are and what you've done until later when you have a chance to talk to her in the Lighthouse.

And throughout the game, you continue to be introduced as Rook. Even if you started as another faction, if you're written a letter about "Rook" and not your real name, why would anyone know who Rook is until they meet and go "Oh this lil shit right here. I know this asshole."

[charliemwrites]

Character File

Name: Rook “Duke” Alistair Aliases: Daisy Dukes, Daisy, Sunshine, Blondie

Age: 26 Gender and pronouns: AFAB using she/they Marital Status: Single Surviving family: biological father (estranged), adoptive mother, adoptive father, brother

Physical description: Standing at 5’9” (175cm) and 135lbs. (61 kilos) Rook stands tall and wiry. Though slighter than her brother, Castle Alistair, she’s still packed with muscle that is carried primarily in her thighs and abdomen. Her hair is strawberry blond, cut into a medium length bob – though it curls quite a bit. She is often seen with several pins and clips in her hair trying to keep it back from her face. Her eyes are green and large, set in a round face that makes her look young for her age. She had braces in her early teens to straighten her teeth.

Identifying/Unusual features:

Light freckles across her nose and forehead

No facial scarring

Tattoos: A daisy behind her right ear A simplified castle outline on her bicep (for her brother) A stylized sun on her left shoulder, crawling across one side of her chest and up her neck Binary for “service” on her forearm

Several burn scars on her hands, wrists, and arms

A birthmark on the bottom of her right foot that few people have ever seen

Special file note: Rook holds the records for most and dumbest injuries on base. Often the smallest and most unexpected incidents have led to a medbay visit. She is often seen with bandages, bruises, scrapes, and scratches. Thankfully, she is a good patient and most of the medical staff enjoy her cheerful demeanor.

Early Childhood:

Rook’s earliest memory is her older brother walking her to preschool. He was sharing an orange with her, carefully peeling off bits of pith for her to munch on.

While he, Helena, and Clancy are technically her cousin, aunt, and uncle respectively, she has always considered them her immediate family. She only met her biological father once when she was twelve and was not impressed.

Her childhood was filled with laughter and love, though she often felt oddly displaced. Helena and Clancy were much older and had never planned on a second child – never mind a girl. And her brother ended up shipping off to college when she was only five. He visited when he could, but she spent a lot of time on her own or unsupervised when she hit eight years old.

She was very close with Helena, the two of them playing the radio loud to sing along while they did chores around the farm. Rook absolutely adored her mother, and to this day dreams of her peach cobbler when she’s away from home. As a result, Rook picked up her love of clothes with interesting prints and bright colors.

Her relationship with Clancy was not strained, but not as easy as with Helena. Of course, he loved his adopted daughter, he just wasn’t sure what to do with her beyond that. Oftentimes, it led to him treating her like Castle, though her flightier and more energetic nature made some of those lessons take differently.

Rook was often praised for being an inquisitive and intelligent child – though some of her teachers found the constant barrage of questions to be disruptive. Somewhat unexpectedly, she excelled in math from an early age, followed quickly by the sciences.

In middle school, the blond farmgirl jokes began. Unlike her brother’s quick temper to defend himself and his family, Rook usually took the route of laughing along with them. (That said, nothing stopped her from pushing a girl down for trying to step on a frog one rainy April day.) This developed into a tendency to hide behind a ditzy persona, which felt safe and easy.

In high school, she took a special liking to physics and engineering. Focused more on schoolwork and helping around the farm, she didn’t date much. (That said, anyone with an interest in her had to debate the merits of her marine brother coming home to meet them.) She much preferred learning to code online and rescuing strays that happened across the farm – much to her parents’ chagrin.

Throughout her life, Castle was her role model. In her childhood, he seemed like a third parent, but as she got older, their relationship developed into a more typical brother-sister bond. Even so, she needed no proud rambles from her parents to look up to him.

So, as her future began to loom, and decisions became necessary, she followed a similar path to him. Rook enrolled in the ROTC program at the same college he attended – though she chose a double major in engineering and computer science that set her down a different road.

Military Career:

Alistair’s early military years in the Air Force are riddled with ups and downs. Intelligent, positive, and respectful, she was well-liked by both superiors and comrades. Quick to finish tasks, solve problems, and aid others. That said, she had something of a disciplinary record for small but repetitive issues. Uniform violations, minor misconduct (forgetting to salute officers or speaking out of turn), and general… regulatory issues.

While not headed for dishonorable discharge, she was dodging demerits and often faced disciplinary action. However, upon finding a major leak in one of their information networks, she came to the attention of one Kate Laswell.

Laswell, impressed with her intelligence and work ethic, found that her military-defying eccentricities were easy to overlook considering her benefit to the military. Alistair was soon transferred under Laswell’s direct purview to aid different missions and teams as a “hacker” and engineer. While Alistair remains something of an oddball, she and Laswell have built a solid working relationship.

(During her employ with a certain Shadow Company during her Air Force days, Alistair earned the callsign “Duke” – a derivation of Daisy Dukes due to Alistair’s appearance and farming background.)