#yes I know she's a Generic Pretty (half-)Elf let me have some fun every once in a while

[butleroftoast]

Okay, I promise no more screenshots after this, bear with me, I just wanted to share a small story which makes me happy.

When we were kids, my brothers and I played Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles together. I played the Selkie up top specifically. We weren't particularly good at it, but we had a lot of fun exploring the world, and as we did so, we each took on a different role. I tended to be the one who charged in recklessly and whittled the bosses down by hitting them repeatedly over the head with a stick, buying one brother time to work out the proper strategy and relying on the other for healing.

Cut to 2023. My brothers and I decided to play BG3 together. Little Tozby's proto-barbarian rides again.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

-

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash. 

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her. 

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry." 

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw. 

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..." 

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.' 

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand." 

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...' 

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan." 

There is a soft chuckle in her mind. 

"What's so funny? You love plans." 

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile. 

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.' 

-

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable. 

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last. 

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow. 

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view. 

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--" 

"You've done what?" 

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--" 

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..." 

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe." 

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword." 

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to." 

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm. 

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that." 

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave. 

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight. 

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things." 

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.' 

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now." 

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.' 

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...' 

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

-

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in. 

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd." 

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours. 

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

-

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing. 

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to. 

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

-

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago. 

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you." 

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again." 

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..." 

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool." 

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead." 

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--" 

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--" 

"You're no family of mine." 

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet." 

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you." 

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?" 

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat. 

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?" 

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays." 

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?' 

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

-

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think." 

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..." 

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her. 

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today." 

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail. 

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write. 

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts 

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk. 

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

-

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this... 

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company. 

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair. 

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case. 

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner. 

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.' 

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.' 

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely. 

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.' 

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man." 

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.' 

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace. 

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say. 

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives. 

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

B2:S - Chapter 5

Much of this series will be about the differences and additions in the novel version, and how they contribute to my understanding of story canon. But there will be character appreciation, the odd theory and headcanon, and suchlike as well.

Here be lots of Viren deets, Best Boy Soren deets, some writing/continuity stuff, worldbuilding appreciation and half of a theory, Detective Rayla, Moon Temple geeking, Claudium and dark magic, and more!

Spoilers for Book Two: Sky below.

(I know for darn sure that I wrote up a post for chapter 4, but I can't find it anywhere so I guess Tumblr ate it and I'll have to redo it at some point, but today is not that day)

Viren, my evil dude, my bad guy, coming in clutch with the worldbuilding and backstory again! If you want to know decades of information, you gotta talk to Viren. Or read his scenes, at least. Here, he seems to not sleep much when he has a big problem to analyze his way through. Solutions trump pretty much everything else in this guy's life, and he's had a really hard week with a lot of new and complicated problems. Of course he's getting sleep-deprived trying to find his way through them all.

Harrow put so much trust in Viren when he made him High Mage! He just threw himself extra hard at that Lady Justice blindfold, didn't he? Didn't really want to see what Viren was doing in his magic study, so he left Viren to his devices. And Viren has a lot of devices.

Also, this is fascinating: Viren made the secret passage to his "less official study" in Katolis Castle! And he was inspired to do so by the way his own mentor kept the Puzzle House. What else could a Puzzle House be, except a place with secret passages? Yay! secret headcanon that "the Puzzle House" is just "Katolis Castle" from Kid Viren's perspective tho

So either Viren built all of those passageways, or at least the ones to his dungeon. Which means he has to have, or know where to get, a stash of those glowing blue Moonshadow crystals. Hmmm.

I can't wait to learn more about Kpp'Ar and young Viren, btw. From this description of Viren and all his literal secret ways, it feels like another parallel between Viren and Runaan, with the whole "secretive paths, members only, insider knowledge" type stuff. Only the really cool members of this cult club get to know the secrets, and guess what, kid, you're cool now but you can never tell anyone, okay? Our secret.

Yeahhh, that'll never backfire in any way for either of them.

Kpp'Ar calling puzzles and secrets "man-made magic," though. Yes sir, knowledge is indeed power.

This chapter mentions Runaan by name, from Viren's perspective. Generally that would imply that Viren knows his name, even though assassins do not share their names, and Runaan didn't seem to give his to Viren in the first book. However, there was a scene in book one where the last paragraph switched perspective from Viren to Runaan - a technique that's very common in visual media like movies and shows and gives you that "ohoho they left the room and didn't notice this, but you do!" vibe. Using Runaan's name there in book one, where Viren couldn't see it but readers could, helps them keep track of the assassin's story arc while maintaining Viren's racism.

So in book two, in which Runaan has no onscreen scenes (alas), using his name in a scene that calls back to the events in book one helps us remember what happened in that dungeon cell. It would be a bit muddier to recall the specifics if Viren kept thinking about Runaan as "Elf." So I'm cool with the perspective nudge because it serves a narrative purpose: clarity. But I'm also enjoying the angst of considering that, somehow, Viren learned Runaan's name either during or after the coining spell. Mwa ha ha haaa. (Obligatory "Keep my pretty name outta your mouth" goes here)

Okay, back to Viren's scheming! He took the mirror because it was human-sized in a dragon lair. He knew it didn't really fit there, and that made it interesting, so he stole it. But he realized it was really powerful when Runaan wouldn't tell him squat about it - the assassin's instinct to protect Xadian secrets from human hands meant that Viren was holding a very powerful Xadian secret. And that just made him want it all the more. Ah, Runaan, if only your relationship with lying was, like, the exact opposite of what it is. Nyx could've spun Viren a believable tale in 2 minutes flat.

Also of interest: Viren considers his cursed coins to be a final fate. He expects Runaan to remain in his coin forever. With the Chekhov's coins still extant in the storyline, we can assume that they'll come up again eventually, but Viren has no current plans to do anything with his elf money except carry it around.

It's worth noting that Viren admits that he got impatient when he trapped Runaan in the coin. Runaan's first fate in Katolis was supposed to be death at Soren's hands, but Claudia "saved" him from that. His next fate was to become spell components, but Viren's frustration with his stubbornness "saved" him from that fate, too. So now he's in a coin, where no one can chop him up at all. Yay? No, boo!

We get one last line about Runaan before Viren shifts gears: he makes a point of noting for us that Runaan's shackles are still locked shut. However much of Runaan made it into that coin - body, soul, hair care products - he was magicked there, pulled right out of his restraints.

The creepy black liquid that Viren pours right into his eyes is the last of a powerful potion he got from Kpp'Ar, and its recipe is ancient! Humans used it back in the age of Elarion to see through the illusions of the world. And we get a delightfully creepy bit of description about the preparation of this serum, which makes it abundantly clear that it's a Moon magic-based concoction, harvested from eyeless vipers on a moonless night, with the threat of irrevocable madness ("madness" by whose definition, though) if it's done wrong-

Hang on. Hold up. This is a Plato's Cave reference. OH MY GOD.

No no I'm fine, this is brilliant. Sorry, sorry, I couldn't figure why there was so much description for a potion prep that Viren didn't even have to perform himself. But now I get it. I see the light. HA. I should make a separate post for this, it's amazing.

Anyway, for reference, the humans who used this serum were called the Oracles of Ophidia, and Ophidia is a taxonomy group that includes all modern snakes. Can you say "creepy ancient snake rites"? I can! Woo!

Viren activates the serum with a spell, but apparently he's never done it before. He's not sure if it's supposed to be hot and bubbly, and he worries that it's been tainted by moonlight.

Oh, I do hope so.

The magic potion hurts, a lot. Viren will do just about anything, to himself or anyone, to do what he believes is necessary. He just risked madness and blindness to find out what this mirror does! Viren. Can you just. Take a nap or something. Have a Snickers.

This chapter gives us a fun clue that I don't remember from the show: when Viren's vision clears and he can see, his reflection has white pupils and the room reflected in the mirror has inverted colors. You know where else has inverted colors?

You know who else got white pupils for a hot second?

Okay, now it makes sense! Viren and Lujanne were both seeing into the realm beyond life and death. Him with his moon magic potion, and her with her moon powers on a full moon night at the Moon Nexus. Which is Very Interesting! Is it a direct hint about Aaravos's location, or just a separate cool detail? Orrr, does it look like a direct hint because Aaravos is actually trapped in the world beyond life and death, but it's actually separate and we'll see something about white pupils again later on?

Viren really does have self-esteem issues, we all picked up on it with his rant at his reflection. He throws a fit when he catches himself wondering if he's actually worthless. In the book version of his tantrum, he shoves the mirror and hurls a candelabra instead of flipping a table. He didn't need to shove the mirror to set the fire, but it's in here. Foreshadowing that perhaps, if push comes to shove, Viren will choose himself over Aaravos? Giving Aaravos time to peek through and see that the coast is clear?

Soren, my boyyyyy. He has a rough night at the Moon Nexus because two sides of him are fighting with each other. He struggles to understand Callum's friendship with Rayla, and he also fantasizes about chopping off Rayla's head. One of these is a pretty ordinary thing to do. The other is Soren's internalization of what he needs to do to gain his father's approval. If he brought his dad a chopped off elf head every week, he'd probably feel a lot more confident because Viren would praise him a lot more.

Okay, okay, omg, is it just me, or does the "Moonshadow Madness" story, as it's told in the book, seem like Soren just doesn't know what a monsterfucker is? He thinks an elf bite puts humans under a spell. But vampires are sexy, and some people want them to do more to them than just bite them. A passionate kiss under the moonlight could look very bitey, especially if one of the participants has horns and you're already culturally trained to hate them. No yeah, I'm already headcanoning an actual human-elf kiss that got misunderstood by an observer long ago.

it's Lujanne isn't it, we all know, because what is a love spell but a sweet soft illusion, I mean how else does she get supplies for her Caldera, I ask you, and also Corvus was totally sent to investigate once and he told Soren at camp what he saw

And then back to magefam angst: Soren pretending that his sister's nose-tapping is stupid, even though he actually thinks it's cool, just because their dad thinks it's stupid. Viren, istg. Let your kids like harmless things. It's so cute that Soren taps his nose back at her, though! Like they have their own sibling code. I hope we get to see the nose tap again, especially now that they've chosen different sides. It could mean so much, that they're not too far apart yet.

Rayla knows what buttery pancakes smell like. I love this. Do Moonshadow elves have butter and pancakes, does Rayla eat a stack of eight giant pancakes in the morning? Orrrr it is just illusion food? I don't care, let Rayla have pancakes! Everyone loves pancakes. Pancakes will save the world. this message brought to you by the fact that I can't eat pancakes rn, send help

I love that Rayla is both sus of the pancakes and hungry, and that combines into a very motivated "I will get to the bottom of this" attitude. She kind of goes into Poirot Mode when she inserts herself into Soren and Ellis's conversation about Ava, explaining about the wolf's illusion leg and segueing into her claim that the pancakes taste sus. Claudia confirms she used dark magic, and Rayla is furious. It's different than the show's version in that it puts Rayla in detective mode, as the only Moonshadow elf in the scene, and boy does she take that role seriously. Also, she doesn't actually swallow the dark magic pancake bite. It ends up on the ground just like Lujanne's grubs from that earlier meal. These poor kids are so nutrient-starved. You guys gotta eat!!

Rayla's determination and prejudices and the fact that she super knows Harrow is dead all dovetail to make her try repeatedly to persuade Callum that Soren and Claudia are Not To Be Trusted. It's nice that the book keeps taking the time to point out that Rayla is Well Intentioned But Flawed, just like Callum and pretty much every other character in the show. No one is Right All The Time, no one Knows More Than Everyone Else.

Callum loving the sound of Claudia's unique voice is so wholesome. When you like someone, it only makes sense that you like all the things about them that they can't change - like the sound of Claudia's voice. Her choices with dark magic, not so much!

Claudia seems to have the same concerns Soren does about Callum's relationship with Rayla, but she comes out and asks him. The inherent possession implied in "your elf" is interesting, though. Elves are not people to Claudia. They're enemies who can be disassembled for the magic inside them. So maybe more like robots than living beings, if she knew what a robot was. Maybe she heard Soren's "Moonshadow Madness" story and realized he totally missed the kissing implications - but she didn't, and now she's genuinely worried that Rayla could kiss Callum under a full moon and enchant him to do her will. Good thing it's only a half moon, then!

Okay, Callum nervously making a puppet hand and then not knowing what to do with his hands and freaking out about itching and moving and pointy elbows is such a ND mood. The sudden stress of knowing that someone else is noticing your existence and maybe you're Not Existing Right, amirite? Ugh, poor Callum.

The Moon Temple! Omg it's so pretty in the description! Made to be beautiful and useful, full of knowledge but also allowing light and life inside (butterflies and vines). Lujanne, when can I move in, please? Also, it's all the more angsty because Lujanne is the only one who gets to see this beautiful place, but it has lots of chairs and shelves and tables, and it was meant to be used by lots of people. :(((

Claudia knows some of the runes on the walls. She isn't in a hurry to copy the rest of them down or anything, either. Her spellwriting is very precise, and she's a skilled mage. Her father would have made sure she was aware of the dangers of drawing sloppy runes, as much as he made her aware of the dangers of doing dark magic wrong. And the whole point of dark magic is that it's easier to learn than primal magic. Claudia supports her dad and their shared knowledge and life path. She's not gonna go nuts over an elf library she can't translate.

Side note: Between Claudia knowing some Moon runes and Viren building a secret passageway and a dungeon and lighting it with the same blue crystals that Lujanne and Ethari use for light--and Claudia exclaiming that she loves ruins--I wonder once more if there are really Moonshadow ruins somewhere in Katolis, which Viren has found and looted. Father-daughter relic hunting trip, maybe while Soren is away at camp? Omgsh that would be so wild!

Callum out here having a Viren moment with his "I feel powerless unless I've got magic that lets me help" vibes. God. I love their complicated mirroring. One of the hard differences between them is that Callum is very sure dark magic is bad because you have to kill stuff and take its power to cast spells, and he doesn't want to be a person who kills and takes like that. The line he walks to be nice to Claudia on their tour of the Cursed Caldera because he likes her, while telling her that he doesn't want to do her magic, like, ever, is so fine that it might as well be a shifting shadow on the ground. It's a very fitting conversation to be having during the half moon, with its tricks and little white lies.

Callum being out of the castle and his comfort zone, having to deal with the fact that the Claudia he loves is not quite the Claudia who's chasing him down across the kingdom, but of the two of them, he's the only one with a problem with this.

They say that if you really want to get to know someone, you should spend time with them outside their comfort zone - in heavy traffic, with a small baby, taking care of a new pet, trying a new skill, following unfamiliar directions, etc. While the castle is familiar territory for them both, Callum's never really found his comfort zone yet, while Claudia is pretty comfortable with her growing skill set. The creepy part starts to kick in when Callum begins to realize that Claudia's comfort zone encompasses a whole bunch of stuff that seems like it should make her uncomfortable... but it doesn't. But that'll be for a future chapter!

[time-to-write-and-suffer]

I wouldn't mind that post on VNs!

So I was gonna write three different lists, but then after writing the first part I realized this is very long and takes a while to write and nobody cares anyway so I’ll just post my recommended list only. Well, I mean, you asked, but I doubt you wanted all this lol. Thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about this stuff, though. Hope you enjoy my ramblings!

An explanation for what this list is: Sometimes I know a game isn't perfect in many aspects but I still had a genuinely good time playing it, hence why I'm recommending it. Also I should mention that I could talk for hours about some of these games so if anyone’s curious about more of my thoughts, let me know.

Alright, now that that's out of the way ...

How to Take Off Your Mask / How to Fool a Liar King / How to Sing to Open Your Heart (f/m): This is a trilogy of smaller, single-RO games where you can take one of two routes depending on how you act, and they’re all interconnected where you get to meet and interact with the previous games’ characters in the sequel games. I went into this expecting very little but what I got blew me away with how funny, charming and cute the games were. They don’t take themselves too seriously, at one point an angsty male character monologues deeply about some shit, and another one just slides into frame and starts mocking him. It was so fucking funny, holy shit. Also, a central theme is literally racism against catgirls? Which is monumentally stupid, and probably the games’ main flaw, especially in the final game where it pairs up a catgirl with a catgirl racist, but that one still ends with a literal bisexual queen literally making a man her malewife because she fell in love with his cooking, so like ... It speaks for itself. My favorite game of the three is the second one, where you get to play a punchy fake catgirl and romance a pink-haired prince. And honestly, all the female protags in these games are lovely and a breath of fresh air, and the male characters are fun and not abusive assholes either. There’s full Japanese voice acting, and two out of three female protags are literal catgirls who pepper in “nya” and “mya” into their dialogue, and it’s just treated as a quirk of their catgirl race. I AM NOT KIDDING. Yet somehow it never comes off as cringe, because it doesn’t take it self too seriously. These games are just cozy. That’s the only way I can describe them. Cozy and hilarious. Play them yesterday. Dream Daddy (m/m): Man tumblr did this game dirty. This is just a cute, wholesome daddy dating simulator with gorgeous art. Coming out on Top (m/m): So you know Dream Daddy? What if it was EXTREMELY, MAJORLY NSFW? Though I realize how bad the comparison really is, the only thing these games have in common is that they’re gay dating sims and don’t have an anime art style and oh, yeah, they’re both really well-written. Or at least, extremely funny. COOT (heh) is DDADDS’ horny older cousin, and I first encountered the game on a lesbian letsplayer’s YouTube channel. Yes I watched a lesbian play a gay porn game and it was GOOD. I was there for the cringe and fun and got surprised by how genuinely funny and sometimes actually touching the game was. I can’t give it my universal endorsement because it’s not a game for everyone, as I said, it’s extremely NSFW and the menu theme literally includes the singers screaming “SEX SEX” at the top of their lungs. There’s more to this game than the porn, but there’s just so much porn. It can be censored in the settings but it’s unavoidable. However, I still think it’s worth a look just because of how funny it is and how charming the characters are. If you don’t want to play it yourself, at least watch Anima’s playthrough of it. It hasn’t aged super well in some spots but I still go back to it every now and then. Akash: Path of the Five (f/m): This game markets itself as a more “professionally produced” western dating sim, and that’s accurate in some superficial aspects. The game is pretty poorly written, but it’s absolutely gorgeous and has really good English voice acting by actual professional voice actors. The premise is quite self-indulgent, but I genuinely respect that about it. You play as the only female elemental in a village with only men, and all five of your classmates want a piece of you. It’s clear the writers have put some thought into the lore and worldbuilding of this world, but barely any of it comes through in the actual writing and plot, which is basically just a vehicle for you to get together with your boy of choice. The ROs aren’t very well-developed either, and the plot is the same in every route with only minor variations depending on which guy you pick, up to the point where the protag has the same voice lines in some parts regardless of which guy she’s talking about. It also has one extra half-route that’s so bad and pointless I genuinely wonder why they wasted resources on making it instead of spending a bit more on the writing/adding some variations to the main plot. So why am I recommending this game? Well, it’s pretty, and it sounds nice. This game is a himbo, gorgeous but dumb as rocks. Enjoy it for what it is. I know I did. Get it when it’s on sale, I think if I hadn’t gotten it at half-price I would’ve felt a bit more cranky about it. Also Rocco is bae. Mystic Destinies: Serendipity of Aeons (f/m): Yes that’s the full title, no I don’t know what it means either. You may have noticed how most of the games so far I’ve enjoyed because they don’t take themselves too seriously? Well, this one does. It takes itself SO FUCKING SERIOUSLY. Like, way too seriously. It’s a little embarrassing at points because baby, you’re an urban fantasy dating sim. Calm down. But the game has gorgeous art and 3 out of 5 routes are very good. The last route, the one with your teacher, is both the most problematic yet somehow the one that breaks down the very concept of a dating sim within its own narrative (yes, this shit gets fucking META) and it got so wild at the end that 1) I still listen to the soundtrack for that route and 2) I still remember it to this day despite finishing it ages ago. My favorite route is Shou, he’s a sweetheart, but the mindfuck route is so buckwild that I think the game is worth playing just for that. There’s also a route that’s like a neo-noir mystery? I Do Not Know. This game is many, many things and it does them so sincerely and tries so hard, you can’t help but respect it. It doesn’t always stick the landing but man, just let this thing take your hand and wax poetic at you for a bit. Also get this one at a sale because it’s very expensive to get the full version. I got it for 9 bucks on itch.io and I felt that was a fair enough price, I’d say I wouldn’t have minded paying more for it because there’s a lot of content to enjoy and/or be baffled by. Arcade Spirits: This one’s a bit more weird from what I recall, and I honestly couldn’t tell you much about it, but I remember having a very good time with it and recommending it to a friend when she was going through some tough times and she said it made her feel better. I remember it making me feel better, as well. This is a VN about an arcade and the ROs are wonderfully diverse, with very real human conflicts that get explored in each of their routes. It can get quite existential and heavy at times, but in the end it’s a kindhearted game that I think everyone can enjoy. The main character was also, how you say, mood. It’s a game about getting possessed by a video game and then learning self-love. Ebon Light (f/m): This one’s free/name your own price on itch.io so go play it. It’s a weird plot where you play as a girl who ate an elven relic? And then the elves kidnap you because you’re the relic now. All the ROs are extremely pasty (like, literally white, as in literally the color white) dark-haired elves, except for one, who’s an extremely pasty blond elf, so ... diversity? I honestly don’t know what this game is aside from unique. I used to be a bit put off by the art style but now I think it contributes to the general atmosphere. It’s a weird game that technically doesn’t do anything groundbreaking but still left an impression of “huh. weird” in my mind and I think more people should play it. The ROs are all pretty generic dating sim archetypes but done well, with bonus points to Duliae who’s just a massive creep and I love him, and also Vadeyn who’s the only bitch in this house I respect. The worldbuilding is honestly a bit buckwild and I can’t give enough credit for how unique the elves’ culture is in this game. Definitely give it a go. Hakuoki: Kyoto Winds / Hakuoki: Edo Blossoms (f/m): These two are newer releases of an older Japanese visual novel. I wouldn’t call it a dating sim, it’s ... it’s more of a super depressing historical fantasy epic with some minor romance aspects awkwardly wedged in. It’s seriously some of the heaviest and most grimdark shit I’ve ever played in a VN/otome. I don’t understand why it’s a dating sim, it doesn’t read like one, it’s just historical fantasy based on real world events with characters based on real people, and they kill and they die and they grieve and they suffer. The games are literally about the downfall of the Shinsengumi, there’s no way of avoiding everything going to shit and you get to watch and be in the middle of it all as they struggle to stay alive and relevant in a world that doesn’t need them anymore. And there’s the protag in the middle of it all, being useless and submissive and bland just the way the usual otome protag is. I don’t think these games are necessarily fun, and the romance is certainly a lot more downplayed and deeply problematic just based on the age differences alone with some of the men, but the sheer amount of horror and sadness in these games make them stand out above its peers. It’s like watching a war movie. Since most of the characters are based on real people, they feel like real people instead of the usual otome archetypes, and they are so, SO flawed, it’s interesting to just watch them deal with the shit the world throws at them. It’s an Experience, and if you’re up for it, I think it’s worth the time. Cinderella Phenomenon (f/m): This game is free on Steam so go get it. You play as a really, genuinely shitty princess who gets cursed to be poor and forgotten and she has to help one of the ROs break his fairy tale curse so that she can learn about being a good person herself and return to her normal life. This game doesn’t look like much, but it has a genuinely well-written main character who’s actually at the center of each of the stories and in the overarching plot instead of just being around to make eyes at the real protagonists, aka the love interests. Aside from the main character, my favorite part of this game’s writing is how each route slowly but very smoothly expands upon the overarching intrigue. If you play them in a certain order, you get more and more info revealed to you that you didn’t see in other routes, gaps are filled in as you find out more about what actually happened and why, but every route also stands on its own as a full experience and none is more canon than the rest. There’s also some really heavy emotional parental abuse explored, which I found quite potent at times. The romances themselves were alright, I think Karma and Waltz were my faves.

[ningdungi]

fairy prince!yeonjun

this has been in my draft for so long since CYSM i decided to just post it...lengthy and messy because originally it was just a prompt :D also inspired by she-ra and the princesses of power lol i love that show

pairing: yeonjun x reader (fem)

genre: fantasy, a little angsty

summary: you got captured by yeonjun, the crown prince of the fairy kingdom in the magic forest

choi yeonjun, the crown prince of the fairy kingdom deep in the magic forest

the fairy kingdom has been one of the greatest protectors of the forest for thousands of years, along with other kingdoms in the magic island

the island being covered almost 1/3 by the forest, the fairy kingdom remains one of the biggest and strongest kingdom to ever exist

however, it is also not the friendliest kingdom as it is hidden deep in the forest to protect the ancient magic and stones

the foreign organization exploits the hell out of the island but never get to touch the forest as it is protected by magic and ancient spirit of the ecosystems

the leader of the evil interstellar organization wasn’t so dumb either, they waited for years preparing the best strategy to get what they want: the ancient magic and (said to be) stolen stones to combine with their crazy technology so they can conquer the universe

the leader of the evil interstellar organization wasn’t so dumb either, they waited for years preparing the best strategy to get what they want: the ancient magic and (said to be) stolen stones to combine with their crazy technology so they can conquer the universe

mistaken for a new kingdom, the evil organization is known for their evil sinister king. When rlly he’s just a capitalist asshole that only cares abt money and power... and his precious daughter—or what the locals call—the evil princess, you

he also has a younger son, prince taehyun, your half-brother, who happens to be a genius and good with technologies. But his father wanted him to be a warrior, not some nerd. So he’s never really fond of him :(

one day you grew tired of being seen as a delicate doll that needs protection, you’re a trained warrior that’s always at least on the top 3 in class. Plus you’re older than taehyun so you need to prove yourself to your father if you want to be force captain and to take the throne one day (yes i’ve been watching a lot of she-ra) but your father just couldn’t risk it

one day, the your kingdom poisoned the forest and unlike any previous failed attempt, this time it finally worked

the day the invasion occurred, you sneaked out of the evil kingdom to join the force that your half-brother co-lead... i mean, you have lots of knowledge about the history and ecosystem of the magic forest, thanks to the help of your best friend, healer elf prince!soobin, whose kingdom had been corrupted by your father (but he still hangs around bc they did no harm to the elf kingdom, just taking over the whole region)

i mean, what could possibly go wrong?

well thee answer is: everything

you got captured IMMEDIATELY by the fairies

even better, you’re captured by the fairy prince!yeonjun himself. you were sneaking in the trees under the moon light, in the dark dark forest. and thats how you ended up being strangled by the prince himself and tied up with vines and thorns

you were in an awe the entire time bc you had no idea that the fairy prince would be this beautiful and ethereal. he just looks so... delicate and magical and soft, despite the fact that he almost choked you to death

you’ve just never seen any creature as beautiful as him, all glowing and sparkling softly under the moonlight

the glimmering luxurious pastel dress that he wore fits him perfectly, and the flower crown on his blonde locks made little butterflies fly upon him. His eyes cold but shines brightly, and everywhere he goes, he leaves trails of fairy dust and sparkles

but to your surprise, he’s kinda mean and short tempered. A frown never leaves his soft peachy lips

one look at you and he goes "... and what could the infamous little princess of the evil kingdom be doing in MY land? doing MEAN and EVIL stuff? hm??”

you’ve heard about the fairies not being the most friendly creature but you thhought they were just vicious, not sarcastic and seems angry all the time

and strangely enough, unlike other fairies, he didn’t have wings. And the flower crown on his blonde hair looked more like horns growing out of his head

he grew impatient from your lack of response but he couldn’t kill you yet, he needed you to get back at the evil kingdom

so he brought you to his kingdom—the kingdom’s prison, to be exact. But it’s just a beautiful chamber filled with wild plants and flowers and glowing fireflies underneath the moonlight, you were kinda confused when he said it’s a prison since the concept of prison that you grew up with is practically just a cold dark chamber of torture

“THIS is your PRISON? you sure you’re not taking me on a fairy date just now? to meet your pretty little fairy friends?” you said with a smug on your face, knowing that he wouldnt dare to intentionally hurt you, as he is a creature of natural protector despite his short temper

so you use this opportunity to annoy the hell out of him

“pretty flower crowns you got there” “btw where are your wings? aren’t all fairies supposed to have sparkly translucent wings?” “honestly i thought prisons are supposed to be a little more dark and intimidating you know, not like this pretty fairy garden”

you’d give him headache and the urge to use some forbidden magic curse on you but he didn’t because your corpse wouldn’t do any good

“these are HORNS! and not every fairy have the same physical features, stop stereotyping us! it’s disrespectful” he snapped

you were just complimenting him why is he always so cranky

i mean his horns look so beautiful they could easily be mistaken as a crown...

after gathering some information, you broke out of the prison with the help of the dying forest and weakening magic force

but you didn’t want to return just yet. you needed to gather more information as the forest started to heal

also you’re kinda lost your way back home lol

your father was FURIOUS, he blamed everyone for your abduction. even your little brother got enough beating for that

as days gone by, you feel like you’re getting closer to the secrets of the island, and also the fairy prince

and every encounter with him it’s just consist of a lot of bickering and sword fighting and being angry at each other

one time your faces were far too close to each other it made you let your guards down, but you snapped out of it quickly and proceed to strangle him

for some reason he never try to actually kill you and you never seem to get the right chance to kill him. it’s weird coming from you bc that’s literally what’s you’re trained for, to kill the prince. you still gotta prove yourself, remember?

but you’re getting used to each other’s presence so much that it became amusing for him

“wow (y/n) this is actually a fun date idea. I’m giving it a 4/10. could’ve been a solid 10 if you didn’t try to stab me in the ribs tho :/“ he said in the middle of a sword fight

one day you’re battling in some strange part in the forest, you were spying on him but got caught

but little did you know, it was one of the forest’s sacred sites. It’s filled with the strongest magic and ancient technology and guarded by forces you don’t know yet

you got struck by some ancient magic, resulting in some strange event to happen. which led you to be captured by the fairy prince yeonjun himself, again

you were kinda weak from the struck so most of the time he’s the one guarding you in the prison, keeping an eye on you and limiting your suspicious moves

so all you can do in the meantime is to either insult his annoyingly beautiful prison or annoy the prince himself

he always seems pissed and suspicious for no reason so it’s kinda fun to you

“are you in pain or something? did you get struck by some strange magic too? why are you always so mean and angry?? are you hurting somewhere ??"

“excuse YOU? am i supposed NOT TO ?? maybe i wouldn’t be so mean and angry all the time if the evil kingdom DON’T try to exploit the forest ALL THE TIME, every think of that? does that ring a bell? here's a hint: i’m talking about YOU, princess (y/n)” he’d roll his eyes, angrily walking in circles. kinda mad at his dad for making him guard you

i mean... there should be enough guards in this castle, right?

little did you know, the magic is actually weakening... leaving the royal bloods’ magic the only force that can protect the forest, for now

“for the hundreth time, i am NOT a princess! i’m a fucking warrior, so stop calling me that!” sometimes you get pissed for his sarcastic remarks and his attitudes in general too. also this time you’re not really feeling well after the struck

“whatever you say, my princess” he’d blow flower petals on your face before giving you a smirk, dancing away gracefully as he picks flowers and tuck them into his flower crown... dozens of flowers immediately grows back for every single flower he picks from the ground, what a sight

you’d blush and try to look away. he never used his magic and charms for this type of things, usually it’s just for some silly pranks or weak attempts temporary torture in the battlefield (bc using magic drains his energy quickly)... so why now? was he really using magic or was is it just you?

after so many encounters and chances of being alone together, you sure know how to get on each other’s nerves... and each other’s head

you were there for a couple days, it’s kinda weird that you didn’t try to escape

turned out you were kinda sick, the strange magic struck weakened your senses and abilities. but you didnt want to admit it nor let him know that you’re literally vulnerable right now

you were smart enough to use this opportunity to get close to him, telling lies about how pitiful your life’s been as a princess and how you just want to prove yourself to your father, you don’t even care about conquering the universe

he didn’t buy that at first, not until you told him about how the evil kingdom sees the forest. you’d say your father thinks the fairies are the bad guys bc they stole the stones from the ancestors of your father’s planet thousands of years ago and that they’re just trying to get it back to heal their dying planet

you didn’t lie at that part, it was true... at least for the invaders. that’s how he kinda get surprised he had to tell the fairies’ version of the story

turned out that it’s all just a misunderstanding between the two parties, but unlike yeonjun being the democratic soon-to-be leader that he is, you still want approval

which you can only get by killing the fairy crown prince yeonjun before his coronation

but jokes on you, you kinda have feelings for him too. you didnt even try to kill him when he fell asleep holding you in his arms... you’d always say to yourself that ‘it wasn’t the right time’ to kill him just yet

of course it wasn’t. there never was, and never will be. you love him, dumbass. even the moon shining upon you the two of you could easily tell

he’d start to tell you secrets... secrets of the forest, his ancestors and families, the kingdom, the magic island, everything

you knew the forest is dying, but what you didn’t know is that he never wanted to be king,, he doesn’t feel like he’s qualified to be one. hell, he doesn’t even have wings, and he’s got horns growing out of his head. no fairy king or queen written in history of the magic island to not have wings, ever

“but it’s not required, right? literally nobody said you’ve got to be born with wings in order to be a fairy king. it’s already in your blood, yeonjun.” you would reassure him as you lift his chin so you can clearly see his eyes... all shaky and scared

he’d kiss you and you swore you almost forgot about your personal mission of luring and getting him into your trap

he told you about when he was just a fairy child... other young fairies and forest creatures bullied him for having horns and no wings,, i mean... he’s a fairy after all. it’s actually really natural, it’s just unusual among the immature creatures

one day he ran away way too far out of the forest... to the giant thorned vine bushes that looked like a cavern... it was dark and scary, he’s never seen this part of the island before

he didn’t know that it’s an entrance to the darker side of the island, where your father landed the ship and invaded a whole region of natural resources and innocent creatures, including the elf kingdom

and then he met a little girl, holding a basket full of flowers and wild berries, with a messy flower crown made of wild flowers on her head. she approached him and asked him softly if he’s lost and why is he crying

he was scared at first because she’s dressed like human, but after a while he learned that she’s harmless. he told her he’s scared that one day he’s gonna turn into a monster bc of his growing horns

“horns? i thought these were a crown... a very peculiar one, i must admit. but didn’t you say you’re a prince? a prince is supposed to wear a crown, right?” the little girl said brightly

“here, let me tuck these flowers in between your hairs and horns... now it’s a flower crown! it’s always been a crown, but now you have flowers!” she would jump around happily, which made the little prince smiled a little too

the story kinda shocked you... could it be that...?

no, snap out of it! it’s not even important nor relevant to your current circumstances

but you never thought that the crown that he proudly wore all the time has been... a growing pain for him

speaking of pain, the part of your back that’s got struck by the strange magic the other day keeps hurting you, and that night it started to get worse, two vertical scars started to form, followed by black liquid running down from each one

“you’re hurt! why didn’t you tell me?” he snapped, his voice filled with worries and anger. maybe it’s because of the fact that black blood could only mean one thing... dark magic

he took care of you and looked after you all the time

and yet you’d still tell him lies... and giving him false hopes

“let’s run away, together... to somewhere far, somewhere safe, we can build our own forever...”

[gayregis]

oh dandelion is such a weird case tbh. like all the sleazy shit he does is entirely unnecessary imo but people have latched onto the womanizing and all as such a huge important part of is character that no one seems to really question it? and in part due to mistranslations its treated by fans as a whole as way less harmful than it is? idk but honestly its part of why i just think hes gay now bc his canon sexuality is a mess nd basically every non-platonic interaction he has with a woman is gross

(this is part 2 ig? sorry shdjs) for example idk how it looks in the translations but in the original like. one of the very first things dandelion talks about is how he groped one of nenneke's students, and the bit with the brothel in eternal flame is. really awful when you look at it esp with the (horribly constructed but still) race dynamics in-universe, when he talks about "being able to afford a half-elf or maybe even a full-blooded elf" like idk its just. Bad and i think ppl gloss over it

(okay i started writing this part of the response before i got part 2): yes, it seems to me like a lot of him is based on this trope of the slovenly womanizer bastard-sort, but sapkowski does nothing to invert that part of the trope, lol. he disproved being a coward, because he was brave to follow geralt into brokilon/stand up for geralt’s life in dol blathanna/etc. he disproved being an idiot, because he makes intelligent observations sometimes. he disproves being selfish, because he is very caring for geralt and others. but he does nothing to disprove womanizing/misogyny, perhaps except for how he treats essi as his little sister, and for how he is appropriate with shani and also good to ciri. also i suppose in something ends, something begins he has female friends who he does not act disgusting to.

(this is considering part 2 as well): YES. there are so many little stupid fucking moments that drive me insane. such as that one, i already mentioned the rape joke to yennefer in limits of the possible/bounds of reason, the comment he made about she-elves in eternal flame was disgusting, all of his stupidity when he first met milva (commenting on her body, and also making a comment about how zerikkanian women cut off one of their breasts to shoot better, even though this is refuted by milva). how he says in lady of the lake that women don’t need money, since they don’t drink or gamble (in the presence of milva, who has drunken in his presence, and angouleme, for whom gambling is part of her backstory). also commenting on how he finds philippa scary and that he categorizes women into “fuckable” and “nonfuckable” basically. i think his comments towards yennefer in a little sacrifice are maybe the least horrible (just saying that she is old and isn’t a ‘normal woman’ because she is artifically young due to being a sorceress) but is still annoying.

i feel like the concept of brothel-going in general is supposedly “of the setting/time” and is normalized in their society but is taboo and mildly alarming to at least some in a modern audience,

i think it is also partially due to sapkowski normalizing the brothel-culture in-universe, and also (on the translators ends, too?) to be keen i guess to use terms like “whore”, like i think he calls toruviel in edge of the world something like “stupid whore,” which, if it came out of a man’s mouth today, hopefully he would be strangled.

the thing that is annoying is that he is a “good character,” he is literally the best friend of the main character, and is meant to represent that best-friend role. so his actions and sayings aren’t intended to villify him, but to be amusing, so it is assumed that the audience would find all of this amusing, which it’s not.

i think he can have this part of his personality (not misogyny, lol, but the “womanizing” as it relates to “being a dumbass”) without being so horrible, for example when vespula kicks him out of the house in eternal flame, i find this funny because he is obviously in the wrong, and he is experiencing punishment for it. additionally, things like repeating urban legends that zerrikanian women cut off their right breast in order to shoot better, to which milva ridicules him. or when he in his ballad sung that yennefer had a heart like a diamond that was unfeeling, and yennefer addresses this with him, and he shuts up and tries to steer the conversation elsewhere because it is obvious that he is terrified of her wrath...  it demonstrates that he is foolish and stupid, and is in the wrong, and can be made fun of. he did or said something (largely inconsequential, not violent or horrific) which was stupid, and is being ridiculed for it both in- and -out- of universe.

when he is in a position of power over the women however, saying derogatory things that men reading might agree with, that aren’t ever contested in-universe, then we have a problem. saying things like referring to women as whores, or trying to get a ‘full blooded she-elf’ at a brothel, or saying that he divides women into the fuckable and non-fuckable: these are never contested, he is never shamed for them, no one ever recieve retribution for them, and additionally, they are of a more violent and disgusting nature.

i feel like i treat geralt, yennefer, and dandelion all the same way overall. they each do and say some pretty messed-up things (geralt has sex with two barely 18-year old girls, yennefer smugly threatens to basically sexually assault geralt and was intending to mind-control a man into sex at belletyn (magic equivalent of a roofie; rape; what triss did to geralt), and dandelion espouses all of the misogynistic bullshit above). i like their characters but i simply cut this stuff out when i think about them because it adds nothing to them, only discomfort and disgust. it’s not intended to show “grey morality,” rather personal fallibility, and they are already fallible outside of such grossness. whether this affects if i headcanon dandelion as gay or bi i don’t know; i feel like it would be nice to rewrite some of his relationships with women to be more equal and less shitty (like how anna henrietta had an abusive husband beforehand and dandelion is not a violent man so ig it is nice to think she had some emotional love life with him around), but i also totally understand your perspective of just “there’s a lot to unpack here, but let’s just throw away the whole suitcase” haha. either way i think his [romantic] relationships with women are not very interesting at all, and i would rather focus on his platonic friendships with women, like milva, and/or mentorship/siblingship with essi. 

[cursewoodrecap]

Session 23: Medical Ethics

Y’all ever been to college?

Our new friend Vigdor has just pulled a pale, twitching human leg out of a poster tube, sheepishly admitting to Valeria that it’s his own.

Valeria blinks at it. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding demons, so that’s good?”

Shoshana sticks her head in the door, and has to pause to take in the sight. “Uh, bruh? Bruh? I have questions. Is that yours? I mean, like, yes, you HAVE it, but was it attached to-“

“That’s a bit tricky? It was amputated twice.”

“Twice?!”

“Once from me, and then, well, um. Once from an amalgam of sewn together body parts?”

(Gral and Shoshana pile into the room, because Oh, Lore?)

“When I was in the swamp, we were fighting a bunch of zombies led by this particularly nasty undead guy. We called it the Wailing Wight. At first it was just the usual undead hordes, but then a local leatherworker was found, torn apart and harpooned every which way, half his limbs torn off and stolen. After that, we started getting attacked by stitched together abominations cobbled together from human and animal pieces. I was there just trying to help the villagers, being a doctor and all. But that’s when I lost my actual limbs.”

“They got stolen, like the leatherworker’s?”

“I had to chop them off. Which, for the record, is not a fun time? The Wight’s harpoon has a kind of poison that rots everything it touches. So I had to amputate or, like, die. So I cut them off and his zombies, uh, stole them. And I managed to get one back? Kind of a long story. I don’t know how I recognized it, but – I guess I know my own leg like the back of my hand? Now I’m taking it back to Sturmhearst. There’s a weird fluid inside it; I want to study what’s going on with that so we can take care of the nastyboy in the swamp.”

“Well, I am generally against nastyboys,” says Shoshana, poking his foot in the ticklish bit. It squirms at her.

We’re headed to Sturmhearst anyway, so traveling together seems reasonable. We think about taking Fun Key Shortcuts, but that could backfire spectacularly, so we’ll play it safe and go the normal, boring way.

In the morning, we head downstairs. The inn is trashed. The stalwart barkeep Rene is not there; instead there’s a young elf sweeping out what debris he can. As we grab breakfast and the young fellow thanks us over and over for saving his friend’s life, Vigdor awkwardly wanders around casting Mending on chairs and tables that got a little too close to the tentacles and chainsaws. Shoshana doesn’t really do non-destructive magic, but she slips the barkeep some gold for repairs.

Vigdor’s too lopsided for a horse, so he’s gonna hop on in our cart. He’s very taken with the Eyegis, poking at it with fascination. “You can see the blood vessels in the eyes, despite no source for a blood supply! Do they have tear ducts? Have you ever seen the shield produce tears? Can you make it cry?”

Valeria gets very uncomfortable with this line of questioning and turns the eyes back into painted ones, put off by a Weird Stranger gettin’ all up in her business. Gral distracts him by asking about his fancy metal limbs.

Vigdor goes full technobabble on how the runes and machinery work. “Well, there’s three different kind of magical actuators on each joint, and they act as conduits for the dilithium crystals-” He knows the details secondhand from Bjork and none of us speak robotics, so if he ever needs serious repairs he’ll have to bring them back to Sturmhearst for the engineers to take a look at.

Valeria knows a bit about Jotunn runesmithing, but she’s never heard of it working to this degree of precision; before, she’d only heard of stuff like boats that row themselves, or a peg leg that has a little extra articulation. These are fully actuated limbs!

Val checks if the limbs are the same metal as our space wrench, but nope, they look like completely normal everyday metals. She’s not gonna inspect further, because she has RESPECT, unlike SOME people.

(“Hey, I didn’t try to pry the eyes open or anything!” Vigdor protests.)

She does notice one thing, though: Valeria recognizes runes from most magic systems even though she doesn’t know them well enough to use; her sister studied magic for a long time, so she knows what they look like. There’s one elaborate rune that appears on both Vigdor’s forearm and leg that is of no origin she’s ever seen.  

“How long’d it take Bjork to build this thing?” Shoshana asks, squinting at Vigdor’s kneecap.

“Well, I was unconscious for a good bit of it so…between a week and 2 months? He was already working on it when I, uh, had to amputate.”

“…did you KNOW you were gonna wake up with those things on?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. It took a while ‘cause the original blueprints they found were for somebody, like…really short for a human or really tall for a halfling? Something in between. Bjork had to resize the whole model to fit a human.”

“He, uh, FOUND blueprints?

“I can’t imagine he’d have made blueprints for a person who didn’t exist? It was all proportioned very strangely. I don’t know too much about it, you’d have to ask Professor Bjork.”

(One of the players asks if the strange rune, perhaps, says ISTC in a language the characters don’t know. It DOES, and we’re all very pleased with ourselves for previous-campaign references.)

The long road stretches on before us, and we have plenty of time to talk as we spend a week or two heading north toward the coast. We fill Vigdor in on the four flavors of Curse and the concept of the Prisoners, and that we suspect there’s major Key nonsense going on up at the university. (Heh heh, “major key.”)

Vigdor and Shoshana bond over being locals. Why are foreigners so weird about trolls?

Vigdor really, really wants to look at Twombly’s glasses. We explain to him that the Key could take his desire for knowledge and turn him into a cackling, dimension-hopping madman with a few extra eyeballs. He still wants to play with the glasses. Valeria protectively hides the Key map, just in case, flashing her Hunt fangs at anyone who asks about it.

After like a week of pestering everybody, Vigdor gets to look at the glasses. Disappointingly, when not looking at the Key map, the colorful lenses just make everything look slightly more those colors. Maybe Gral’s lutestrings look weird, but that could be the placebo effect. He tries flipping around the many lenses in different combinations, and finds that all of them make him look absolutely ridiculous.

Eventually after many days of travel, we can smell the ocean and the distinctive stench of a large number of humans living in one place. Vigdor takes in the familiar sight of his college hometown. Shoshana is dumbfounded that this many people can live on top of each other, while Valeria thinks it’s a quaint little town.

Up to the west, Sturm Castle squats on a cliff above the city, like a big hippo of knowledge. It looks like it was once a reasonable castle shape, but it’s had new wings and towers built onto it haphazardly until it’s a weird sprawling network of jammed-together architecture. By the edge of the cliff, in one of the more sensibly-built sections, a majestic lighthouse beams out over the bay. In the city below, the largest building appears to be a grand temple, with its roof carved in the shape of an open book. The perimeter of the city is outlined by strange wooden and metal towers, two or three stories tall with conical brass roofs.

Eh. It’s only got one castle, so it can’t be that good of a city compared to Aurentium.

Our cart is briefly stopped for a quick examination at the gate by a friendly city guardsman. He’s flanked by two of the same enormous owl-masked guards we saw accompanying Quercus and Ulmus. “Hi, welcome to Sturmhearst, folks! What brings you here?”

We all awkwardly try not to look at Vigdor’s leg bag.

“I’m, uh, here to visit Dr. Emily Thorpe?” he tries.

“Oh, visiting the university. Don’t need yer life story. Where you stayin’? I can recommend some inns. Oh, and check out the Scholar’s Temple while yer here!” He hands us a brochure from the Sturmhearst Tourism Board and steps back. “ALL RIGHT BIG GUYS, LET EM THROUGH!”

The owl guards don’t move.

“Oh, uh, I mean –“ He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a whistle. “Lemme see if I can remember how the doc told me to do this.” He blows a few sharp notes on the whistle, and the owl guards promptly step off the road to let us through.

Huh.

Vigdor makes an investigation check on those guards, who definitely weren’t around back when he was in school. They’re pretty bulky for humans – no, honestly, they’d be bulky even for goliaths. He’d heard a story from Professor Bjork that the school was hiring goliath mercs and dressing them in owl masks, but the professor had sounded like he hadn’t believed it much. Supposedly they’re silent because they don’t speak the language, but Vigdor’s pretty sure Bjork speaks Jotunn, so that excuse doesn’t quite hold up.

Once we’re out of the guards’ earshot, Gral pulls a huddle. “Vigdor, the Key’s a more recent influence, so let us know about anything new or significantly more abundant – that’s where we’ll need to search.”

Vigdor hmms. “The big brass towers weren’t here before. And the owl guys didn’t used to be a thing.”

Gral cuts another glance back to the owl guards, considering. “…How much of a faux pas is it to remove a Sturmhearst person’s mask?”

“I mean, if you’re dealing with the plague, it’s kind of a dick move? And dangerous? But most people – it’s like, the same rudeness of grabbing someone’s hat or jacket. For some people it’s badge of honor or superiority, y’know, how amazing they were to get through the gauntlet of Sturmhearst. But mostly it’s a practical tool of the job. We’re not, like, afraid to show our faces.”

Gral nods. “So you wouldn’t have to duel them, then.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, with bards it’s like ‘you are not deserving of your title’ and you have to duel about it. You know, like, how dare you slander my name, I’ll have to fight you for my honor?”

“Oh, uh, no, nothing like that. The mask is proof of office, that’s all.”

Before we get investigating, though, it’s late and we should rest. Vigdor wasn’t a palling-around-town type, but he rolls a nat 20 and knows the best inn in the city – not one of those touristy places on the square; the best-kept-secret on a side street that only the locals and regulars know about.

We have a lovely night around the docks of Sturmhearst. Shoshana spends like fifteen minutes just staring out to sea, because they MAKE boats that big???? This much water even EXISTS????? There’s a dragonborn ship from Aurentium, a goliath ship from Jotunhein, a couple of Galwan freighters, and even a ship crewed by colorful macaw aarakocra. (History check: while the Aquilians mostly died out, some of the ground-based aarakocra cultures survived. Valeria’s met macaw traders before in Aurentium; they tell lots of stories and do GREAT impressions.)

Valeria, meanwhile, holies some ocean water. They say Galwan clerics swear by holy seawater; salt repels demons, right? It’s gross harbor water but, whatever, it’s holy now. She also beats a sea captain at Man-go, presumably dock style. The inn’s equipped for foreign travelers, so it’s got a whole bar of draconic and goblin spices!

Gral, meanwhile, discovers the inn is near a bath house and enjoys finding out what a sauna is.

Morning comes, and Sturmhearst U awaits. Vigdor knows the main campus has the colleges of Engineering, Science, and Medicine, while the satellite campus across the bay houses the college of Ethics, which includes humanities like economics and history.

Valeria rolls for Order of the Rose knowledge. The Order actually has an arrangement with Sturmhearst when they’re working in Valdia – whenever the Order is sent on disaster relief, some Sturmhearst ethicists are sent to help coordinate. Valeria’s never worked with them personally, but the impression she’s gotten from her fellow knights is Not Great. From what she’s heard, they’re supposed to do triage and help direct the knights, but it seems like they spend the whole time sitting around debating absolutely horrible things. “Hey, if we brewed up some necromancy, could we use the skeletons of plague victims to transport supplies without spreading the infection?” Apparently they just sit around in corners debating whether that kind of shit is kosher or not, without ever actually DOING anything.

Also ethicists wear white instead of black like most Sturmhearst scholars, which is just pretentious. We then poke fun at an Order of the Rose knight calling anyone else pretentious.

Vigdor studied at the College of Medicine; he’s a doctor. But that’s not where he’s taking the leg.

“Why not Medicine? I mean, it’s a human body part, innit?” Shoshana asks.

“It’s…I have some concerns…regarding the, um. So, along with this leg, my arm was stolen, right? Not long after the arm was stolen, the sewn-together amalgams got a lot, uh, cleaner.”

We stare at him.

“…as if whatever stitched them together had my medical training.”

…oh.

“I’m a little hesitant taking that info to the College of Medicine,” he admits.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of ‘for the greater good’ stuff with the College of Medicine sometimes. The College of Ethics keeps them in check. Anyway, there’s actually this thaumochemist I want to take a look at it.”

(We’d know the discipline as alchemy, but she hates that. She’ll go on a whole tirade about it. Somebody yells “Full Metal Thaumochemist” and we accidentally take a commercial break. We’ll never get tired of that joke.)

More of those owl guards are at the door, supervised by a businesslike white-coated member of the College of Ethics. His mask is a bit more abstract than the ones we’re used to; not modeled after a bird face like the regular scholars’. He lets Vigdor in with no problem, though he’s a bit suspicious of the rest of us. We’re with a doctor, though, so he’ll let it slide. “Welcome to Sturmhearst, may your visit be enlightening.” He does the same whistle we heard before and the guards step aside. Gral’s a string guy, he can figure out the notes easily enough but he doesn’t whistle.

“Nothing goes on here without Ethics knowing about it, huh,” Gral observes.

More owl guards are stomping around, some carrying heavy objects. Vigdor knows where he’s going, but asks an owl guard for directions, as an experiment. The owl guard doesn’t even notice him. He steps in front of the guard, who just steps around him very politely.

The castle is a nightmare to navigate, like Hoeska, but we have an expert tour guide. “The old keep, the part that used to be a castle – that’s where all the 101 classes are and the whole working hospital. All the additions are laid out super weird, and then there’s the tunnels underneath. The Chem students had WILD parties down there, they brewed up all SORTS of stuff. The lighthouse is a real lighthouse, but it’s also where admin is, and the dean’s and headmaster’s offices. Oh! DO NOT cross the librarians. Each college has its own library? Like, theoretically they share the whole collection, but which college keeps which books is kind of a blood sport…”

Shoshana and Gral hang back, feeling out of place. “Bards don’t really have a college, exactly?” Gral explains. “It’s more of a pilgrimage. I met the elders of each village and they imparted wisdom upon me?”

Shosh feels like an uneducated hick even by that standard.

We take a hairpin turn in one of the Science buildings and run into Professor Quercus! Or at least someone with a bird mask and a similar voice, chatting with some other masked scholar. “Ah! Yes! We made a lot of excellent discoveries before we started to run into problems – you see, there hadn’t been an event in some time, but if we could get in there to the source, we could really – well, my goodness! These are the people I was telling you about, who gave me such wonderful notes!” Quercus turns to us, sounding rather delighted. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. Welcome to the world of knowledge! What brings you here? I thought you were having adventures and derring-do!”

“Well, it turns out our adventures led here!” Gral tells him.

Quercus nods enthusiastically. “I’d show you around, but I rather need to speak to the bursar! If you need anything, I’m sure you can find my offices without too much problem. And please, if you’ve encountered any interesting monsters, I’d love to hear details! Especially if you have samples!” Despite his keen excitement, Professor Quercus rolls a four and fails to notice our Shusva accessories.

“If you ever need a cup of tea and a biscuit, you’re welcome to stop by my office! I’d be more than happy to speak with you! And if you could do me a favor – well, I wouldn’t mind having you with me when I speak to the bursar! See, our expedition to Holzog has hit a bit of a snag. The events with that mist stopped happening, you see. Luckily, we managed to identify which house you were going to, and we were all set to investigate, but then the Baroness put a squadron of those damnable Condotierri to prevent us getting in – “

Gral shrugs, deliberately casual. “I don’t know why you’d go back; there’s not much to see besides what’s already in the notes.”

(Vigdor immediately rolls insight to see if Gral is lying. Unfortunately for him, bards are excellent liars.)

“Anyway. The bursar’s giving me an earful about continuing to fund the expedition. I’m considering withdrawing from Holzog and asking him to redirect the funds into a different project! For example, lots of interesting monsters have been seen around Barroch lately!”

Yes, definitely, we want him to go somewhere that’s not a Tempting Key Portal. Valeria and Gral tag-team Persuasion checks to sell him on interesting cases of monsters we’ve heard of around Barroch. If we’re fuzzy on the details – well, all the more reason to have someone get out there and take a closer look!

Quercus is rather taken by the idea. “If you would, Mr. Duu –“

“Um, actually, Duu is the tribe, my family’s name is-“

“-yes, if you could write me some letters, I might find it useful making the acquaintance of the locals while setting up camp. Sturmhearst hasn’t established an official relationship to your people yet’”

Gral agrees to write up a formal letter explaining the mission of Sturmhearst and the expedition to make introductions a bit smoother; the word of a bard will go a long way in gaining the cooperation of the orcs of Barroch. He’ll do a personal letter of introduction for Quercus, and a general letter to Shieldeater’s administration to explain who the heck these weird bird people are.

“Wonderful! Bring it by my office!” He gives us directions that make NO sense to anyone but Vigdor. We’re pretty sure several of those compass directions aren’t real words?

“Oh, and if you see an angry tall woman stomping around, tell her I’m not here! She’s mad at me for some reason I can’t discern. Good day!”

He scuttles off, presumably to hide.

We definitely want the gossip on that – Ulmus was mad at him about funding, and she definitely dissed his field of study. Is this what academia is like?

Vigdor confirms that the professors have all kind of weird beefs, interdepartmental politics, and personal feuds. “One of my professors gave me a B- in amputation – shows what he knows – purely because I was taking some classes outside the College of Medicine and he got all offended. It’s a lot of politics and bullshit, they’re all more concerned about their careers and publishing than actually important stuff.”

We find a door with a brass plaque: Dr Emily Thorpe, Thaumochemist. There’s a paper list tacked to her door with a list of courses: “Intro to Potion Brewing,” “Principles of Alchemy Thaumochemistry”

Vigdor knocks. “Yes, who’s there? Come in!” a voice calls.

“It’s Vigdor! Vigdor Gavril!”

“Ah, Vigdor!” A halfling woman in the requisite bird mask waves from behind a counter where she’s handling a set of proper Movie Science bubbling beakers and flasks. “Yes, you sent me that letter! You had something ‘interesting’ for me!”

“Yes, and you will see why I couldn’t be more detailed!”

She notices his metal arm as he starts pulling open his heavy waterproofed case. “Oh! I heard that Professor Bjork was giving you his prototype! How’s it working?”

“They’re loud and heavy and uncomfortable sometimes, but I have limbs! Can’t complain! But then I, uh, found one of my limbs again.”

He goes over to an open table and pulls out his entire-ass leg with a flourish, plus vials of hair and blood and strange unidentified liquids. Her eyes widen.

“Ah, this is yours!” She watches his toes wiggle. “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

“Yeah, I found it stitched to some kind of unholy undead abomination.”

“And that explains the Knight of the Rose. Hello, Kyr.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Dr. Emily Thorpe, at your service as well, I guess? Pardon the mess in my lab, it’s not much but it’s home. Hand me that vial?” She pulls out a syringe and takes a sample of not blood, but oily black liquid, from the leg. “It will take some time, but I can write up a thaumaturgical profile without much difficulty. Do you mind if I keep it?”

“You can hang on to it. But I would appreciate discretion.”

“Yes, this will stay between me, your friends, and – oh, this is Hugo, he’s my teaching assistant. He’s been helping since the school was mobilized.” She turns to Vigdor’s clearly uneducated hick friends (not you, Valeria, you’re very fancy) and explains:

“In times of crisis, the University turns from education to innovation. Were this a disease, we’d be researching cures! If demonic, we’d be researching weapons or dimensional banishment. We haven’t really received direct orders this time, so everybody is doing their own thing, which I can’t say I mind. Mostly I’ve been helping other researchers with the practical application of their theorems.”

She scribbles out a hasty list. “Hugo, if you can go to the library and put these books on order? The Vigmar and the Auspelius especially would be useful, but don’t let the librarians kill anyone over them. And the Principles of Advanced Anatomy – tell them I won’t ask. But I do need it.” The grad student nods and hustles out of the room.

(Shoshana insights, out of paranoia. Hugo’s a good egg, though he might refer to thaumochemistry as alchemy.)

“Now, Dr. Gavril, do you want this leg back? How intact-“

“Want it back? Like, in the abstract, or on my body?”

She pulls out a vial of bubbling acid. “I’d like to put some of this on it and I’d like to see what happens.”

He blanches slightly. “Uh. Um. I have some proprietary-“

“Aw, no acid then,” she grumbles, stowing the acid with an audible sigh.

“Only do something you would do to living person’s leg. That they would survive!”

“How would I know? I’m a chemist, this is only, like, my second dead person!” She pauses. “…well, fifth.”

Shoshana starts looking around at all the alchemy equipment curiously. Everything here is clearly labeled with numbers, and letters that feel like numbers, and complex formulae, which hedgewitch potionery doesn’t really account for.

There’s a knock at the door. “Ah, that must be Hugo. Come in!”

Valeria instinctively body-blocks the leg from view.

It is not Hugo. In walk 3 white-clad ethicists. The gentleman at the front is in fancier robes – we suspect he’s the kind of fellow who has tenure – and he wears a powdered judge’s wig atop his mask. We immediately don’t like it. His two companions peer around the lab – one has a jeweler’s loupe built into the lens of his mask, and the other is carrying a big chime with runes carved into it, clearly a magic item of some sort.

“Dr Thorpe,” the leader intones.

“Sorbus,” she replies disdainfully.

“I see you have guests, is now a bad time?”

“Is it ever a good time?” Emily makes a point of tending to her samples and beakers busily.

“I suppose not. We have come to ask a few follow-up questions. Have you been visited at all by Professor Matthias Macker? Has he followed up on the project you were working on together?”

“I told you, no! I had no potions strong or precise enough for what he needed, and he’s never spoken to me since. That was months ago!”

“And no one has seen him since then. You understand why we need to know what you discussed.”

“Yeah, not since you quarantined the whole surgical wing!”

“That is not what I’m asking about. Has Macker’s assistant Greta Ruble visited you?”

“No. She’s a good kid, though, don’t hassle her.”

“We are simply making sure she is not a danger.”

Emily sputters angrily. “A danger to who?!”

“I cannot tell you that.” He turns to Valeria. “Kyr, it is always a pleasure to see a member of the Order here. I suppose if you’re here we can be assured nothing… unethical is happening,” he says, unpleasantly oily. “I am Professor Rigmor Sorbus of the College of Ethics; I lecture on legal and judicial ethics. These are my assistants, Charles and Pippin.”

Valeria bows with the precise degree of politeness required. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. In these times of mobilization, it falls to us as ethicists to supervise our colleagues’ noble efforts. Please, I implore you: if you see anything untoward or suspiciously unusual, I request you report it to the nearest representative of the College of Ethics.”

Emily butts in. “What happened to Eric Pelbort, his other assistant?”

“Mr. Pelbort has transferred to the College of Ethics and is assisting us with some research. We will let you know if that changes.” He tells her dismissively. “Kyr Argent, the College of Ethics has always been proud of our long association with the Order, and I would like to extend our deepest condolences for the tragedy of the Crusade. Should you have need of any assistance whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask. Our offices are on the satellite campus across the bay. If you were to visit, I’m sure many would love to speak to a paladin of the Order of the Rose.”

“We have business here, but I might be able to make time to stop by,” she equivocates.

“Very well. I will let you all get back to whatever it is you’re doing with that leg,” Sorbus says, turning neatly on his heel and taking his leave, his toadies hurrying in his wake.

(Yes, you guessed it: That was Professor Rowan, with his Tort Wig and his assistants Pip Loupe and Chime Charles.)

“Those guys give me the creeps,” Emily grumbles. “They used to be fine, but lately they’ve been doing this whole inquisitor act.”

Vigdor’s always known these guys as douchey blowhards. But now they’re douchey blowhards with AUTHORITY.

There’s always been a divide between Ethics and the other three colleges roughly the size of the harbor! The sciences don’t believe in debate, they believe in experimentation! Anyone who can spend an entire week talking without action is wasting time and breath. The College of Medicine thinks even less of them – they just get in the way of progress!

(IRL we all respect medical ethics, but Sturmhearst WAS founded on a fine tradition of graverobbing and leeches.)

Vigdor is primarily a surgeon, or he was, when he had two fully functional hands. (Two players at once: “HE GOT DR STRANGED!”) He had quite a few classes with Macker, the chair of the surgery department. Most people didn’t like the guy, except his surgical grad students who would defend him to the death. A bit of a hardass about proper procedure, but that’s probably not a bad quality for a surgeon. He was a local institution, so it’s pretty alarming he’s somehow gone rogue.

“His whole lab was quarantined?”

“The whole teaching wing, actually,” Emily tells us.

“Are there people in there? Some kind of sickness?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Ethics just put guards outside the labs and blocked everyone from going in. They’ve done it to a couple places around the school recently. The excuse is that someone was doing ‘unsafe experimentation’ that’s ‘poisoned the area’ or something?”

Wack. “How long have these quarantines lasted?”

“They don’t really end? A couple stopped after a few months, but some have been there for a year! Nobody goes in or out. Sometimes the white coats go in, but it’s pretty rare and they don’t stay long.”

“Is that what all the guards are for? Where’d they all come from?” Vigdor asks.

“Medicine used to be the ones, uh, hiring them.” (A quick insight roll notes that she hesitates on the phrase “hiring.”) “Lots of them still answer to whoever they were originally assigned to. But recently Dean Chidor from the College of Ethics took over that whole program, so a lot of the newer ones answer primarily to the ethicists. I mean, they all dress the same, so it’s kinda hard to tell? I haven’t asked a lot of questions, I’ve been trying to keep my head down since the whole thing with Macker.”

“What actually happened with him?”

“He’d been acting weird for a while,” she confides as she starts sticking pins in the leg and wiring them to a voltage generator. “He’d been working on something, some kind of extreme surgery – I think he was looking into a method of surgically removing Curse corruption. He was hitting roadblocks, though; he called in me and Alma Ulmus, who’s a College of Medicine bigwig.”

“Yeah, we met her in Bad Herzfeld!”

“I heard she’s here again, stalking around the halls complaining about funding. She knows more about his project than I do. Anyway, Macker sent me requirements for a healing potion he was gonna administer as part of some surgical procedure. I couldn’t get anything as powerful or precise as he needed. I’m a thaumochemist; I don’t know medicine that well. So it was beyond me to do that amount of gross tissue damage repair as controllably as they wanted it. I mean, I made some pretty nice innovations as far as the theory of potioncrafting, I’m hoping to get published as soon as it goes to peer review.

“But I couldn’t do what he needed, and eventually I got shut out of the project. Then one day he vanished. Alma set off for Bad Herzfeld and Macker stopped coming out of his lab. His assistants were still going in and out, but not long after that, the ethicists quarantined the place.”

“Has anyone else been quarantined?” Valeria asks.

“People from all three colleges got hit. I dunno about other ethicists, I haven’t heard about them quarantining anything of their own. But everyone else has. A group of engineering students were building a defense system to be deployed out to the Scar, and all of them got quarantined. Here in my department, Dr. Vilman – remember him? Stupid goatee, did a lot of stuff with crystals? – got shut down. Sometimes they quarantine the whole lab; sometimes they just shut down a project and everyone working on it gets a ‘guest lecture position’ over in Ethics. Sorbus said they got one of Macker’s assistants, Eric Pelbort. He had another one, Greta Ruble, but I guess she’s given them the slip.”

Emily’s got experiments to do on that leg, so we’ll let her get to it. As we head out, Gral asks one last question. “What’s up with those guards, by the way? Why do they only respond to those whistles?

“Uhhhh,” she says, as we fail our persuasion check. “They, er, don’t speak very good Valdian. Mostly foreigners, goliaths, the like. The whistles get their attention.”

Gral sighs and doesn’t push it. Vigdor’s already making plans to pickpocket a whistle. Valeria, since she has a direct invite to talk to the ethicists, considers the unheard-of paladin approach of Just Asking Them Directly.

First, though, Vigdor wants to check out the quarantine of Macker’s lab; he knew that professor well, and we’re all curious what’s been going down.

We walk on over to the surgical wing to case the joint. There’s a single owl guard blocking the hallway, presiding over a small barricade. A pleasant sandwich board sign states “Area quarantined by College of Ethics, apologies for the inconvenience.”

We try to walk in and the enormous guard holds out a hand to stop us. Shoshana tries to wiggle around him, like a cat trying to get at your dinner, but he impassively blocks her every move.

Gral tries a smoother approach. He begins with small talk; the guard doesn’t even twitch. He starts asking prying questions about the surgical ward. No response. Fine, then: he switches to Orcish, a sinister undertone weaving through his voice as he uses Words of Terror.

An insight roll reveals completely unchanged body language.

“Either they’re immune to fear or not a humanoid,” Gral reports back. “Not a single emotion. Definitely not goliath mercenaries.”

“Tryin’ to talk your way into the surgical wing?” says another chatty passerby. “Good luck. They got all the medical cadavers locked up in there and they won’t let us in.”

(Cadavers? Oh shit, we bet that’s the guard factory, theorize the players.)

“Oh, are you a med student?”

“Yeah. I work with Professor Herberts, or I used to, anyway. We needed a couple cadavers to do this comparison study about spleens; we got some weird ones from out in the wood, we compare spleens to see if place with thing don’t worry about it; need control spleen. And then these BIG DUMB IDIOTS wouldn’t let us in, and Herbert got transferred to the College of Ethics all of a sudden. He’s been gone a couple months.”

“How long do professors usually transfer for?” asks Gral.

“I mean, they usually pop over to give a lecture or two and come back by the end of the day.”

(Vigdor happens to remember that the College of Ethics also runs an asylum. They live in a big spooky castle and do dissections with guts and stuff, it can do a number on your head! Some of the ethicists have branched into the field of psychology. No reason to mention this when people are having extended stays on the ethics campus, of course…)

The student shrugs. “I gotta get to lecture. If you manage to get in there, any chance you can bring me back a couple spleens?”

We wave goodbye noncommittally, though Vigdor insists he can pop a spleen out of a corpse like a yolk from an egg. He’s a good surgeon!

Anyway, Vigdor went to school here, and the dice are on his side; he knows a side path through an old abandoned classroom into the surgical suite. He pops the lock on the door easily; all the undergrads used to go this way when slipping into lecture late, to get past the TA keeping track of tardies.

The guard is in earshot but facing the other direction, and he’s not even blinking, much less scanning around. Gral casts Silence on us and our very clanky party slips by easily.

Shosh sticks her head into the TA’s office. Nothing really stands out, but she swipes some interesting-looking notes from the desk drawers to look at later.

Meanwhile, Gral and Vigdor go into Macker’s office. The desk is an absolute mess, which is very unlike the guy Vigdor used to know. There are wheeled chalkboards crammed into the office, covered in scribbles and anatomical diagrams. Paging through the notes and glancing over the chalkboard, Vigdor makes a decent medicine check and can at least figure out what problem Macker was working on.

Based on what Dr. Emily told us, Macker’s trying to develop a surgical procedure. The issue is that whatever he’s doing would cause so much physical trauma that it’d kill the patient, and he’s looking for some way to prevent that. There are lists of healing options: formulas, spells, potions, nonmagical stabilization methods to keep the patient alive while various tissues are extracted from the body.

Gral’s unimpressed. Healing methods? That’s pretty tame for forbidden knowledge.

To Vigdor’s experienced eyes, this stuff looks mega-advanced and highly experimental, but Gral’s right – it’s not anything you’d scramble to censor.

Weirdly enough, the place doesn’t look ransacked, only disheveled and a little dusty. Macker’s notes haven’t been moved since he was here. Maybe this isn’t what the ethicists were after?

We head to cadaver storage while Valeria keeps watch. Cadaver storage is creepy as hell, but only because it’s, y’know, a room full of cadavers. A lot of the bodies, kept stable with Gentle Repose, appear to be Cursed, but that’s hardly weird. What’s so crazy they’d keep it hidden from everyone?

Vigdor opens the door to the dissection labs, Gral’s Silence deadening any ominous warning he might have had from the room beyond. Yes, the table here’s been recently used, and the bizarre symbols scrawled on the chalkboards have spilled onto the surrounding floor and walls, but Vigdor’s eyes are drawn to where the chalkboard peels away like skin to reveal a strange, multicolored, impossible space. The floor begins to take the shape of a stone hand that projects out into the shimmering void, joining a daisy-chain of enormous hands that form a walkway out to a marble platform floating in space.

Gral takes his Silence spell with him and runs to get Valeria.

Eyes starry, watching entire worlds and impossible shapes spinning through iridescent mists, Vigdor takes his first heady hit of Key taint.

As we cut session, Valeria considers that the ethicists may actually have a point.

[braincoins]

“But Socks!” you, as the convenient strawperson, exclaim, “as much as I’d love to read your Dragon Age stuff, I’ve never played Origins and/or Awakening! I don’t really know anything about Grey Wardens or the events of those games!”

Well all you had to do was ask, Convenient Strawperson-chan! ^_^ I know Grey Wardens play some small part in DA:I, which seems to be the game most people have played, but I’ll just start from the beginning. I’ll also be including personal headcanons that come up in Dragon Age: Schism, though I will mark them as such.

Under a cut for the sake of people’s dashes. Consider this a first post in a series. (I’ll answer questions that non-strawpeople want to ask, too!)

So, really now, what is a Grey Warden? Well, that depends on who you ask. To most people outside the order, the Grey Wardens are a glorious order of noble heroes! And why is that? Well, they’re immune to the darkspawn taint (which usually kills people) and so they can safely slay darkspawn! They’re also the only ones who can stop Blights!! ...though this last bit of information is often forgotten, given that Blights happen once every few centuries. 

If you ask me, the Grey Wardens are the biggest dick move in Thedas, which is actually part of why I love them. Here’s all the downsides to joining this “glorious order”: 

First of all, the Right of Conscription. Ferelden has it; not sure if other nations in Thedas do? Anyway, it means that Grey Wardens can recruit anyone at any time. In practice, they have to be careful how they wield this tool (especially in Ferelden), but the RoC has been used to save people from hangings or other deadly fates... on the condition that they become a Warden Recruit. So... didn’t want to be Warden Recruit? TOO BAD, YOU ARE NOW. And no, you don’t get a say in the RoC. 

Second of all, there’s the Joining. It turns out that, in order to become a Grey Warden, you have to drink darkspawn blood. And a bunch of other stuff in there, but really now, DRINKING DARKSPAWN BLOOD. You might recognize this as a stupidly dangerous thing to do, given that darkspawn blood KILLS THINGS. But your options are drink it or die, because the Grey Wardens present at the Joining will kill you if you try to back out after learning about this. If you drink from the Joining chalice, you also might die, but your name will be remembered as a Grey Warden at least? Even though you’re dead. And hey, if you live, you... become “immune” to the darkspawn taint, which is to say you’re already fucking tainted so it’s not like it can get worse. Want to know why the Grey Wardens don’t tell people they’re gonna make them drink darkspawn blood? Well, if they did that, people wouldn’t want to join, and we need Grey Wardens. 

Supposing you survive the Joining, there’s the shortened lifespan (10-30 years depending on your sources; my headcanon is just straight up 10-ish years) and the nightmares (that maybe you can learn to tune out). Again, they don’t tell you this until afterwards. Why? Because then people might not want to become Grey Wardens... yadda yadda.

Oh, and forget about having kids! It’s very difficult if not impossible to have children as a Grey Warden! 

At some point, even if you were able to tune the nightmares out, they’ll come back and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. That’s the first sign of The Calling. Because it turns out that the Joining is really just turning you into a ghoul, except very, very slowly. You’re getting close to Ghoul-dom now. Most Grey Wardens choose to die in battle against the darkspawn rather than waiting to be turned. It’s tradition. 

And if there’s a Blight going on? Oh, well, it turns out that the only way to kill an Archdemon is to sacrifice a Grey Warden. Why didn’t they tell you? DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK NOW?!

The motto of the Grey Wardens is “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.” 

So what I’m saying is that Grey Wardens are SUPER TRAGIC BADASSES. They also wind up pretty cut off from their former lives, so the Wardens become their family. So, basically, SUPER TRAGIC BADASS FOUND FAMILY. I really don’t see how I was not supposed to love them immediately. 

They still have this reputation of “glory” and all that, but so many of their recruits were thieves or ne’er-do-wells saved from the gallows by the RoC. If you look at just the Wardens we have at the end of Awakening (and this is my list, i.e., the Wardens we have in Dragon Age: Schism):

The Warden (aka the Player Character): the Hero of Ferelden, but may have come from questionable backgrounds, depending on the origin you picked. Duncan might even have had to RoC you. If nothing else, much of Ferelden believed Loghain’s lies that the Wardens were traitors and murderers of beloved King Cailan, and that’s a hard thing to come out from under. In the case of Kivral, she’s a Dalish elf, and elves are... not exactly much beloved, the Dalish even less so, as they’re often painted as “savages.” 

Alistair: King Cailan’s half-brother, thanks to their father, King Maric, getting a little something in on the side (”You’re not just a bastard, you’re a royal bastard?”). Kivral didn’t put him on the throne, but you can if you want in your game. In any case, despite being the most experienced Warden in the group (he Joined six months before the PC), he prefers to follow and let the PC lead. Also in love with Kivral (again: my choice; you can romance someone else in your game), who’s head over heels for him. His mere existence is a threat to the throne. 

Nathaniel Howe: Son of Arl Rendon Howe, who backed Loghain and was, in pretty much all ways, a motherfucking asshole. Nate shows up trying to steal shit from the keep Queen Anora granted the Wardens, even though he insists he wasn’t stealing because it’s his stuff. The seneschal at the time wants to hang him. Kivral decided he’d undergo the Joining instead. Along the way, Nate learns about his father’s actions, comes to accept that, yes, his father was a sonuvabitch, and even pays special attention to non-noble/non-human companions, learning about the privilege he’s had most of his life.

Anders: When you first meet Anders, he’s surrounded by dead Templars and dead darkspawn. He swears forwards and backwards that the darkspawn killed the Templars and then he killed the darkspawn. REALLY. Even though he had run away from the Circle and was being hauled back there by those same Templars. In fact, a Templar shows up and wants to drag him off, but you can call RoC and recruit him instead. And also give him a kitten. 

Velanna: Dalish mage exiled from her clan, even though she was the Keeper’s first - i.e., in line to be the next Keeper. She’s trying to find her sister, and that’s the only reason she signs on with you. HATES HUMANS. HAAAAAAAATES HUMANS. SO FUCKING MUCH. HATES THEM. Not exactly a “people person.” Like, at all.

Sigrun: Casteless dwarf who joined THE LEGION OF THE DEAD. In other words, a fucking badass already. But she’s also this adorable ray of sunshine? Like... her life sucked so she made the choice to consider herself already dead and then you can get her to join the Wardens who are basically Dead People Walking, just on the surface. 

Oghren: One of your companions from Origins. A drunken, lecherous pervert of a dwarf, but he also unlocks the Berserker specialization for warriors in DA:O. He basically just shows up near the beginning of Awakening and is like, “Hey, I had fun killing shit with you and I wanna do more of it.”

Justice: Not in Schism, but mentioned in the notes: Justice is literally the Spirit of Justice who has taken over the corpse of a Grey Warden named Kristoff. In regular Dragon Age canon, Justice eventually leaves Kristoff’s corpse and hitches a ride with Anders, whose anger at the Chantry and the general treatment of mages turns him into VENGEANCE. In Schism, Justice departs back to the spirit world.

But I give you this list for a reason: thieves, exiles, casteless, apostates. These are the Great and Glorious Grey Wardens we’re dealing with here. Even Duncan, Maker watch over him, was a rogue and a thief before he became a Grey Warden and eventually rose to Warden-Commander of Ferelden. 

In the time period of Dragon Age: Schism, the people of Ferelden are still recovering from the Blight, from the death of their king, from Loghain’s claims of Grey Warden treachery, etc. Many generations before, there was a Grey Warden rebellion against the then-king, Arland, for his tyrannical ways. The Wardens were slaughtered - either by the king’s troops or by the demons that the Warden mage Avernus summoned in desperation - and the Warden Order was cast out of Ferelden until King Maric assumed the throne and allowed them back in. He even reinstated their Right of Conscription (though, again, you can’t just RoC anyone and everyone all the time; that’s a good way to get it - and possibly the Order again - revoked real quick).

So the Wardens are on shaky ground in Ferelden, where our story is set and centered (just as in Origins/Awakening). There aren’t many of them (see list above because - again, aside from Justice - that’s literally all of them in the entire country) and people are still sort of side-eyeing them. They have Queen Anora’s support, but even that’s shaky, especially while Alistair - who could have taken the throne in her place - is still alive and kicking. The leader of the Wardens of Ferelden may also be the Hero of Ferelden, but, in the case of Schism-verse, is also a “knife-ear” (as the slur goes), and not Andrastian (she’s not Fantasy Christian, basically).  

[c-is-for-circinate]

It occurs to me that I promised y’all I’d tell you stories from the D&D campaign I’m running, and it’s now been a week since the first session, so I should definitely do some of that!  I can already tell it’s going to be a fun-as-shit campaign.  If nothing else, my party and I are collectively five variably-queer ladies who met at knitting group and range in age from “haven’t played D&D since 2e at GenCon in the 90′s” to “too young to remember fandom before AO3 existed”.  We’re real fucking cool.  I am going to have to explain, in detail, so many textiles and other interesting crafts.

I am a WORDY-ASS MOTHERFUCKER, so the whole tale will probably get pretty long in the telling, but: welcome to the continent of Nokomoris, on a world that probably has its own name but I haven’t decided on it yet because naming things is hard, dude.

[here’s where I will probably link game session posts in the future once they exist]

Hark, a backstory!  (And, our four players)

IF YOU RECOGNIZE THIS CAMPAIGN INFO BECAUSE YOU ARE PLAYING IT, CONSIDER YOURSELF UNDER DM ORDERS TO BACK OFF AND STOP READING.  I KNOW YOU FUCKERS ARE ON TUMBLR TOO, THERE IS A REASON I DIDN’T GIVE YOU MY HANDLE.  (I love you all very much and yes, there are spoilers in here.  Go away and text me now.)

Eastern Nokomoris, where our story takes place (or at least begins) is in a prosperous age of thriving city-states and collapsed kingdoms.  Most trade, culture, and even centralized government is based among the Nine Cities, massive metropolises located around the Attiks Sea and nearby lands.  Nearly a million people live in the nine cities, which are connected to each other via well-established sea and land trade routes, and also by what many are calling the most important technological/magical development of the modern age: a network of massive permanent teleportation circles, thirty feet in diameter.

The circle network is big enough to carry large trade wagons, livestock, huge parties of people, and even troops and war machines.  Sea and land trade has dropped by half between the Nine Cities in the past fifteen years, and continues to decline.  The cities themselves are thriving and prosperous, and it’s easier than ever to get beef and leather from Karna Vi, wool from Yefira, pottery from Celkan or metalwork from Tiers no matter where you live.

Outside of the cities, it’s another story.  Dozens of once-prosperous kingdoms, and even the whole of the Trava Empire, have fallen in the past seventy years: first during the Church Wars, and then in the yeas of chaos and rebuilding once the Wars were over.  Small towns everywhere that once paid taxes to a crown, and were protected in turn by royal troops and much-needed aid in times of hardship, have been left entirely to stand or fall on their own.  Some have thrived, becoming local centers of trade for whole coalitions of abandoned towns nearby.  Others have disappeared, died out, or simply faded into the wilderness, forgotten.  The great open plains of Highnorth where the Trava Empire once ruled, the endless golden sea of the Southgrass, the peaks and valleys of the Thavine Mountains, the deep many-colored forest of the Iris Peninsula--who knows what’s out there any more?

And in the Midlands, where the worst of the Church Wars took place...well, precious few towns even survived to rebuild in the first place.  Land that once held the most fertile farms in all Nokomoris is desolate now, scarred and cursed.  Most of the battlefield has been picked over by intrepid adventurers and out-of-work soldiers in the six decades since the Wars ended, already raided for magic and treasure.  The ruins remain, and the valleys where nothing will ever grow again, and the eternal shadow over the once-Holy City, and who knows what sorts of twisted things living in places people no longer go?

But it’s been sixty years since the Church Wars ended, and for most people, life is good.  Small-town farmers may no longer have the protection of any crown, but small technological advancements in plow design and crop rotation mean that they can produce more food than they need and sell the extra in the nearest city for coin.  More and more young people, freed from heavy labor on their parents’ farms, have learned reading, writing, history, and some amount of arcane talent.  The Grand Universities in the nine cities are thriving, full of scholars of all ages eager to learn and advance the course of knowledge everywhere.

Of course, there are ten times more scholars in the Grand Universities than there are professorships or other high-ranking positions to hire them to...and that is where our story begins.

.

Our intrepid party thus far includes:

Marion, a human paladin of indeterminate gender, whose human family stands among the nobles of the great city of Karna Vi, where our story begins.  Marion is an acolyte of the Church of Lost Things, which concerns itself with every god that does not easily fit within the purview of the other seven Churches, and also with every god that has been erased or forgotten by time (for all gods deserve worship, and all gods are capable of smiting those that neglect them, sooner or later).  They’re also a math major, largely because computer science hasn’t been invented yet.

Marion’s really hoping to be able to build and program a simple computing machine, a la Babbage’s Difference Engine (or Arthur C. Clarke’s The Nine Billion Names of God), to tabulate and generate all the possible names of every god ever to exist, which seems much more efficient than just combing piecemeal broken historical records trying to find them.  It has not been going well.  In a Church system where paladins are often more concerned with protecting people from the gods than for the gods, cracking this problem will let Marion figure out who the gods even are like nobody ever before.  But there are variables missing, and theomathematical constants they can’t even identify yet, let alone calculate--and they’re not going to find here.

Three interesting facts about Marion, as per their player: 

They once spent an entire week holed up in a lab over a holiday break and were declared missing-presumed-dead.  Police searches were involved.  It was a little bit of a scandal.

They are by far the most unremarkable and constantly forgotten member of their entire family.  (This perhaps says more about their family than about them.)

Everyone on campus is fairly sure they interfered with the campus clock tower specifically to give students more time on finals last semester.  This is false.  They were trying to run a different experiment entirely, messed with the clock tower by accident, and didn’t actually notice it was finals week even after it was over.

Kevin, an elf barbarian sportsball champion, hero of the university’s sportsball team for the past ten years straight.  Kevin is a foot and a half taller than any self-respecting elf ought to be, not to mention twice as broad.  He’s finally starting to acknowledge the fact that there is, in fact, no NFElf, and you can’t be a “professional sportsballer” within the Elven Ascendancy, and his bemused parents would really like him to do something with his life beyond playing those little games with the ball and all of those...non-elf people.

Kevin is also an art history student, mostly out of desire for an easy major that’ll make his parents happy while he happily spends most of his time out on the sportsball field.  He’s got high strength, basic middle intelligence, and negative wisdom.  He’s sat through more history classes than the entire rest of the party put together.  He understands approximately none of it.  Still--he can’t do sports forever, and art history makes his parents happy, and he might as well go on a quest to uncover lost art and artifacts and maybe prove he’s an actual adult sooner than later, right?

Three interesting facts about Kevin, as per his player:

Back in his home city playing little league sportsball, there were definite (and accurate) rumors about this wild elf that could and would straight-up squish opposing players.  That’s how the college recruiters found him in the first place.  It’s definitely why they wanted him.

He has so many groupies.  So many.  They come in so many different species and genders and Kevin is on board with every single one.  (On board?  On bed?  On convenient flat surface?  Does it particularly matter?  Not to Kevin!)

Kevin is covered in tattoos, and there are all sorts of rumors about what sort of eldritch magic they hold--like, that panther is probably a real panther bound by elven magic, right?  A pretty persistent rumor suggests that the tattoos all commemorate individual opposing team members he’s...either hospitalized or fucked, or both, literally nobody is sure.  (In point of fact, none of the above are true, and Kevin just has terrible taste in tattoos and a pretty stunning lack of both impulse control and supervision--but why quash the stories?)

Kou, a halfling bard whose girlfriend just left three weeks ago on a research expedition of her own, taking with her approximately 85% of Kou’s impulse control.  In theory, Kou is an alchemy major, studying science to make her scholar parents happy.  In practice, she probably spends more time sneaking into music seminars and/or busking on the street for spare change than actually doing alchemy, but her girlfriend was a Good Responsible Influence who made sure Kou didn’t get kicked out of the department, and to be fair, alchemy can blow things up sometimes so that’s always good.

Kou doesn’t so much have plans for the future as vague, contradictory aspirations, but that doesn’t mean she’s not smart.  She’s learned enough magic to use a set of recording stones to play, loop, and modulate beats or bits of music, thereby making her Nokomoris’s very first DJ, and she really wants to be a professional musician someday.  She just hasn’t figured out how to reconcile her dreams with her parents’ wishes, the lives they’ve worked so hard to create, or a halfling cultural legacy that has more to do with riding around snowfields covered in furs waving spears than it does with brightly-colored house parties.

Three interesting facts about Kou, as per her player:

Kou very definitely once spent a full day dressed up in halfling traditional garb, furs and all, including a very fuzzy fur hat.  It wasn’t until that evening that somebody saw the hat move and everyone realized she’d been wearing a curled-up live fox the whole time.

She once managed to create an incredibly destructive compound in alchemy lab out of ingredients that should not have actually been able to react that way.  She found out it was corrosive when she accidentally spilled it on six months’ worth of a different professor’s lab notes.  (She got an A anyway, because her lab professor hated the other guy, but that has more to do with Professors Ayanova and M’tiersi than Kou, really.)

She absolutely goes down to counter-protest every damn time those Family First assholes try to rally downtown in favor of child-producing (read: heterosexual, single-species) families.  Rumor says she once broke her guitar over a protester’s head, which horrifies her--Kou’s guitar is the most expensive thing she owns!  She used their own protest sign, like a sensible person.

Reigenleif, a mostly-female-probably gnome rogue known around campus as “Beer Run” for her skills at somehow always having access to better and cheaper beer than anyone else, and her general willingness to deliver to parties (for a small additional fee).  Reigenleif’s parents are small-time forgers who ended up mostly working for a local crime organization after a series of bad luck and political upheavals brought them to Karna Vi a few decades ago.  They really want their kids to go clean, avoid all the uncertainties and occasional jail sentences/executions that accompany a life of crime, and maybe make a little something of themselves.  Reigenleif, who has zero interest in staying on the right side of the law, mostly does odd jobs for a different, not-technically-rival criminal organization, and carefully does not tell her parents about it, ever.

Technically she’s an engineering major, and she’s more than got the brains for it, plus the accompanying curiosity about metallurgy and arcane artificing.  Still, she spends most of her time helpfully involving herself in other peoples’ projects rather than running her own.  (Her own projects have a lot more to do with figuring out new forging techniques and criminal tricks, and don’t look very good in the end-of-year department report.)  Enjoys causing trouble, not being in it.

Three interesting facts about Reigenleif, as per her player:

She absolutely owns a copy of the provost’s signet ring, which she can and has used to create documents allowing herself access to all sorts of University resources.  Like most things, she’ll share the use of it, quietly, for a price.  (She also owns a copy of Marion’s family signet ring, which is a much longer story that I as the DM do not know yet--can’t wait for that.)

Once captured and maneuvered a live swan into somebody’s office to cause as much chaos as possible so Reigenleif could get up to something somewhere else.  Is a little bit of a legend for it.

Aside from her not-actually-that-impressive family legacy of crime, Reigenleif’s spread a quiet rumor around school that she’s descended from the famous marauding pirate, Thrand Slender-Leg.  It’s possible that Thrand Slender-Leg never actually existed.  It’s possible that nobody had ever heard of him before Reigenleif made him up.  She’s certainly not telling.

[sciendere]

What’s This?

Snowdeke fluff, post S7 in my self indulgent headcanon where everyone gets a happy ending and absolutely nothing bad happens to anyone. 

Summary: The holidays can  be stressful, especially when it’s your first Terran Christmas and you’re still learning how to properly people. Deke is trying to help Snowflake navigate the holidays through the help of movies, and she finds herself relating in particular to the misadventures of one Jack Skellington. A series of scenes of Snowflake discovering and trying to understand Yuletide, as set to the lyrics of What’s This? from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Inspired by my Snowflake Christmas headcanon post.  Just tumblr now, this is the first fic I’ve completed in literal years and I’ve lost my AO3 login information because I’ve never really had anything to put there until tonight. Enjoy my odd little story please!

~

Adjusting to new cultures is never an easy thing. At least that’s what Deke kept repeating to himself under his breath as he tried, with his limited modern-day Earth knowledge, to help Snowflake acclimate herself to Terran life. She’d managed a basic grasp of most mundane daily situations- be friendly, be polite, and knives stay in your pocket- but special occasions, holidays in particular, were still a bit foreign to her. Routine was so much easier, especially when for years it was literally the only constant in her life. Something he even understood, so when words failed him, he had a secret weapon- passwords to every streaming service he had. Television and movies were his teacher, and now they were hers. December had come before they knew it, and as she watched the Thanksgiving Day parade, confused and bewildered by the strange-to-her things on display, he realized the time had come to teach her about the winter holidays, Christmas in particular. Christmas meant parties, parties meant company, and company meant the fiancee needed to be on her best and least embarrassing behavior. This was already a bit of a tall order for Snow, and for the most part, Deke let her eccentricities slide as long as there were no injuries or casualties, but he also didn’t want her to feel left out. “So,” he said one day, handing her the remote to the TV like a proud father handing his child the keys to their first car, “Christmas is coming. You need to learn about it.”

“Ooh, is it binge-watching time again?” she asked. Her eyes lit up. “I love binge-watching!”

“It’s binge-watching time,” Deke replied. “Your mission: gather as much intel on the Terran celebration of Christmas as you can. Preferably in the next week or so. Parties start early, yo.” “Mission accepted!” she squealed. She snuggled into the beat up couch in their apartment’s living room, making herself comfortable. “Great, have fun,” he said. “You want me to order pizza or anything?” “You know my regular order.” Deke rolled his eyes. Engaged life had its ups and downs, and one of them was having to recognize your woman, as much as you might have in common with her, will always disagree with you on extremely important topics. He sighed. “Pepperoni, canadian bacon, and pineapple,” he said, disgusted and horrified but still a supportive man to the very end.

“That’s my boy,” she said.

~ A few hours later, stacks of pizza had been devoured by both of them during that evening’s Christmas movie marathon, and Deke had dozed off beside Snow on the couch. They’d worked their way through several of the classics- Elf, Muppet Christmas Carol, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Miracle on 34th Street, and A Christmas Story- and Snow clicked her way lazily through the titles on the screen, looking for one that really caught her eye without Deke’s helpful advice to guide her. She’d come to understand the holiday a bit from them, but it was still so foreign. The movies were good, but she just didn’t grasp entirely the sentiments behind them.  One in particular truly stood out to her, one that from the poster art didn’t even look like much of a Christmas movie at all, but instead, bore a smiling dapper cartoon skeleton man. “The Nightmare Before Christmas?” she read off the screen. It was certainly different from the other titles she’d seen. “Awesome.” She hit play on the menu and watched as the stop-motion puppets filled her screen, already in love with the morbid imagery. Finally, a movie that spoke to her soul. Deke woke up about half way into the movie, to find Snow beside him paying rapt attention to it. “Huh what’s this… oh Nightmare Before Christmas? Always watched it at Halloween myself but I guess it’ll do too.” “This movie is amazing! Jack’s just like me.. He just wants to learn and figure out Christmas and he sang a whole song and he’s just trying to make Christmas for everyone!” Snow pointed to the screen, where Jack was puzzling over the secret to Christmas. “See? That’s me now,” she said. Deke just smiled, happy his woman was happy. Maybe she’d figure out this Christmas thing in time… ~

Nightmare became a favorite for her over the next few days. Though she still puzzled over Christmas, Deke had begun to walk her through the holiday by explaining it to her the best he could, but late at night she’d return to Halloweentown, feeling a little less alone in Jack’s bewilderment at a world he loved but also didn’t totally understand. Of all the songs, “What’s This?” captured her feelings best, she thought, not just about Christmas, but getting used to another world entirely.

~ What's this? What's this?

There's color everywhere

What's this?

There's white things in the air

What's this? “So.. the white ornaments on the trees are-”

Snowflake had never cut Deke off faster, and she was used to him saying several stupid things a day. “I swear to gods, Deke, if you even try to explain the concept of snowflakes and snow to me. Like I don’t know what my own damn name means. It’s the one thing I DO get about the holidays.” She smiled, but it was one of her smiles laced in venom and dried blood on the blade of a dagger, one where you were reminded, and fast, she’d spent years as the galaxy’s deadliest assassin, and she could go back to that life anytime if she really wanted.

He chuckled nervously but knew she meant business, even if she was joking. And God help him if he ever wound up on her bad side. “Yes’m,” he said. 

“False advertising, though, there’s none out here right now even though it’s winter. I feel like it’s just a tease to throw those picturesque landscapes at you when we don’t know what the weather on the 25th will be at all just yet. This is a planet with varying climates, is it not?” “Well, yes…”

“Then why is it being advertised like we’re on a frozen planet?” “Snow, honey, it’s stylistic, just don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink most of it. In fact, thinking? Highly overrated in general.” “First time you’ve made sense all day. You know, though,” she said, “it’s not hard to pretend half the songs on the radio right now are actually about me. Because everyone here just loves me that much.” “You were wanted for murder and larceny in five states before I bribed Daisy into hacking their law enforcement’s networks to clear your name.” And it was expensive as hell too,  he thought to himself. “Let it Snow. Is about me.” “Right, right,” Deke said. “You’re right.”  

~

What's this?

There are people singing songs

What's this?

The streets are lined with

Little creatures laughing

Everybody seems so happy

“So you’re just telling me people go out in big groups and sing in public places, not even for money, and no one really cares? And they’re called… Curlers?” Swing and a miss, Deke thought, but he gave her points for genuinely trying. The two were on a park bench listening to a choir sing in the city park. “Carolers. Curlers play a weird ice sport with brooms and a rock.” “Who’s Carol? What’s she got to do with it? Should I know about her? Is she the lady statue over there?” Snowflake pointed to a nearby church’s Nativity scene and Deke quickly pushed her hand down, praying the awkward stares from passerby stayed at a minimum.

“It’s just another word for song, they just.. They sing. To make people happy, make them remember stuff. It’s fun.” She still struggled at the idea of being a street performer just for the enjoyment of it, not sure why anyone would do anything like that without it getting them money, but it was simultaneously the most adorable thing she’d ever heard. “I’m glad they’re doing it. Their singing is pretty.” ~ Oh, look

What's this?

They're hanging mistletoe, they kiss

Why that looks so unique, inspired

It was the afternoon and Snow couldn’t help but notice the weird little bit of twigs hanging over the doorway of the kitchen. “Deke, there’s plants on the doorframe! What have you been up to this time?” “Decorating?”

She reached for the leaves the best she could with her tiny frame and sniffed up into the air. “Mistletoe,” she said. “We had this on my planet. Leaves and berries are poisonous. Really good for if you want to take someone out without a lot of mess- is this a present? For me? Who do you need-” “Wait wait wait- Snowflake NO, no one is getting poisoned.” 

She frowned. “Waste of good mistletoe if you ask me. What is it for, then?” “So… you hang mistletoe from doorways, and if you and your love walk under it… you kiss.” “We kiss under the poisonous, parasitic bush?” She was confused but intrigued by this strange custom. “Look, it’s tradition, don’t ask questions, I don’t know either.” “And I thought Terrans were soft… that’s the most badass thing I’ve ever heard of in my life. Kiss me under the poison.” “You really don’t need to put it like that-” Deke said, but before he could finish, Snow had pulled him in for a kiss. One he happily returned. He wasn’t about to waste some good mistletoe, after all. ~ They're gathering around to hear a story

Roasting chestnuts on a fire

Snow threw a copy of The Night Before Christmas across the bedroom. “No, I’ve tried to understand so much of this holiday, most of it I’m coming around to, but this? This is where I draw the line.”

“Sweetie, it’s a kid’s book, it’s not that big a deal-” “No, I’m not upset about a book,” she said, “This… this Santa? No sense at all,” she said. “The sleigh is just magic, like any other kid’s story, you really don’t have to try that hard to understand it.” “Oh no,” she replied, “the sleigh makes perfect sense to me. Santa knows what’s up, you put in your coordinates, fiddle with a few things, the ley lines get you to the nearest destination. Easy, basic dimensional travel, even if it might be a bit more efficient if he didn’t insist on using reindeer. Makes all the sense in the world to me, the rest of you all just need to get on our level. But everything else about the big man… No.”

“I’m going to hear about your problems with him whether I want to or not, aren’t I?” Deke asked. “Bingo,” she said. “You people are just okay with a man in a red suit breaking and entering? To leave presents for children? A man in velvet and fur does that, it’s holiday spirit, I do that, and it’s ‘creepy’ and ‘wrong’ and ‘next time, Snowflake, just knock’” “I warned you Nana and Bobo have been Terran all their lives and they were going to take your ‘extreme baby surprise’ a bit differently than you thought they would.” “And I told you it’s good for the little brat, keeps them on their toes and gives them a bit of exciting mystery in life. So I get why the Terran children love this story so much, even if I think it’s a case of double standards. But the man’s clothes are simply not stealthy or tactical. You can’t sneak in red, especially on your mythical white Christmases, you’re going to stick out from a mile away! And don’t get me started on the chimney… what happens if you don’t have one. We don’t have one, would Santa just climb in through the window? Lockpick?”

Deke nodded. She made several points, even if it was a bit much for her to approach Santa through the perspective of her area of expertise. “I got nothing on those last two points.”

“He goes to all that work… for snack food,” Snow said. “At least you lot could tip your home invaders a bit better. I’d expect at least large sums of money, in small unmarked bills, for that kind of performance.” Deke nodded. Milk and cookies really did seem like an unfair trade-off for overnight delivery. “I hear what you’re saying but that’s just the Christmas spirit for you, he’s grateful just for the snacks. He does it to be giving. At least, I think that’s supposed to be the point of it all.” 

His reply took her aback. She would rather lose her right hand than admit Deke was right in this conversation, easily, but at the same time, she could see the little nugget of truth in what he had to say. One that made her stop and think. Snow pulled herself out of bed and walked across the room to pick the book up. “But all that aside, it’s a lovely story,” she said quickly. “Even if nothing about it makes sense.” “You never make sense. Like. In general.” “I know. Get used to it, because we don’t do sense in this household.” “Wouldn’t have you any other way.” ~ What's this?

In here they've got a little tree, how queer

And who would ever think

And why?

They're covering it with tiny little things

They've got electric lights on strings

 “This one,” she said, “this is the perfect ornament for the dead tree.” Snow waved a Christmas ornament in front of Deke’s face in the packed gift shop, a kitten in a gift box holding the banner “Meowy Christmas.”

“For the last time, it’s called a Christmas tree,” Deke said. “Even if it… is… a dead tree. Technically.”

“Well the dead tree needs a festive Flerken on it,” she said, putting the bauble in his shopping basket. “They’re cats here, snowbunny,” Deke whispered, “cats.”

“Cat, Flerken, potayto potahto, isn’t that how it goes? We have to buy these too,” she said, putting a box of round glass ornaments into the basket. Deke looked in and was unsurprised to see glittering snowflakes painted on all of them. 

“These are just regular ball ornaments we have plenty of- oh,” he said. He knew despite her original misgivings about the guarantees of weather, the snowy motifs made her feel a little less alone and out of place, and had been playing along for a while with her insistence they were about her. “Of course we need them.”

“That’s how everyone will know the tree is mine,” she said proudly. 

“We have enough now,” Deke said. “Our tree isn’t that big, and we still have lights and garland for it-” “No,” she insisted, and another boxed ornament was in her hand. “Just one more?” The ornament was a ceramic retro styled semi truck, decked out in Christmas lights and wreaths. Deke looked at it, and spent a second in confusion as to why she’d want such a mundane thing on the tree, until it clicked.  Despite the hard times she’d had in her past, she still had a few fond memories of her adventures with the crew- Jaco in particular- and an occasional homesickness for her intergalactic, interdimensional home for so many years. And for all her confusion, she’d seemed to figure out part of Christmas was celebrating the past. “We.. we never had Christmas… or much of any holidays, really, it happens when you can’t really stay in one place for too long, on there… but it’d be like this, if we had,” she said. “You know.. Just in memory of the family who couldn’t make it.”

Deke nodded. He’d lost his family going back in time too, and understood how Snow felt. The tree was covered in lemons as a sort of nod to his past, and adding snowflakes and trucks to that mix just seemed right. 

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll buy this one more thing.” “One more? Oh no,” she said, and in her hands was a strand of lights with clear snowflakes around the bulbs. “That dead tree isn’t done until you can barely see tree under it.”

Deke smiled. She was starting to get it.

~

The smell of cakes and pies

Are absolutely everywhere

 “What’s your favorite sweet?” Deke asked, out of nowhere at breakfast on a cold December morning, a few days before Christmas. 

“Huh?”

“Nana and Bobo are coming Christmas morning. So we’ll be doing the cooking this year and having our dinner with them. I thought I’d make the actual dinner, you could maybe do the baking and something sweet for dessert? I know you love sweets.” 

Snow thought for a moment, then started listing things, counting them off on her fingers. “Cookies.. Pies.. cakes.. Bread-” She stopped suddenly. 

“What’s wrong?” Deke asked. “I thought you loved all the treats you’ve been trying this month.”

“I do, they’ve all been divine. I just thought of my options for baking and then I thought of how much Jaco would love this time of year… He taught me a few things and I can probably use that knowledge to make just about anything, but it’s just not the same without him there to give me advice.” Her blue eyes grew big with bittersweet memories and Deke could see the sparkle of tears forming in them. Her sad face always destroyed him, knowing all the pain and loss her expression held. Deke grabbed for her hands and held them tightly. 

“We have cookbooks… we can call Nana for advice, she’s a biochemist, baking is just chemistry you eat… we can watch videos if you get stuck. I know it won’t be the same, and I know nothing will ever replace what he meant to you, as a big brother.”

Snow nodded. 

“But he’s also always right there in your heart, no matter what,” Deke said. “Nana taught me that about loss, people never really leave us, as long as we remember them. So bake the most delicious Christmas treats you can, and make him proud. And as long as you do that, as long as you use what you learned from him, Jaco will be with us.” 

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I’ll do the best baking anyone’s ever tried, and it’s all going to be in his memory.” “That’s the spirit. So what are you making, then?” Deke asked her. 

“Everything!”

~

The sights, the sounds

They're everywhere and all around

I've never felt so good before

This empty place inside of me is filling up

I simply cannot get enough

 Navigating last minute shopping downtown was the last thing Deke expected to be a challenge for the two of them, but it had become one. It was a case of Snowflake’s natural, corvid-like attraction to shiny, sparkly objects- and Deke trying to stop her before her natural kleptomaniac impulses could kick in-against her lack of acclimation to so much sparkling, bright, merry surroundings. Spending a  good part of your life in a dimly lit truck was something that stuck with you for a while, and even on the most neon lit planet she’d paid a visit on her journey, nothing could top the spectacle of Earth during the Christmas season. Every surface sparkled and shone with bright lights and glitter and tinsel and foil, every storefront played happy tunes about warm feelings, and the jingle of bells was never too far, as though magic simply floated through the atmosphere at that time of year. 

It was everything Snow ever loved, but it was also so, so much, almost too much for her at times. The sensory overload tired her out and she quietly pulled on Deke’s arm, guiding him to a nearby bench. He understood immediately and followed her to sit down beside her.

“I think I’m finally starting to understand this Christmas,” Snowflake said. “It’s still strange to me in a lot of ways, but whatever, life is boring without a little strangeness, isn’t it?” 

“Guess that means as long as I’ve got you my life will never be boring, then,” Deke replied. Snow playfully punched him in the arm, even though she knew he was right.

“I’ve seen so much in my short life and so many different worlds but this is the first I’ve seen where everyone spends a month just being kind to one another, giving out of the goodness of their hearts, inviting others into their homes to share food and company and good times, just loving each other. Before I came here… we didn’t have a lot. We were poor constantly, we only really had each other, and we ate almost every meal like it was our last because we never knew when our next would be coming. It’s so different going from that… to all this.”

Deke held her tight. “But you know things are different for you now, right? You don’t have to worry anymore, you know that.”

“I do, and that’s why I understand. Because I feel like that’s what all this is about. The winter is dark and cold and long, and sometimes, people don’t have what you do, and we just have each other. So we make everything brighter and warmer and share what we have with people who might not. We remember the people we love who might not be here. And it makes that darkness just a little easier to get through, if we get through it together.”

Deke was at a loss for words. He himself had never considered Christmas that way, but what she had to say was absolutely right. The two were from such different backgrounds, but in the end, they weren’t that different, two people who were thrown from their normal into something totally new. He was proud of her for coming to that conclusion by herself, because deep inside, it sorted things out for him, too. 

“You know, I don’t understand as much as I pretend to sometimes, in fact I understand literally nothing, but I think you’re right.”

“I figured it out with your help. I’m so grateful I have you to help me learn and feel less alone, less weird, less different. You’re better than any present anyone could ever give me.”

“Really? I just do my best…”

“It’s all we really can do, isn’t it?”

~

I want it, oh, I want it

Oh, I want it for my own

I've got to know

I've got to know

What is this place that I have found?

What is this?

Christmas Town, hmm

 It was Christmas morning, and the grandparents were due, and Deke was mildly nervous about how well the future granddaughter in law would go over with them. Although it took a while to get them acclimated to their… eccentric… new family member, Fitz and Jemma, on the whole, were able to move past their initial misgivings and find aspects of her they could both admire and focus on, rather than the fact a woman they met after she tried to murder one of their found family, would soon be married into theirs. “Just… try to not horrify them too much,” he reminded her that morning. “I know in-laws can be difficult, but I think we can manage the best Christmas ever as a family, too.”

“Deke, I’ll be fine,” Snow reassured him. She was dressed for the festive occasion, wearing a knit sweater, covered, of course, in silver foil yarn snowflakes. The words LET IT SNOW filled the front of it. “It’s not like I’ve never met them before.” She reached into the oven and pulled out a tray of gingerbread people to cool. Sitting on the kitchen table was an array of the goodies she’d stayed up all night baking. After all, she needed something to do to pass the time in case Santa paid them a visit, so she could sit down with him and teach him basic stealth principles. Platters of cookies in various shapes and varieties- snickerdoodle stars,  sugar cookie snowflakes, and a small pile of shortbread butterflies- and a big basket of fluffy herbed rolls, a recipe she’d learned years ago from Jaco, covered almost every surface. “What do you think? They’re going to love it.”

Deke smiled. “It’s great but.. Where am I going to put the turkey, or just about anything else?”

“We have a whole living room,” Snow said, and Deke raised a finger and opened his mouth, ready to point out maybe that was a better place for the sweets, but he wasn’t about to be a buzzkill when she was in such an excited mood. 

“Right, right, living room turkey. Classic Christmas tradition. Right.” This was going to be a fun one to explain to Nana and Bobo… who were ringing the doorbell that very minute.

“I’ll get it-” Deke insisted, but Snowflake was already opening the door to welcome the two in. “Merry Christmas!” she squealed, in a cheerful singsong voice. Fitz tried to dodge her embrace by sidestepping her, but her well-trained reflexes were faster, and he found himself in an awkward hug from the tiny woman, sending desperate looks Jemma’s way. His wife gave him a look that said, without any words, oh no, she’s your problem now. “Bobo!”

“Pleasedon’tcallmethat,” Fitz muttered under his breath. Jemma helpfully pulled Snow off him to give her adopted future granddaughter in law a hug, only for Deke to quickly swoop in on his grandpa before he could even enjoy his newfound freedom.  Snow was surprised. She’d always had a harder time getting through to Nana, but maybe it was the holiday spirit bringing them a little closer today. Just a bit more of that magic she’d never totally understand, but that was fine.

“Oh, Snow, how have you been hanging in there?” Jemma asked her. 

“Baking!” Snow said proudly. “So many cookies in the kitchen, and more coming, please eat them so Deke doesn’t have to put the turkey in the living room!” Jemma mouthed something that looked like “what?” to Deke and he replied silently with one of his usual “don’t ask” shrugs. 

“Great, I need coffee. We grabbed the redeye flight and I wasn’t about to pay ten dollars at the airport,” Fitz said. “Bloody crooks.” 

“Also in the kitchen, unless Snow finished it in the ten minutes since I made the pot,” Deke said. He was eager to diffuse some of the awkwardness that was growing in the apartment. A little awkwardness might be part of the holidays, too, but it seemed to run more in this family than others. A little strangeness keeps life from being boring, that’s what Snow said, he reminded himself. But if he could help it, he preferred to not exhaust the entire day’s supply this early in the morning. 

~

After a delicious Christmas dinner -where the turkey, thankfully, remained on the kitchen table- the Fitzsimmons-Shaw-Snowflake family gathered in the living room to enjoy one another’s company by the fireplace. Card games were played, stories were told, and everyone just seemed to come a little closer together.

“Hey Snow,” Deke said, during a bit of a lull, as their feast began catching up to everyone and making them tired, “why don’t you put on a Christmas movie for us?” 

“I’d love to!” she said. “Deke taught me about Christmas watching these, and you know? I really love Earth more now. It’s the only planet that does all this.” She turned the TV on and from the menu, flipped over to the movie that had been making her feel like she  truly belonged over the last few weeks, the one she knew almost by heart. The soundtrack kicked in and a voiceover started. “Now, you’ve probably wondered where holidays come from… if you haven’t, I think it’s time you’ve begun-”

“Snow, are you sure you want to go with this one?” Deke asked, realizing oh god, she’s really going to play Nightmare Before Christmas for Nana and Bobo. Not Elf, not Christmas Vacation, this one. 

“Of course! It taught me so much, the least I can do is share that with your grandparents,” she said. Deke looked desperately at Jemma and Fitz, hoping for at least disapproving or bewildered expressions from them to convince Snow- well, really, him, and he knew this- that this was a bad idea, but to his surprise, they seemed okay with her offbeat choice. 

“That’s so sweet,” Jemma said. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one, either.”

Deke shrugged. If the grandparents were happy, so was he. He poured everyone another mug of hot cocoa,  as This Is Halloween started playing in the background, 

Sometimes the best gifts at Christmas didn’t come in packages. Sometimes the best gift was the gift of family, the gift of memories, the gift of time spent with those close, and if this Christmas brought his family, new and old, closer together, then for him, it was truly a Christmas worth celebrating. 

[callioope]

Good Things in 2019

@theputterer and @the-strongest-stars tagged me in the awesome annual end-of-year Good Things meme! I’ve done this in 2018 & 2017 and always think it’s a fun exercise of both reflection and looking forward.

Oh boy, though, my first thought was, what even happened in 2019? (Looking at a calendar helped! It reminded me of a few things I forgot)

It’s been a Rough Year, friends. Between OCD and basically travelling almost every weekend in the latter half of 2019, I am very much ready for a new year and hopefully a new slate.

But this is about the positives!

Personal

Played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons! I am now officially in two campaigns. This year, I endeavored to recruit more women to play, including the wonderful @allatariel. I play both my beloved cleric, Maritsa (who I’ve been playing her years now) and my new character, Noara, a ranger elf with a red panda familiar (yeah, my DM let me do that for funsies, so I could get an animal sidekick but also still try out the Horizon Walker subclass). 

Speaking of red pandas, I accomplished my LIFE GOAL of meeting a red panda face-to-face. I got to feed Harriet at the Cincinnati Zoo for 30 minutes. She was adorable. 

Completed all my dental work and had a clean bill of dental health two cleanings in a row! 

Attended DC’s Around the World Embassy Day event, always fun

Attended Star Wars night at a local library, where I got to participate in a short demo/lesson on how to fence with a lightsaber!

Attended 50th Anniversary Celebration of Apollo 11 / landing on the moon (dude they projected the rocket on the Washington Monument and it looked so cool)

Returned to the NY Ren Faire and upgraded my ren faire garb

Celebrated at THREE friends’ weddings and got to catch up with old friends I hadn’t seen in awhile

Ate ice cream at the Ben & Jerry’s Factory in Vermont

Went to NYCC for the third year in a row. Got to wear 2 costumes this year: a 1920s flapper interpretation of an occamy and my Endor!Leia costume (repeat of 2017). Learned the True Pain of sewing. Created feather shawl for my occamy costume. Learned the True Pain of crafting.

Celebrated one year anniversary with hubbie down where we got married: visited the museum we got married in and actually got a chance to enjoy the exhibits, went to our favorite brunch place down there, got to check out Fleet Week and tour an aircraft carrier and uh... I think it was a missile cruiser? 

Went up to PSU for a women’s hockey game for sister’s birthday (made embarrassing HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign for the cameras); also it was an absolutely wonderful fall drive on the way up there

Got to see The Rise of Skywalker in IMAX at the Smithsonian Air & Space Center with the awesome @allatariel! (thank goodness we had each other to get through that movie lol) also got to reuse my Endor!Leia costume. I did my own braids for the first time ever! (usually my talented sister does them) They looked like braids done by a n00b, but I didn’t care because they were passable and I did them myself and that was a Big Thing for Perfectionist Me (to not just... say screw it and undo it and just. give up. but to just let them be as is)

Worked hard at therapy and self care

Got a Sleep Number bed and holy shit let me tell you. i can actually sleep now.

OH! I almost forgot!!! Started playing Assassin’s Creed! I’ve only ever really played the LEGO Star Wars and Harry Potter video games so like. This was big for me. 

Writing

Finally finished Learning Curve. TBH I was a bit shocked that this was in fact the only fic I published in 2019. What a travesty.

However! I have been writing

@allatariel & I sat down, overanalyzed You’ve Got Mail, and drafted up the outline for my in-universe AU, something I’ve been dreaming of starting for years. Have about 4300 words so far.

Just under the wire, I did manage to start my NatGeo AU, which I’ve been dreaming of since my honeymoon in Nov 2018

Started editing/revising my original young adult fantasy novel

Poked a little at my epic fantasy pirate travel novel idea

Books

I read exactly one book, Among the Red Stars, which I enjoyed. It’s about women fighter pilots in Russia in WW2. Inspired by real people.

Music

Saw Panic at the Disco! in concert. I went along with my sister. Not like a huge fan, but they put on a pretty fun show!

Saw Waitress on Broadway!! OH MY GOD. And Sara Bareilles was starring in it. Amazing. I freaking love her music (”How does she know / what a heart sounds like?” gahhh). She was so good, and the show was so good. I literally cried all the way through it just because I was so happy to be there, but also because of the content. Man.

Saw Sara Bareilles again, in concert, in Philly. I love her so much.

Television

Finished Critical Role Campaign 1! Oh man, what a ride. Gosh, I love that show. I really need to catch up in C2 now. I’ve started it but I’m only on episode 26 or 27.

I’m not sure whether I finished The Clone Wars in 2018 or 2019. I think it was early 2019. This show was amazing and this was the character development that Anakin Skywalker needed. I love Ahsoka Tano. I cannot wait for the last season.  

Finished Rebels!!! AGAIN, what a ride!!! I still love Ahsoka Tano. I also love Hera Syndulla and Sabine Wren. Sabine’s Darksaber arc was fantastic.

The Mandalorian OMG BABY YODA!!! Yes, I have succumbed to the adorableness of Baby Yoda. Most adorable SW character forever. But also just an enjoyable story in general. This, this is how you craft a story. still NOT over the darksaber omg. 

The Good Place is continuing to be good. Not as crazy about season 4, but I’m so glad they decided to limit the seasons.

Got my sister to watch Rebels!! And then even a few episodes of The Clone Wars!!! Mwahaha >) 

Finally got around to watching The Great British Bake Off, what a sweet show!

OMG I ALMOST FORGOT Anne With an E!!! Gosh what a wonderful wholesome delightful show. No I haven’t watched S3 yet because I am Lawful Good to a fault and just patiently waiting for it to come on Netflix

Film

So, I woefully neglected to mention The Aeronauts in this post about my favorite movies in the 2010s and that was a Mistake. Because I really enjoyed this one

But otherwise probably check out that list. Because I don’t go to the movies that often, actually, and anything I really loved from 2019 is most definitely listed there.

Did I meet my 2019 Goals?

Writing: Fandom

Finish Learning Curve YES

...and How to Lose a Spy in 10 Days Uh, no, not so much

Begin and complete the in-canon universe You’ve Got Mail AU YES, it is begun but no it is not complete

Try to knock out a few other projects on my 30+ SW ideas Umm, I did start / poke at a few things in addition to the YGM and NatGeo AUs, but nothing really “knocked out”

Try my hand at creating more visual fan works (like moodboards/photosets, step 1, learn proper terminology) ahahahah, no. 

Writing: Original

Query more agents for my completed original novel YIKES, No. But I wasn’t anticipating that I’d decide to heavily edit/revise my manuscript.

Actually get around to deciding which idea I want to work on next and work on it Yeah, sure, I decided. How nice of past!Liz to make this goal so reachable as “deciding” lol

Reading

Be more supportive in helping my friend run Book Club so that it can actually meet more regularly HA, oops. Book Club died, but kind of in favor of being able to start a second D&D campaign. At least that’s the trade off I’m looking at. I had some OCD-related glasses issues this year that inhibited reading a lot.

Try to read at least one book for myself outside of Book Club lol WELL the one book I read this year was not part of Book Club sooo

Goals for 2020

Writing

I’m not going to make this a completion goal, but instead...

...I’d like to just focus on creating a regular writing schedule/habit. Whatever the project, I just want to make sure I carve out significant time each week just to write. I don’t want to set a specific goal like “x hours a week” for now, but I want to make sure that I am writing each week.

To achieve that (because what are goals without maps):

If the words don’t immediately jump onto the page, then I’m going to try outlining or summarizing. I’m going to let go of overthinking how sentences are phrased, and just pretend I’m describing the story idea to a friend.

That blank page is staring at me and I’m just going to fill it with words no matter what I might think of them!

And I’m going to let everything else expand from there. And see how that works.

Edit my original manuscript

Query more agents re: original manuscript

Look into the idea of perhaps forming or joining a writer’s group for original writing oh gosh that is so scary

Other

Get back into reading

Develop a routine for working out

Eat healthier

Continue focusing on therapy goals

Get around to watching: Black Sails, Mad Max: Fury Road, Arrival

Get better at responding to things in general

Tagging: @allatariel, @magalis, @mythologicalmango, @skitzofreak, @threadsketchier, @brynnmclean, @ruby-red-inky-blue, @siachti and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it!

Happy New Year y’all!

[greensconnor]

i’m asking about your dragon age characters

molly i would KILL for u im ur personal hitman now

anyway i said my city now because the entire bioware writing team sucks shit xoxo and i’m so much smarter than all of them but also fully incapable of having a normal amount of ocs for anything (see: the time i made 20 rwby ocs in less than two weeks) so i have. five worldstates here r some assorted thoughts

uhhh so the worldstates r as follows

eira mahariel (two-handed berserk/champ spec), rhett hawke (two-handed berserk spec), alas lavellan (mage knight enchanter spec), romanced alistair/fenris/dorian respectively

shiv tabris (dual wield duelist/assassin spec), radella “rads” hawke (mage spirit healer spec), kat adaar (two-handed reaver spec), romanced morrigan/isabela/cassandra respectively because im a pc gamer and i think i should be able to date whatever video game woman i like because im infinitely better than cishet men

this world state said yeah i respect mens rights. mens rights to shut the fuck up

twins bronson (sword/shield reaver spec) & bryant cousland (archer ranger spec), carmine hawke (archer assassin spec), syracuse trevelyan (dual wield tempest spec), romanced zevran/anora/josephine/bull. if ur wondering how that works my city now and the warden, hawke and the inquisitor should all meet and so they do because i Said So

riva amell (mage arcane warrior/battlemage spec), graham “gray” hawke (mage force spec), hellathen “hela” lavellan (archer assassin spec); romanced cullen/anders and later blackwall because hawke only likes men who will break his heart. hela doesn’t have a romance because she’s literally 20. who let her lead the inquisition (me it was me). also it should be noted the version of cullen i have in my head only vaguely resembles actual cullen because i write better than dragon age writers ever could and i gave him an Actual Cohesive Narrative and he gets bullied relentlessly for being scrawnier than his mage boyfriend

malien “mal” surana (mage spirit healer/keeper spec), jules hawke (sword/shield reaver spec), ash adaar (mage rift spec), romanced leliana/merrill/krem because i should have been able to kiss krem and its a Crime that i am not allowed to

knight enchanter is a Very op specialization and by Very op i mean it makes a mage with their built-in low constitution stats able to solo the biggest baddest dragon in the game on nightmare mode in under five minutes so like. alas lavellan fist fights dragons for fun send tweet

i think lavellans should be able to hit ppl with bricks for all the shit they endure. thus solas gets pranked by mahariel and alas by which i mean they just tip buckets of water onto him from the rookery

kat might be my only competent inquisitor but she did also try to knock out the right hand of the divine and attempt to gap even tho there’s fucky magic burning up her hand so does she have a brain cell? you decide

also its fantasy land and i do what i want so kat has blue/gold sectoral heterochromia

gray “mage rights” hawke is best friends with fenris which surprises literally everyone. their friendship started because they got into a fist fight and then they were like okay i respect u now. hawke is like hey fenris give me ur sword i have a fun trick to show u [uses his sword as a foci to zap carver in the ass with lightning]

i am Always thinking abt like how cullen could have been one man anti-chantry propaganda machine if he hadn’t so blatantly been shoehorned into every game past origins so anyway bioware forgot about a wholeass moon i can write what i like. [holds up cullen by the scruff of his stupid armor] not only are you bisexual you are also a bottom

i also Hate the whole uwu mage haters get fixed by romancing a mage

unlocked secret dialogue option where my inquisitors verbally cuss out dorian’s dad instead of whatever sympathetic narrative the writers were going for cuz its bullshit.

riva is a showoff and a Menace about being as good as he is because he unabashedly loves being a mage and hes like oooh look at me im sexy i dont need to use my hands to cast magic because i’m just that good ;)) and you know what. hes right.

gray, on the other hand, does Not want to be mage. he wants to be a druffalo farmer and retire in the hinterlands and be left the fuck alone. unfortunately he is gay and has one brain cell and terrible, terrible taste in men. ribbed relentlessly for this by riva (altho does he have room to talk hes been hung up on cullen since he was like 13)

shiv is trans n kieran is the result of doing the dark ritual with her wife and he looks a Lot like shiv (dark skin pointed ears, shock-white hair) and morrigan always just Assumed she dyed it or did something magic with it so seeing their kid come out like that was a WEIRD time for her

leliana almost Murdered by cassandra in worldstate 5 because the warden is Actually There The Whole Time, but its been 10 years, mal’s cut off all her hair and gotten full facial tattoos and she’s like “no one will know its me its fine” and she’s right. she gets away with it. only cullen like, Knows, because he knew her before the blight but he doesnt have a death wish n he like. will Not piss her off

shes dalish by birth n she was stolen from her clan by templars and thus is vehemently anti-circle and anti-chantry in general

uhhh the vallaslin (elf face tattoos) of my 4 dalish characters are:

eira = ghilan’nain (chose em cuz shes rlly interested in the navigation aspect of the goddess)

alas = falon’din (god of the dead n he picked them because he’s Also the god of fortune and alas is like tee hee fun but also he can and will kill u if u fuck with him so yk its fitting)

hela = june (god of the craft bc she likes to Make things but june is also the god who taught the elves 2 hunt and hela is. a hunter.)

mal = elgar’nan (allfather/god of vengeance bc. she is Vengeful. she is Angry. but yk fucking with shem politics and fucking their divine is like. mal may have little a retribution. as a treat.) yes she has the full half-face solid colour tattoo she does NOT fuck around.

bronson and bryant r not genetically identical but they Look similar enough 2 anyone who doesn’t know them well enough 2 play spot the distance. anora and bronson think this is a super fun game to play, especially when nobles realize they’ve swapped out the king but they’re too nervous to say anything

eira mahariel has two hands. one is for holding hands with alistair and the other is for throttling elven gods, apparently. she’s killed one before so solas she’s coming for your bitch ass next. watch urself.

speaking of eira and alistair are married thru dalish tradition and humans don’t recognize it n alistair loves 2 re-propose to her with random things. he’ll just pick up like. a bit of cheese and be like “marry me ;)” and she’s like GASP but whatever will the chantry say!!!! all of their friends r sick of them

“vhenan if you love me bring me a sword” “you think i could do better than a sword made out of space rock?” “:)”

eira is my youngest hero at 18 at the start of her game and kat is my oldest at 32 at the start of her game.

none of my hawkes are under six foot. rhett is the tallest (6′8″) and rads is the shortest (6′2″).

syracuse trevelyan would have been the Perfect inquisitor if he were not a pretty boy himbo and a gay bastard who does Most Things just to spite his parents.

[corypheus pointing at syracuse’s visage in his crystal orb thingo] i want that twink obliterated

i love the companions from older games return thing i truly do so i make it a point for Every companion to return in inquisition so the gang rlly is all here because i am a Slutte for found family

i lie in my keep worldstates because i dont want to choose between hawke and alistair during here lies the abyss but i never make him king and every time i play inquisition and cole has the wicked grace line it makes me Scream. alistair baby im so sorry i did this to you but i didnt actually do this to you

yes this is my everyone lives au but like. all the time. i have never left hawke in the fade and i do not intend to.

fuck whatever nonsense about wardens not being able 2 have kids. by sheer divine power (me) anora and bryant have three daughters; eleanor, sabina & cecelia n both bronson and zevran make Excellent uncles because i think anora deserves good things because i’m tired of bioware being like women bad, actually,

so like most of the time i have the warden & hawke turning up after the move to skyhold n then staying on, with the exception of bryant, carmine & mal. mal is as mentioned previously just There the whole time with her girlfriend. bryant steps in as king of ferelden w/ interests in closing the big hole in the sky spewing demons in2 his kingdom yk. carmine shows up because she wants to help & she wants protection for bethany but she outright says she’d rather die than be inquisitor so cassandra is shit out of luck.

“CHANGE HER MIND VARRIC” “she once doubled down on insisting amaranth was a shade of blue because she didn’t want to admit to being wrong. no one’s changing her mind seeker”

alas is the middle child of eight and is thus very good with children and also bossing around people older than him. 2 of his older siblings come to the inquisition when stuff in wycome has been settled

i left ash with the basic canon background with Some variation (he grew up under the qun and left of his own free will when his magic was discovered n he realized he couldn’t take living as a saarebas

kat on the other hand was raised tal-vashoth and has bounced around basically all over thedas and leads her own merc company when the conclave blows up. she also speaks multiple languages. is there a language she doesn’t speak? probably not

just realized how long this got so im gonna like. stop my general rambling now but lmao yeah theres some basics. waves hands.

[queen-scribbles]

Unlikeliest Places

@pillarspromptsweekly fill 95. It’s another Roll for It, and my elements are The Living Lands, travel fatigue, and a beautiful natural vista. (also, crazy self-indulgent bc my birthday is this coming week AND I think this is my 100th prompt fill(?) so I wanted to have even more fun with it than usual.)

                                                        ---

Despite how much she loved traveling and adventure, Tavi did have to admit there were some not so great things about it. Like sore feet. And walking in the rain. She didn’t have anything against rain, per se; when she was somewhere like Caed Nua or an inn and it was her choice she loved to go for long walks and get absolutely soaked to the skin. But that was completely different from this--boots squelching with every step as she she and Aloth trudged down another road after another lead. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she knew how far to their destination. But road signs were apparently unheard of here, and the last person to give them directions had just vaguely gestured down the road and told them it was a straight shot of “a few miles”. A few miles so far was up to six by Tavi’s reckoning.

At least the Living Lands were more scenic than, say, the Vailian Republics. And all the flora and fauna was new and unusual. It made her regret never making it up this far before. 

And then she stepped in a deceptively deep puddle and almost lost her balance. Would have if Aloth didn’t grab her arm.

Abydon’s fuckin’ forge, we better find somethin’ that makes this fuckin’ worthwhile  Tavi shot him a grateful smile as she shook muddy water off her boot. “Thanks. I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ close to wantin’ to talk with that orlan about the definition of the word ‘few’.”

Aloth chuckled. “In my experience, places this... provincial tend to use that as a catch-all for anything lower than about twenty.”

She snorted and raked sopping tendrils of hair out of her eyes. “You can say ‘backwater mudhole’ if that’s what you mean, Corfiser, no one’s here to get offended.”

He shrugged and rolled his shoulders to shake rainwater off his cloak. “Better not to take the chance.”

She shook her head fondly. “You are incorrigible, city slicker.”

Aloth snorted in amusement as he tugged his hood further forward. “And you’re one to talk on that score, Tavi.”

Tavi grinned despite the rainwater trickling down her face. “Pot and kettle, what a pair we make, huh?”

He actually laughed. “You could say that.”

“Or I could point out I think I finally see a town up ahead,” she chuckled. “It better be Stilden, or I really will go hunt down that fuckin’ orlan to have a few words...”

“Whether it’s the town we seek or not, I’ll be satisfied if there’s an inn,” Aloth pointed out. “Just getting out of the rain will be enough for now.”

“Heh, true,” Tavi snorted. “We can dry out while we try to figure what the fuckin’ Key wants up here. Untamed frontiers never struck me as their kinda place.”

“No?” Aloth raised an eyebrow as they drew close enough to see this was indeed a community of some kind. “With all the unexplored valleys in which to hide, the potential ruins waiting in their depths, and a high likelihood no one will question your disappearance--or others’ who poked where they didn’t belong--because meeting an unfortunate end is all too common?”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Tavi grinned, letting the words trail off. She nodded toward the only two-story building in sight. “That’s prob���ly either a tavern or a general store, an’ both’ll serve our purpose.”

“After you, then,” Aloth said lightly, tucking his hair back behind one ear.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m the diplomatic one,” she teased, rolling her eyes.

“Perhaps not, but you are the forceful one, and I have a feeling that counts for more out here,” he returned.

From the sign over the door--the carven torrents of a splashing waterfall--Tavi was pretty confident this was an inn, or at least a tavern, as they approached.

The sight that greeted them when she pushed open the door confirmed that; the interior was full of tables(half of them occupied) and fairly tough looking folk woman stood behind the long, rough-hewn bar.

Thank fuckin’ Hylea, Tavi sighed. I need a drink.

Every eye was on them as soon as they stepped through the door. and she practically felt Aloth tense at the attention. Tracking down a Leaden Key cell usually relied heavily on keeping a low profile, and this was the exact opposite of what they wanted.

“Can’t be helped,” Tavi murmured, tugging his arm so he’d follow her toward the counter.

“I know,” he murmured back, slipping his hand in hers. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She squeezed his hand in silent agreement--at least out here no one recognized the Watcher of Caed Nua--as the woman behind the bar jerked her head toward them in greeting.

“Don’t get many travelers through here,” she commented, bracing her hands against the counter. “What can I getcha?”

“Whatever you have that’s strongest for me,” Tavi replied as she pushed back her hood, extremely aware of the drip trail they were leaving across the floor.

The barkeep nodded approvingly and raised an eyebrow at Aloth. “And you?”

He met the question with a tight smile.”I’m fine, thank you.”

“Whatever y’say,” she shrugged. “What brings you through Stilden?”

Aloth’s grip tightened fractionally on Tavi’s hand. She shifted her weight, brushing her shoulder against his as she replied, “We’re adventurers. An acquaintance mentioned there were plenty to be had up here.”

The barkeep snorted as she pulled a dark green bottle from under the counter and popped the cork. “Heh, this acquaintance would be right. You sure they ain’t also tryin’ to get you killed? We got more up here that’ll do ya in than any other country in Eora.” 

Tavi laughed and accepted the freshly poured drink the woman pushed toward her. “Pretty sure, yeah. And I think we’ll chance it, either way. Danger just adds to the fun.”

The barkeep smirked. “Good attitude to have up here. Just don’t go lookin’ for too much fun or ya might might get in over yer head.”

“That’s good advice anywhere,” Tavi said glibly. She picked up the mug, smelling the alcohol in the drink before she had it more than a couple inches off the bar. She’d said strong and the woman had obliged. She took a good hard swallow and ranked it better than most of what she’d had in the Deadfire, even if it wasn’t the best she’d ever had.

She nodded appreciatively as she lowered the mug. “That’s pretty good.”

The barkeep grinned. “Thank ya, I brew it m’self.” She held out her hand to shake.  “Hilde.”

Tavi shook her hand and introduced herself. “Any other advice for increasing our chance of survival?”

“Don’t travel after dark,” Hilde said with a shrug. “An’ your best bet is t’ hire a guide if y’ wanna go explorin’. A good one,” she clarified, “who’s seen a lot of this place. Hey, Tarven,” she called across the room to a dark haired elf slouched alone at a table. “Skellen back yet?”

The elf snorted. “With the shit his group was lookin’ t’ find? We ain’t gonna see them for another month or two at least.” He tipped his head and gave Tavi and Aloth a meaningful look. “If we ever do.”

“They get the point, Tar,” Hilde said dryly. “You wouldn’t happen to know who is around, would ya?”

Tarven pursed his lips in thought a moment. “They could ask the Rook whelp, I s’ppose. He don’t do much guide work these days, though. His wolf’s too old t’ keep up on the long trips and no one who makes it this far into the Lands wants a short one.”

“Can’t hurt t’ ask,” Hilde retorted. “An’ he’s been roamin’ the Lands more’n three decades, I’d hardly call him a whelp.”

“He is in the scheme of things,” Tarven shot back, before locking eyes with Tavi, his ears dipping in mild irritation. “But I can tell ya where to find him, if you wanna gamble on bein’ special enough he’ll say yes.”

Tavi shrugged and took another swig of her drink. There was a note of something in there she couldn’t quite figure out, but it was really growing on her.  “Worth a shot. Worst he’ll do is say no, right?”

“Kel, yeah. There are some folk that would do more dependin’  on their mood.” Tarven straightened in his seat. “Now, he works outta his folks’ salvage business, so it’s a little ways outta town...” He beckoned them closer, and Tavi went, her drink in one hand and tugging Aloth along with the other. He followed just behind her without protest, though she could see concern in his eyes. She made a mental note to ask about that as they sat down across the table from Tarven so he could lay out the route to where they could find this guide.

o.O.o

It took a while to finally get some privacy; Tarven proved chatty, and Hilde even more so when they attempted to wait out the rain. When the weather showed no sign of relenting anytime soon, they caved and got a room.

“Alright, spill, city slicker,” Tavi said soon as the door closed behind them. “You’re so tense I can practically see your anxiety floatin’ over your head like a fuckin’ storm cloud.”

Aloth half-smiled at her attempted humor. “I’m simply concerned about bringing someone into our confidence who we don’t know.”

“Whaddya mean?” Tavi probed as she hung her cloak over the back of a chair to dry and sat down to start working off her boots. 

“This guide,” he said. “I do appreciate improving our odds of survival, but how do we search for a fanatically secretive cult without tipping him off to what we’re doing? There’s only so much we can explain away with the adventurers cover.”

“What’s so wrong with tippin’ him off that we’re lookin’ for someone?” she shrugged. The stubborn boot finally came off and she started working on the other one. “Obviously he doesn’t need to know everything, but what can it hurt tellin’ him we’re... shit, lookin’ for evidence of an ancient guardian order. We can just leave off that we think they’re still around and fuckin’ with the course of history.”

“Because we don’t know how large a presence they have here,” Aloth replied, absently raking his fingers through his still-damp hair. “For all we know, this Rook fellow could be one of them. Even if not, who’s to say he wouldn’t answer any questions put to him regarding our business, whether for compensation or simply due to not having a reason he shouldn’t?”

Tavi snorted. “If you’re gonna be that fuckin’ paranoid, maybe I shoulda used a fake name, Engferth.”

He shot her a dirty look for that, but she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.  “Tavi, it’s been two years, are you ever planning to let that go?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully, kicking her boots under the edge of the bed. “It’s too much fun givin’ you shit for it.”

“That’s the answer I was both afraid of and expecting,” Aloth said with a long suffering sigh. He was smiling as he joined her on the bed, however. “The benefits of aliases aside, we really do need to decide if we’re going to employ this Rook, and if so, how much we tell him.”

“Look, city slicker,” Tavi turned so she was half-facing him. “I know we’ve survived everything from town drunks to cultists to the fuckin’ gods themselves, but I didn’t survive all that to get eaten by a fuckin’ lion or some weird plant b’cause we were too paranoid to take advantage of local knowledge and experience.”

He shot her a dubious look. “A plant?”

She shrugged. “Y’hear things. Rumors’n shit.”

“I... highly doubt there’s any truth to that one,” Aloth said diplomatically.

“Better safe than sorry,” Tavi insisted. “I say we hire the fuckin’ guide. You can decide how much we tell him,” she conceded. “You have more experience with the fuckin’ Key than I do.”

Aloth mulled that over a moment, twisting one of his rings while he thought, before nodding. “That’s a fair compromise.”

“Great. Then I’m goin’ to bed,” she grinned, wriggling out of her pants and kissing him on the cheek. “B’cause walkin’ in the rain and mud all day is fuckin’ exhaustin’.”

He chuckled. “I’ll join you shortly, there’s something I want to check first.”

“If you wait too long, I’ll be asleep,” Tavi warned playfully around a yawn as she snuggled in. She hadn’t realized how tired she was til she said something, but she really was exhausted.

“I’ll just have to take that risk,” Aloth said with a smile as he pushed off the bed. 

o.O.o

Tavi’s suspicions proved correct and the night was at least half over before she felt the bed shift as Aloth settled in next to her. But he’d never needed much sleep, and the lack of it didn’t have a noticeable effect on his mood, so she didn’t tease him too much as they prepared for the day.

Aloth took all of it in stride--he was well accustomed to her habits by now--and waited until they were leaving the room to inform her that her hair had dried slightly curly.

“Oh, yeah, it does that sometimes,” Tavi grimaced self-consciously. “’Specially in humid weather if I’ve cut it recently.” Which was the case; she’d trimmed it less than a week ago. She sighed and feathered one hand through it. “Oh well. Nothin’ I can really do about it, so guess you get a peek at what I looked liked in my twenties,” she teased, pulling on her cloak as she stepped into the hall.

Aloth raised an eyebrow. “This is how you kept it back then?”

“Well, yeah, city slicker, I was workin’ for the blacksmith at that point, short hair was much easier to keep out of my fuckin’ eyes.” She tugged the door closed behind them. “An’ our part of Old Vailia got humid as fuck in the summer, so this is how it usually ended up.” She scowled at an ugly thought and kicked the wall. “At least until everything went to shit. There was a while in there I couldn’t cut my hair, even if I’d cared enough to.” Her gaze dropped to her hands, just in time to watch Aloth take them in his.

“Tavi,” he said softly, deliberately turning her hands so she couldn’t see her scarred palms. “I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.” His thumbs swept in matching arcs over her knuckles.

Tavi snorted a shaky laugh. “Shit, Corfiser, it’s almost forty years ago. I can’t expect you to walk on fuckin’ eggshells ‘bout anything that might bring it to mind.” She squeezed his hands appreciatively all the same. “B’side I walked myself into that one.”

“Still, I am sorry for bringing it to mind.” Aloth tugged her hands to close the distance between them and steal a kiss.

“Mmm, not that you need it, but you’re forgiven, Aloth,” she mumbled, smiling, into the kiss.

“You know how much I admire your resilience,” he whispered when they finally broke the kiss, foreheads still touching.

“Tough as fuck,” she agreed mischievously, freeing one hand to cup his jaw as she tipped her chin forward for round two, murmuring, “Just like you,” right before their lips met.

Gods, she loved the way his ears went pink whenever she complimented him. 

“I don’t know about that,” Aloth demurred. “I’ve seen some of the things you survived and doubt I would have fared as well.” He cleared his throat. “But don’t we have somewhere to be?”

“Right.” Tavi brushed her thumb against his cheek one last time before stepping away so they could resume course downstairs. “Let’s go hire a guide so we can have an adventure with less risk of dying.” She laughed when he rolled his eyes. “Didja figure out what we’re telling him?”

Aloth nodded. “We’re searching for Engwithan ruins. It’s a large enough portion of the truth to serve our purpose, and still sufficiently commonplace to not raise suspicion. And given the connection between the Key and Engwithan culture, it’ll at least get us where we need to start looking. Between what we learned in the Dyrwood and the fact you understand the language, it’s more than plausible.”

“Also, if it’s leaked somehow, worst that’ll happen is the Key comin’ after us rather’n us havin’ to hunt them down,” Tavi added with a dark grin.

“I did consider that, actually,” he said dryly.

Tavi shot him a bemused look as they exited the tavern. “Covering all your angles?”

“Exactly.”

o.O.o

Tarven’s directions from the night before proved easily followed, and this salvage business equally easy to find. The walk was also far more pleasant now that it wasn’t raining and they could enjoy the view. There was a wild, untamed beauty to the land, even this close to a settlement, and she could see trails that meandered toward tangled forests and overgrown ravines. I really should’ve made it up here sooner, she mused. This place would be perfect for me.

But it she had, she wouldn’t have met Aloth or Kana or any of the others, or shit, even Maren and the rest of Silversteel. So she wouldn’t really change things. Besides, this place didn’t seem overly given to change, so it probably didn’t look that different than ten or twenty or even forty years ago.

“This place reminds me of you,” Aloth commented, almost as if he’d heard her thoughts. 

Tavi snorted. “Stubborn and untamed?”

“And chaotic, and fascinating....” He nodded toward the sprawling vista off to their right, trees framing the view of sky and clouds, ground split by a red-rock valley. “Beautiful.”

“Now we’re talkin’,” she teased. “Shame I can’t think of anywhere flatterin’ to compare you to, city slicker.”

Aloth smirked. “You’ll just have to come up with something else, then.”

“Yes, I will, but later.” Tavi nodded toward a dirt path that wound off to their left, curving around a clump of trees before looking like it maybe, eventually, led to an indistinct shadow that might’ve been a house.

“Well, this just fills me with confidence,” Aloth said dryly.

“Why?” Tavi laughed, starting down the path. “He’s a wilderness guide, I”d be more worried if he lived in the middle of fuckin’ civilization.”

“Or what passes for it out here,” Aloth muttered, swiping at the tall grass that encroached on the trail.

“Be nice,” she  scolded playfully. “‘Specially since you just said this place reminds you of me.”

“Fair point,” he conceded, lips curving in a faint smile.

The indistinct shadow had started to take more definite shape now; a low, single story bungalow, with semi-neat piles of miscellaneous goods lined up along the sides. As they drew even closer they could see the figure sitting out front, a few feet away from the door. A blond elf, the sun catching both the reddish highlights in his hair and the silver-streaked coat of the wolf lounging at his feet as he worked. Tavi gave the longbow he was shaping a once-over, one brow arched in admiration. Bows might not be her weapon of choice, but she’d spent enough time with archers to recognize a well-crafted one when she saw it. 

By now they were close enough for the wolf to catch their scent, and it lifted its head, ears twitching back, to alert the elven hunter.

“Easy,” he murmured, not looking up from his project to address them. “Help you?”

“Yes, we were looking for Kel Rook,” Aloth said. Tavi bit back a smile at the wary glance he sent the wolf. Just because Tarven had alluded to the animal getting old didn’t mean it was harmless.

“Found him,” the blond grunted, flicking a brief look at Aloth before returning to the bow. “But it’s just Rook. Why the interest?”

There was something familiar about his voice, in a way that set Tavi’s teeth on edge and squeezed something tight in her chest. She didn’t like the feeling much. Probably because outside Silversteel or her Dyrwood and Deadfire companions pretty much anyone familiar had likely tried to kill her. She crossed her arms defensively(as if that would help). “We’re lookin’ to explore around here an’ were told you’re a good guide.”

Rook frowned. “Damn Tarven,” he muttered, running his hand along the curve of the bow. “Were you also told I don’t do guide work often now that Fletch has trouble keepin’ up?”

“Maybe you could give it a fuckin’ try,” she returned, more irritably than she meant to as that nagging familiarity squeezed tighter. “We’re lookin’ for ruins, so we’re not gonna be movin’ all that fast, an’ we can handle ourselves, so it shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

“Everything here is fuckin’ dangerous.” Rook shot back heatedly, finally looking up to scowl at her with glass-green eyes. “I work best with an animal partner, Fletch ain’t up to it, and the pup I’m trainin’ isn’t ready yet.” He cocked his head and his scowl turned to a squint for a protracted moment before, “Have we... met?”

Tavi frowned. “Not unless you’ve been outta this fuckin’ jungle at some point in your life.”

“Not since I got here.” His brow furrowed. “Somethin’ familiar about you, though.”

Tavi crossed her arms tighter. That weird feeling was getting stronger and it was setting off alarm bells and she really didn’t like it. She shuffled a half step closer to Aloth and shrugged. “Well, I’ve never been up this way, so can’t help ya. C’mon, city slicker, if the man won’t do it, we’ll just hafta find someone else.” Someone who didn’t send spider-feet sensations crawling up her spine. Something about Rook tugged at her and whether it was from her own life or just more Watcher shit, she didn’t like it. She’d apologize to Aloth and explain herself later.

“But-” Aloth started to protest.

“Hylea’s tits, just-”

Rook caught a sharp breath and stood so fast the bow he’d been crafting tumbled to the ground and his wolf bolted up on shaky legs in case he was needed. “...Tavi?”

She froze. How...? She looked, really looked, at this naggingly, uncomfortably familiar hunter with his reddish blond hair and pale green eyes. The burn scars she hadn’t noticed before that trailed down his arm and up the side of his neck. There’s no fuckin’ way. It can’t be.

“What’s wrong?” Aloth whisper, protectively glued to her side.

Tavi shook her head. Nothing was wrong, just her world being tilted on its axis. Tarven had called ‘the Rook whelp’ Kel. No, Tavi, she scolded herself as she pictured the man in front of her thirty-odd years younger and with his voice a couple octaves higher and a ridiculous hope started to sprout in her chest, nearly four decades after the worst day of her life. They all died, all of them. Even him. It’s not... He can’t be.

But hope was a wild thing, stubborn as Tavi herself, and the name escaped in a breathless, unbelieving rush. “Khellin?!”

He nodded and the world screeched to a halt, fading out around the edges as she clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Oh, Hylea’s blazin’ feathered copper-fucking tits,” she muttered through her fingers. This couldn’t be real. She hadn’t really woken up yet, this was a dream or some shit like that. She bit the tender skin at the base of one finger hard enough she nearly drew blood. OW. Nope, not dreaming. FUCK.

Khellin--who was really standing there, she wasn’t dreaming--gave a strangled laugh that sounded more than half a sob. “Figures you still swear enough to send Mom into fits.”

“‘Course,” Tavi snorted shakily, dropping her hands. “I’m fuckin’ incorrigible, you know that better’n anyone.” Almost anyone, she corrected herself, darting a glance toward Aloth.

He was staring at her with wide eyes. He’d been there through enough occurrences of the relevant anniversary to know exactly the implications of this turn of events.

Khellin laughed again, this one closer to the real thing. “Can’t argue with that.” He ran one hair through his hair. “Guess it’s a bit of an understatement to say we have a lot of catchin’ up to do?”

It was Tavi’s turn for a shell-shocked, almost hysterical sob-laugh combination, because her brother was alive. He was alive and she wasn’t dreaming and what the fuck, whichever god she needed to thank she’d do it gladly because Khellin was fucking alive. “I think callin’ it just a bit of an understatement is an understatement.”

Forty years. She’d thought he was dead for almost forty gods-damned fucking years and he’d been here the whole time. I really should’ve visited the Living Lands sooner.

Khellin reached down to brush his wolf’s ears in a comforting gesture when he whined. “How ‘bout I change my answer, help you two find those ruins you’re lookin’ for?” he offered. “We can start the blazin’ long process of catchin’ up while we search.”

Tavi nodded, not even looking at Aloth to check. There was no way he’d deny her this, even if they hadn’t been planning to employ him before her own personal Godhammer had been dropped on the encounter. “Sounds like a fuckin’ plan. There’s just... something I need to take care of first.”

He cocked an eyebrow and she could feel Aloth’s curiosity as well before she crossed the distance in three swift strides and pulled her baby brother into a ferociously tight hug.

Khellin flinched and his wolf’s ears tipped backward, but he did wrap his arms around her after only a few heartbeats and hug back.

“Sorry,” Tavi whispered. She knew he wasn’t always thrilled with physical affection, she just couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t be,” Khellin mumbled, hugging tighter, his voice further muffled by her shoulder. “You’re an exception, always have been.”

Tavi matched his strength, still hardly able to believe this was happening, even though she could feel him, warm and solid and real. She finally, reluctantly, loosened her grip and stepped back, surveying him head to toe again. “I guess... I guess if we’re gonna travel while we talk we better get movin’?”

He nodded, glancing between her and Aloth before he bent to pick up the dropped bow.  “We should; it gets dark early if you’re under tree cover. And it seems you’re lookin’ for somethin’ special? Usually hafta go pretty deep for that.”

“Not today, I fuckin’ don’t,” Tavi grinned and Khellin laughed.

“No, I guess not.” His fingers brushed the wolf’s head as he turned to go lean the longbow against the bungalow. He ducked inside briefly, returning with a shortbow and quiver of arrows as well as a ration bag. “Preparedness is our chief virtue out here,” he explained, slinging both quiver and bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go find whatever it is you came lookin’ for.”

Tavi was pretty sure she’d be smiling for the next several hours at least. “Let’s,” she agreed, reaching for Aloth’s hand and weaving her fingers between his. She felt really good about their odds now. She’d hoped to find something worthwhile up here, and that had already been granted beyond her wildest dreams.

Surely they’d find something to work with; the Living Lands had all sorts of great things hiding in the unlikeliest places.

----------------------

I’ve been wanting to let Tavi find out Khellin’s alive for... I think like a year and a half? Maybe longer? And just never had the chance to do it, so when I saw the elements for this week’s prompt I had a MY TIME HAS COME moment and decided to do it now. Obviously at some point there’s gonna be a follow-up that’s them talking about what happened to each of them, woven in with Tavi and Aloth’s hunt for the Leaden Key. But we’ll just have to see when I get the chance for that ;)

[eyeloch]

For fun, and to remind myself how to write, I figured I’d write up a DnD 5e one-shot I played yesterday.

How to make this less dry?  Well, this here little chunk of words would be how my character for it, Dyne Freeborn, might tell it many years later.  Therefore, if I make any mistakes, then they’re in-character and it’s not me being wrong!

Take a glance down the right dark alley, and you’d see - well you’d see nothing, if you knew what was good for you.  If you had more curiosity than sense, though, you might spy a door.  A grimy door, well hidden, but there nevertheless.

Venture inside, and you’d find a surprisingly-lively little pub.  Decent ale and spirits.  Good wine - long as you bought it yourself.  Or stole it.

Today though, the wine was mediocre at best.  More importantly, however, there was something of a celebrity within.  Well, perhaps it’d more more accurate to call him an infamous figure.  Celebrities typically aren’t on the run from multiple countries.  Or, at least, not on the run for arson, prison breaks and inciting violent mobs.

Drunk off cider (and the atmosphere), a certain Dyne Freeborn - the celebrity in question, if you haven’t already guessed - was in a jolly mood.  True, he might be laying low in a succession of safe houses yet again, but such was life.

The sooty-coloured hair of the half-elf was now steely with age.  Slight crows-feet collected below his dark eyes - often lively with mirth, no matter what troubles life threw at him.  If it wasn’t for the soul of the phoenix dwelling within him, he’d probably have been content to just be the life of the party.

Instead, he was on the run once more, and feeling a tad reflective that night.  As the bartender refilled his tankard, Dyne began his story...

I’ve always been freeborn by name and nature, mates, but I wasn’t always so selfless.  Here he paused for a round of chuckles.  Nah, it was back in me youth that I really found me life’s calling.  And, like today, it all started in a pub.  More or less, at least...

See, I woke up after some drinks, not sure where I was.  Yeah, yeah, laugh it up - it has happened the normal way too!  ...but see, this wasn't me bein' blackout drunk.  Nah, this was me drugged - slipped the old sleep herbs like I was some amateur (though I 'spose I was back then).

So yeah, I wake up tied down - not the first time, mind you - and obviously I try my little magic touch on the ropes.  Turns out the rotten things weren't actually rotten - pretty well made, and (unfortunately) a little too damp for me ignition to do much more than make a bad smell.  

So, as I'm weighing up the pros and cons of starting a little bonfire under meself (I'll admit - as a Freeborn, I can get a little riled when I'm tied down), I spy someone else, shimmying out of their own bindings!  Now, obviously, I call out to them - ask the elf to free the Freeborn - and they're nice enough to oblige.  Still, as we made some makeshift tools to break out of the outhouse we'd been stuffed into, I began to realise that this was some kind of copper.  Not the usual sort - they're not as acrobatic, and they don't tend to cope so well when they wake up after a druggin' - but a copper none the less! 

Turns out, just beyond the door, there was a whole lotta birds!  No, no, not the fun kind - well, unless you like watching scavengers pick at a fresh corpse. (Tiamat’s arse, Gerard, you have a problem!)

...anyway, I’m planning me old razzle dazzle on these winged blighters, when the copper - Tíu was their name, if I remember things rightly - convinces me we should just leg it to the other cabin they’d spied.  Well, I didn’t need to be told twice!  

So, luckily these birds weren’t much interested in prey that’d fight back, and we made our way to the other pile of kindling without much fuss.  There we found two things - another fresh corpse and, more importantly, our stuff!  The copper, as you expect, does a little digging - and manages to rope me into helping case the joint.  I go along with ‘em - hey, Tiala, sometimes we have to - and soon enough we’re going down another path.  Not a city path, mates, nor a garden path - but a simple trod load of grass.

Now, not long after that, we come across a lady - fellow half-elf, if me memory serves me right.  Nasty old wound she had - right on the cusp o’ death.  Now, obviously, the copper tries their best to patch her up.  (Yeah Sul, I do mean obviously - some of ‘em are decent sorts, and you should always work out if they are.  It makes them easier to manipulate, once you know what they burn for.)

Anyway, since I was feeling in a generous mood that day, I managed to succeed where the law had failed.  I knew even less about medicine then than I do now - but I could still tie a decent tourniquet, when the need should arise.  Used some of me favourite shirt to do it too!

Having gotten meself a decent read on old Tíu, I spun the elf a quick yarn about how they’d have to chose if their duty was to punish or to protect.  Yeah, it could have blown up in me face, but it didn’t!  Instead, I used me old quarterstaff - yes the non-magical one, I was decades from getting the one I have now - and a similar branch to fashion a hammock with a spare cape.

So burdened, we strode on.  Turns out this particular copper liked to travel between towns - liked their maps and charts - and so he got us safely to a tiny little “village” in the arse end of nowhere.  “Westbridge”, if I can remember, was pretty much just a single farming family.  A single family who wasn’t too chuffed that we’d wandered in with one of their enemies in a stretcher!

Still, Tíu did what coppers do best, and convinced people that they were really on his side.  I wasn’t complaining, though, since I did get a free meal out of it!

So, anyway. He smiles into another empty flagon of cider, waving for for a refill, before continuing his tale. Eventually the half-elf wakes up.  Coppers do what coppers do, though Tíu wasn’t the violent sort of interrogator.  ...yeah, ‘suppose that’d be counter-productive with someone that wounded anyway.

So, local matriarch, the copper and the now-prisoner talk - eventually they piece together what really going on.  And this is where things heat up, if you’ll pardon me pun.

See, turns out we’d been drugged by bandits and dragged off - they’d been going through our stuff, to see if we were worth ransoming while they stole the couple of valuables we had.  Simple enough, I’m sure you’ll agree.  The twist, friends, was that these bandits had been disagreeing over if they should take a certain deal.  See, ‘round those parts - half-a-dozen kingdoms away from where we’re sitting - there were some nobles who loved themselves some hunting.  Nah, not the stuff they’d call poaching if we did it.  This bunch preferred humanoids.

Horrible, ain’t it.  Hunting people, hurting people, that’s one thing.  But just for sport?  Well. . .it stoked my anger, let me tell you!  

...yeah, that was first time I ever went back once I’d fled.  First time I ever really lived up to me name.  

Just two of us, it was.  Just the two of us against two ex-bandits and a bunch of blue-blooded drunkards.  We observed the situation from the tree-line, stealthy-like.  We knew we couldn’t win head on, and Tíu was so adamant that I not burn the hunting lodge down, that we decided on an improvised plan.  

...well, I say decided, but Tíu sort of made the decision for me.  Bloody copper.

Basically, he blew his horn.  As the only ex-bandit who wasn’t regretting every life choice went-a-hunting, I thought fast and made a bornfire with me blood’s magic.  While that was goin’ on, we did a little strategising, and Tíu and I went to go release the horses.  Yeah, there were horses - it was a hunting party!

Unfortunately, I wasn’t as stealthy back then as I can be these days.  ...yeah, I know I ain’t always the stealthiest now either.  Anyway, I got spotted.  Things got real dicey real fast after that!

Obviously, I started with me favourite hello - a firebolt launched as quick as a wink.  They didn’t like that, but I didn’t like the cut they dealt me in return.  I called upon my flames to burn this whole rotten lot to nothing - but by then it seemed to be too late.  I’d been dealt a lethal blow.

Here the half-elf stopped to role a sleeve up - showing several old scars, each still discoloured and puckered, unlike the rest of his near-elvishly flawless skin.

Funny thing happened, though.  As I wreathed myself in the fires of freedom, I didn’t burn away.  Oh, I was definitely dying.  But I incinerated nobles, scared away the thug who’d regretted their betrayal (last I hear, they’d settled into a quiet life in some monastery up in Driscol).  The horses were released in the confusion -Tíu had come through, it had seemed.  In the chaos, though, we were both dying.  Tíu had fallen from an attempt to ride a horse - I like to think it was to help me, and not to abandon his erstwhile ally - and found himself beset by a cadre of rich arseholes.  They did well - cutting into them with punches, kicks and icy magic - but were knocked down in time.  My own flames were sputtering by this stage, but I summoned up the nearby insects to infest that bastard. (No, not the copper, Gerard, what’s wrong with you?)  

It wasn’t enough to save the copper - an ally in this moment, despite the natural state of things. At the time, I really did think I’d saved the guy.  Turns out I was wrong, though I never thought to check at the time.  (He did get a burial, courtesy of those folks at Westbridge.  I’m glad for that, at least.  ...we might have been enemies had he lived, but he was a decent sort - and people like that deserve to become part of the air or earth.  That’s just a little rule of mine.)

With what I thought would be my last breath, I lit fires inside the hunting lodge (as it hadn’t caught alight in the cross-fire of battle, despite my best efforts), and let the screams of burning blue-bloods lull me to my eternal sleep...

...’cept I woke up.  Tired, sore, but very much clinging to life.  Fucking painful trip back to civilisation that was - not only was I fainting every few hours, but the minor burns surrounding all my cuts started to get infected after I fell into a boggy ditch!  Still, I found my way back to my then-current employees, and they nursed me back to health.

‘course, not long after I recovered, I burnt their operation to the ground.  Them along with it.  Harsh?  Cruel?  Perhaps.  But as I recovered, I realised how selfish I’d been with flames and freedom given to me by birth.  Freedom gives me joy.  Fire gives me joy.  And I realised, then and there, that I needed to give everyone that freedom.  

Oh, it’d be years before I could put it to words, but that day - with the druggin’, the copper and the blue-blooded bastards - that day was the day I realised I needed to free everyone!

Yep, Tiala, you’re right - free the wealthy from their cash!  Free the prisoners from their chains!  Free the slaves from their masters!  Free the nobility from their bloated lives!

...I doubt Tíu would have approved, had he lived - but hey, what could a single copper do against The Freeborn?!  ...besides, he’s got the freedom of the grave now - it’ll be another century before I get that last freedom, should I be so lucky!

Finishing one last drink, Dyne’s tale wound to a close.  Most of the pub’s regulars had left - off to go bludgeon anyone wandering unlit back-allies, no doubt - but his little band of brigands was still surrounding him.  Some of the newer recruits, like Tiala, still listened attentively - while seasoned veterans like Gerard were dozing off, used to his old tales.  

Truth be told, Dyne did sometimes feel regrets about the path he’d taken.  Not all he’d freed found the freedom to their liking - and some simply used new freedom to imprison others yet again.  Still, he stoked the flame of revolution, of rebellion, of resentment wherever he could - because it was the way to feed the flames within.

Fire satisfied his senses in a way nothing else could - not even the freedom his folks were named for - but sometimes the resulting screams weren’t so sweet to his ears.  Still though, he’d choose this path again in a heartbeat - or perhaps, to be more accurate, he’d chose it again in a spark.

[adventuresloane]

you still got that story, tell it every morning

Read on AO3

As always, she woke with the sun. That wasn't a dryad thing, had nothing to do with the fact that she had a sixth sense--and a seventh and an eighth--about the natural world nowadays. It was a her thing. Hurley had been in the habit of it long before everything that had happened. It just so happened that now, when the honey-colored light of dawn dripped in through the blinds, she felt flowers unfurl around her head, and the sap beneath her skin ran warmer.

Her mother used to call her Sunshine because of it. Sloane still did, but only in Elvish. Aure. Though that was only when she felt particularly generous. Mostly, she called Hurley crazy for getting up so early on purpose.

Aside from the sunlight, Sloane was the first thing she saw when she woke. Of course, she was still sleeping. She was never the first up if she could help it. (And if she was, it meant she was still reeling from a nightmare.) One of her arms was at her side, the other stretched above her head and sprawled over the pillow. Hurley smiled as she saw the new day's soft rays touch her cheek and give it a sheen like that of polished walnut. Sloane's chest did not rise and fall, because none of them needed to breathe anymore. (That had taken some getting used to. In the first few weeks after the change, panic had risen like water to fill up the cavity in her chest every time she woke to find Sloane not breathing. Then she would remember.) But Hurley saw her feathery lashes twitch and flutter as she dreamed.

She couldn't resist moving aside some strands of hair that had fallen over Sloane's right eye. Sloane's nose wrinkled as she lightly brushed against it. She sniffed, made a ridiculous noise in the back of her throat like something halfway between a groan and a purr, and nestled her face deeper into the pillow. Hurley breathed out the quietest laugh she could.

Before, she would have been out of bed by now, already dressed for a jog. These days, she lingered in bed, in the shared warmth of two bodies. She stayed long enough to watch the golden, molten rays of dawn solidify into the sharper, brighter light of day. When, at last, she decided to get up, she shifted her body slowly until she was out from under the covers, careful not to make the mattress squeak.

She had one foot already on the floor when she felt a hand in hers. Turning around, she saw Sloane peering at her, eyes half-lidded and still cloudy with sleep. Hurley smiled and went over to her, touching their foreheads together. She felt Sloane's contented sigh against her lips when they kissed. "Good morning, beautiful," she whispered after they pulled apart. "Sorry if I woke you."

Sloane brought their lips together once more. The kiss was languorous, her eyes still closed, and she was slow to pull away. "Babe," she mumbled, "come back to bed."

Hurley chuckled and gently touched her nose to Sloane's. "Nah, I'm gonna get some exercise." Then she added with a smirk, "Unless you want to come with me."

"Ew," she answered, voice heavy and sluggish with exhaustion.

Hurley snorted. "That's what I thought." She pecked Sloane on the forehead one last time before turning away. "Then I'll see you in a bit."

Before Hurley could fully sit up again, a pair of long, thin arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her back down. She landed on the sheets with a soft whump and, before she could protest, had her cheek smushed unceremoniously against her girlfriend's side. "Sloane!" she screeched in between the giggles that bubbled up out of her. "Come on, let me up!"

Sloane nuzzled her neck, which was already flushed with laughter. Hurley noticed that her skin, at the moment, did not have the rough feeling of the bark that sometimes grew over it. Instead, she felt more like the new wood of a young tree, flexible and supple. "Stay here," she said in an almost-whine, squeezing Hurley to her like a teddy bear as she settled back onto the pillow. Hurley would bet every cent in Goldcliff's bank vaults that she was playing up her sleepiness for sympathy.

"Why?"

"Still tired."

"So go back to sleep."

"Can't, unless you're here."

Hurley rolled her eyes, still jittery with laughter. "You don't need me to go to sleep." She squirmed out of Sloane's grip and tried to move away again. "Anyway, you know I can never go back to sleep again once I'm awake. Now I'm--Sloane, seriously, don't--" And like that, three times her weight's worth of half-elf flopped over on top of her and successfully pinned her to the mattress. "Oh, you fucking asshole."

Above her, Sloane chuckled. She felt the laughter resonate inside herself. "I let you get away with murder," she grumbled, grinning.

"You always did."

Hurley turned back to look at her. "Listen, if I'm staying in this bed, we're going to do something more fun than sleeping." To her satisfaction, for the first time all morning, Sloane's eyes snapped open fully. All of a sudden, they looked awake.

She turned onto her back so she could look up at Sloane more easily. Smirking, she reached one hand up to rest on the back of Sloane's neck. The other slipped under her lover's waistband, her finger trailing lazily along the line of fine hair that started at her navel and ran down. Sloane shut her eyes slowly and let out a breath that shuddered slightly.

And then, while she was distracted, Hurley wriggled out from under her and scurried out of the bedroom. "I win!" she called lightly from the hall.

"Hey! That wasn't fair!"

Hurley laughed as she walked away. It was, in fact, a little unfair, but she would make up for it later. They both appreciated delayed gratification.

She stepped into the kitchen that they never used. Neither of them had any reason to eat, and food lost all its taste on their almost wooden tongues. She stood for a few minutes in the square of sunlight cast from the window onto the tile. Energy tingled in her limbs and leaves sprung from the tips of her fingers.

She glanced at the couple of small, potted saplings sitting near the windows. They were originally cuttings from the towering tree in the city center--their tree--that Hurley had magicked into growing up quickly. It hadn't taken them long to realize that, as dryads, they would become weak if they spent an appreciable amount of time away from the ever-blooming cherry. She and Sloane had taken one look at each other and one look at the threads of dusty road that stretched miles into the desert and had known that wouldn't work. They got creative. So long as they were near a living part of the tree, or an offshoot of it, they would be fine. (Sloane had figured that out, but she had asked Hurley to use her powers to make the cuttings grow.) They always took a pot with them when they went out in one of the wagons, and by now had almost gotten over the silliness of strapping a tree into the backseat. Another stayed in their house, which they had selected specifically because it was in a quieter area of the city, away from the bustling center at the meeting place of the rivers.

She could hear the potted plants. They whispered with voices like wind hissing through long grass. Trees told stories all the time, quietly recounting all that they had seen in their many years. She had learned that, since the change. She shushed the saplings gently, and they quieted. The ability to understand plants didn't bother her, but Sloane disliked their murmuring. One late night, she had told Hurley, not making eye contact, that the Sash had sounded the same way. Susurrus.

Footsteps padded up behind her. "Hey, you got up!"

Sloane came up next to her, and Hurley had to bite back a laugh at the overdone pout on her face. "That really was a dick move," she grumbled. But she still stood close enough to Hurley for their arms to touch.

Hurley was about to make a retort when she looked back at Sloane and saw the scale-like patches of bark growing on her body. They would form a tough outer layer for protection, only there was no clear danger here. It was an expression of anxiety--she knew her lover well enough to know that. It was just like Sloane's other, equally subconscious habit of wrapping her arms around her belly when she got nervous as though to shield her core. She was doing that now, too. A defensive gesture, albeit one that would have no effect against the threat of her own thoughts corroding her from the inside.

"Are you okay?"

Sloane did not respond for awhile, simply furrowing her brow at the window. Outside, the city had woken fully. Bits of muffled conversation could be heard over the constant din of footsteps on the sidewalk and carts rolling in the street. Without warning, she blurted at last, "Are you happy?"

"Yes." Hurley's response was instantaneous.

"I was just thinking...you didn't have much of a choice in all this. Up to and including being, you know, immortal. Well, sort of immortal."

"Alive as long as the tree's alive. Which--" She paused to tap her knuckles against her head. "--it will be for a very long time."

"Did you just 'knock on wood' by knocking on yourself?"

"Too much?"

"Terrible. That was maybe your worst joke ever." Nonetheless, Sloane's lips, which had been pressed into a thin line, loosened into a smile. "What I'm saying is our entire lives changed in a literal flash, and now you're spending sort-of forever as a lady with tree powers, and you didn't really have a say in your whole fucking existence being turned on its head."

"Being a tree-powered sort-of immortal is objectively pretty fucking rad, you know."

"Has its downsides," Sloane murmured. "You know that."

"So did my old life. And I can't even explain to you how happy I am to leave that behind."

There was quiet for another few long moments. She almost thought that Sloane was ready to drop it when she said, in a near whisper, "And you're okay being stuck with me all that time?"

"What?"

She took a deep breath and went on, "We're sort of...bound, I guess? We're going to go through our whole lives being connected, since we're both tied to that cherry tree. And that's...I know that's what I want, definitely, but it's kind of a lot to ask of you..." She trailed off. Hurley stared at her for awhile, at the long and dextrous fingers that still set her off tingling when they brushed her cheek, at the downcast eyes that were the same color as the leaves peeking out through the dark hair.

Then she shook her head a little and playfully shoved Sloane in the chest. "You dumb lesbian, I drove off a fucking cliff for you. Did you really think I wasn't in this for the long haul?"

Sloane laughed, loudly, partly out of something like relief. Her expression relaxed instantly. Hurley grinned and wrapped her arms around her, standing on tiptoes enough to bury her face in Sloane's chest. More quietly, Hurley continued, "Listen, what you're saying isn't true. I made the choice to change my whole life when I decided I wanted us to be together, way before any plant magic. And gods, Sloane, you have no idea how happy I am that everything in my life got turned around. I...sometimes I just stop in my tracks and think about whether it's really possible that I can be this lucky, or if I'm imagining it. I never even thought we'd be able to live together and be open like this, let alone have all the time in the world to enjoy it. It's like it's too good to be true."

"I think that too," Sloane said.

"I know." And she did. She sometimes ribbed Sloane over how clingy she'd gotten since the incident with the Sash. How, whenever they were in the same room, they had to be touching. How she became disappointed even when Hurley left the bedroom in the morning. It seemed that, for Sloane, feeling Hurley solid against her was like pinching herself to ensure that she wasn't dreaming, that both of them were, really, still there, despite everything. Hurley knew, because she felt the same way.

"Well, it is true," Hurley said. She held on a little more tightly. "I've got you now."

(Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments help me a lot!)

[pikapeppa]

Dragon Age Question Meme

Tagged by @galadrieljones - thanks lethallan!  This is a long one - I’ll continue it under a cut. 

Tagging forward to @schoute @viktuuri-fluff-saved-my-life @thevikingwoman @buttsonthebeach @charlatron @mrscullensrutherford @oops-gingermoment @iarollane @aban-asaara @irlaimsaaralath @wardsarefunctioning and anyone else who wants to play!

01) Favourite game of the series?

I haven’t played Origins yet, but between DA2 and DA:I, Inquisition is my jam! I’ve played it 3 times already and I’m not yet tired of it! So many places to explore, and I still haven’t heard all the banter yet, and the lore is just so rich, so many codex entries, yes yes.

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

Basically all my Horizon Zero Dawn friends insisted - INSISTED - that I play Inquisition. For some reason I thought I wouldn’t like it, like “ahh everyone says it’s so great, how great can it be.” WELP LOL. I have no regrets, but my HZD friends might, given how HORRIBLY OBSESSED I have become LOL. 

03) How many times you’ve played the games?

- Origins: 0 times, but looking to rectify that this year! - DA2: 1.5 times. Ughhh Act 2... - DA:I: 3.5 times and still loving it!

04) Favourite race to play as?

Elf. Hands down. I played a Trevelyan once and was like MEH BORING.

05) Favourite class?

MAGE. MAGE MAGE MAGE. Although I’ve been playing as Fenris a lot in DA2 and it’s surprisingly fun!! Good thing too since I’ll have to be a two-handed warrior during my Fenquisition playthrough

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

I’ll answer for Inquisition. There are some things I always do the same (e.g. Bull saving the Chargers, allying with Abelas, making Solas APPROVE OF ME LMAO), but other things I alternate. I’ve gone with the mages and the Templars twice, respectively; I prefer picking the mages, it just makes more sense and is more “ethical” to me, but I ADORE COLE and I think the whole envy demon storyline is very interesting, so I quite enjoy siding with the Templars too. I have done something different each time at the Winter Palace, and this time I plan to do something different yet again. I strongly prefer Cole as a spirit, but I’ve had him as a spirit and as human twice each. 

My Fenris-as-Inquisitor playthrough will be interesting. I’ll be playing in character as him, so it’s going to be quite different than what I canonically do, and I’m quite interested to see what happens. Solas is going to hate me oh god

07) Go-to adventuring group?

- DA2: FENRIS and Anders, and then I alternate my rogues. I love both Varric and Isabela, but depending on how far into my Fenris romance I am, I often have to leave Isabela behind because I HATE WATCHING HER FLIRT WITH MY MAN <sobbing> - Inquisition: SOLAS, Cole and Blackwall is my favourite group, but I also love bringing Cass instead of Blackwall - I love Cass and Cole’s banter. But Solas and Cole are my FAVOURITE PAIRING. I could listen to their incomprehensible chatter forever.

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

Damn. Umm... I put equal amounts of thought into Elia Lavellan (romanced with Solas), Athera Lavellan (romanced Abelas) and Rynne Hawke (romanced with Fenris). Before I started writing those ships, the question I had to answer was this: Why would Solas/Fenris/Abelas love her? I know why Elia loves Solas, and I know why Rynne loves Hawke and why Athera admires and eventually loves Abelas. But what is it about those OCs that those men fall in love with? I build my OCs around the men in their lives, not the other way around. 

09) Favourite romance?

URGH WHY MUST YOU ASK ME THIS. GOD FINE. Fenris rivalmance, ok?? But I also love the Solasmance and the Blackwall romance to the point of swooning so just FUCK RIGHT OFF WITH THIS QUESTION THXBAI~

10) have you read any of the comics/books?.

Yes! Masked Empire and Asunder.

11) if you read them, which was your favorite book?

Masked Empire. I really liked getting more background on Celene/Briala and Gaspard (i.e. WHY THE FUCK I SHOULD GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE WINTER PALACE MISSION AT ALL). I loved Felassan and Briala’s dalen/hahren relationship. And it was just better written than Asunder.

12) Favorite DLCs?

Must agree with Gala here; Trespasser is bae, and Jaws of Hakkon is just beautiful (and also AMERIDAN <sob>). But I also liked Mark of the Assassin quite a bit! So amusing!

13) Things that annoy you.

The fact that it takes a MILLION YEARS to get banter in DA:I, and also that you can’t just click on your companions in DA:I whenever you like if you just want to hear their voice. I KNOW I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO CLICKED ON FENRIS CONSTANTLY TO HEAR HIM SAY “I enjoy following you”, OKAY? LIKE ALL I WANT IS FOR SOLAS  TO SAY “vhenan” TO ME WHILE WE’RE WANDERING THROUGH THE BLOODY WESTERN APPROACH

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

Ferelden? We seem to spend more time there. But I’m kind of neutral I guess.

15) Templars or mages?

Mages. Hands down. Sorry Templars.

16) if you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

All parallel universes. None of them coexist. Rynne Hawke doesn’t even coexist with any of my Lavellans because Fenris becomes the Inquisitor in my headcanon

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

I have only one pet, Hawke’s mabari, and his name is Toby. 

18) have you installed any mods?

Console only <sob>

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

n/a - haven’t played Origins yet!

20) Hawke’s personality?

PURPLE HAWKE, with a healthy dash of Isabela-level flirtiness. But Rynne (over?)uses humour to deflect pain and agitation and anger.

21) did you make matching armour for your companions in Inquisition?

...Maybe. 

HAHAH so I made matching colour armour for Elia and Solas, yes. And I generally like to dress both Cole and myself in black and red!

22) if your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?  

Ohhhh.... fuck. This is tough. - Elia Lavellan (romanced Solas): ...surprisingly, nothing really. She’s got a pretty zen kind of ‘what will be, will be’ attitude. In her darkest moments she might regret falling for Solas, but overall, she doesn’t really regret anything. - Arya Lavellan (romanced Blackwall): nothing. She is very confident.  - Athera Lavellan (romanced Abelas): honestly, she questions half of her decisions half the time. After Trespasser, she regrets not dissolving the Inquisition. (I haven’t decided yet if she eventually does dissolve it after all; perhaps we’ll see what DA4 brings us).  - Rynne Hawke (romanced Fenris): a LOT of things. She regrets letting Bethany attack that ogre. She regrets not bringing Carver to the Deep Roads, because maybe then he wouldn’t have joined the Templars to spite her. She regrets not following up more closely on Emeric’s murder investigation because otherwise maybe her mother wouldn’t have died. She basically blames herself anytime anything bad happens with her family (including the Merry Band of Misfits). 

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

I actually quite enjoy sticking to canon for the most part, and expanding on facts that we already know. The one canon-ish(?) thing I don’t love is the idea of Dalish Inquisitors understanding or speaking a dialect of Elvhen that’s mutually intelligible with the dialect that Solas and Abelas speak. I let it slide in my Solavellan fics, but I mean, it’s been THOUSANDS OF YEARS between Arlathan and the Dragon Age. Dalish Elvhen (even if they have many many dialects, which is most certainly the case) is very unlikely to be mutually intelligible with ancient Elvhen. I’ve been meaning to write a full post about this for like a year oops

24) Are any of your character(s) based on someone?

They all contain some elements of self-insert, so... me, I guess? XD

25) Who did you leave in the Fade?

The first time I played Inquisition, I had not played DA2 yet, so I left Hawke in the Fade for LOGIC REASONS OK - Stroud was like the only senior Warden left, I thought they needed him! I’ve left Stroud there every time thereafter. 

26) Favourite mount?

Well, it WOULD be any and all the harts, except for that FUCKING HORRENDOUS SOUND THEY MAKE. I thus prefer to ride dracolisks for the Coolness Factor™.