#since i saw the unicorns in the “black codex” pictures from the datv art book

[lampost-in-winter]

Forgotten ecology

Rook finds Davrin carving wooden statuettes, which isn’t unusual. What surprises them is that he is looking at a book for reference. Davrin never needs reference: every nook and cranny of monster anatomy is etched into his brain, for good or ill.

“What do you have there?”

“You mean the book? I took it from Isseya’s lair, she must’ve gotten it from Ghilan’nain. Sorry I didn’t mention it.” He lets go of the piece he’s been carving—it looks like some kind of snake covered in feathers—and brings the book closer to Rook.

The tome hums with magic as Davrin passes the pages. Although Rook can’t interpret the text, written in ancient Elven, it is evident that it is a bestiary: each page depicts a variety of creatures Rook’s never seen before, all of them either aglow with foreign beauty or haunted by terrifying strangeness. The pictures move on the page like figures from a shadow play, portraying the different walks of the herbivores, the attack movements of predators, and the complex flight of four-winged and six-winged birds.

There is some flora depicted, as well. A two-page spread is entirely dedicated to the reproductive cycle of a translucent flower with iridescent blue filaments, which relied on wisps as its sole pollinators.

It is gorgeous. It is also concerning.

“Do you think Ghilan’nain created all of these?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Look,” Davrin points at a stamp in the shape of a halla at the beginning of one of the pages. “I’d say only the ones with her mark are her creation. Everything else… maybe someone, or something, else made them. Or maybe they were there already when the first elves gave themselves bodies.”

“Wow,” Rook mutters, “Do you think we might still find one of these things out there?”

The elf shakes his head.

“Not likely. It looks like all the wildlife in this bestiary was specially adapted to live in a world with spirits and much more magic than our own. In many ways, their life cycles depended on it, so most of them couldn’t possibly exist as they were in our world.”

“Damn. That’s… tough.”

“Yeah. Could be the reason why Ghilan’nain kept a specific record of them.”

Rook feels a hole in their stomach, the shape left by a loss that’s not even their own, as well as the dread at the idea of life being able to just disappear, the terror of the frailty of existence. And whatever Davrin is feeling, it doesn’t look like it differs much.

“It’s kinda… weird, to think that all of these animals can simply be gone without a trace,” Rook says, “The magic and technology from ancient elven times at least left something behind, even if it’s just debris.”

“They might’ve left something,” Davrin muses, “Some of these creatures could’ve adapted to the world post-Veil and changed into something we might recognize. Like this one,” he picks up the feathered snake he’d been carving. “She could be the grandmother of modern snakes.”

Rook chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Mmm. I’ve also been thinking about it the other way around.” The warden takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Rook notes that they really like his thinking face, so solemn. “If these couldn’t survive in our world, it’s also possible that many of our own animals and plants would not be able to adapt to life without the Veil. Perhaps they wouldn’t die in the initial blast, but the change in their way of life would slowly end them.”

“See, another reason to stop Solas: what if the fall of the Veil destroys cocoa trees? I wouldn’t survive it,” Rook counters with a playful smile, and it gets a laugh out of Davrin.

“Jokes aside… it makes you think, you know? That when Solas talks about bringing back the old world, it doesn’t just mean restoring the ancient elves: it means to change the very core of how life works. And I know that all things end, and that these creatures had their time, but…” Davrin looks towards the cozy, feathered bun that is Assan sleeping by the fireplace. The unlikely survivor of two extinction events, as they now start to understand. “Who decides which form of life is more worthy of existence?”

Rook tries to think of something wise and soothing and motivating to say, but it doesn’t come to them. They’re not a philosopher: they’re just one of the alive things in this world trying to make it to the next day.

“So… drinks?” they offer, instead.

Davrin smiles. “Sure. And, hey, pick one,” he says, pointing at the carvings of ancient creatures he has been working on. “My treat.”

Rook observes the three statuettes that Davrin has finished so far: there’s the feathered snake, a unicorn with a horn as long as its whole head, and a bird with wings made of flames. They take the unicorn. They will put it up in their room later, because it’s from Davrin and it’s beautiful, and they will hope that this melancholy feeling they get from looking at it will recede. In time.