#Light Trespass

[duckysprouts]

icarus and helios

icarus received no divine punishment for his blasphemous hubris… it was cruel enough that he looks up into the endless black of hades each morning and knows that never again would he see his beloved sun

the text:

mine lord helios,

the scribes know not of how i smiled as i reached for you

the lonely years in that tower soothed by your holy company

you warmed me from so far

so i built my wings, eager to touch you

you seared my skin and melted my feathers

mine lovely lord, i could not care less

i, my father’s wretched son, ignored his pleas

your eternal face graced my eyes, amused at my audacity

your blistering embrace cradles me, and then you release me back to my mother earth

and as i fell i looked to you and laughed

because your radiant face wept,

knowing never again will such reverent human flesh caress you as mine did

[lizzybeeee]

I didn't like every map in Inquisition, but the elven ruins were some of the best parts of it. Sometimes I think about how Suledin Keep was laid out where you're running through this kind of mazelike environment and then you can glance up at one point and there's this GIANT dread wolf statue watching you from the mountains. that was neat. Arlathan has giant statues too but imo they aren't framed in a very fantastic way where you can get startled like that. and where are the elven prayer puzzles. why can we not show our obeisance to the Evanuris with logic and whimsy :<

I loved Suledin Keep as well!

Especially since, by that point, you've fought your way through red templar camps and the giant behemoths to get to the *heart* of the operation at Suldein. There are red templars, rifts, the people/quarry operation, and then you get to the Keep and, like you said, there's that cool moment where you look up and the Dread Wolf is just LOOMING over you (like Solas in the story!).

Something that really appealed to me with this world was the tangible sense of the past, the consequences of decisions made ages ago, looming over you - the Blights, the Ancient Elves, the Dwarven Empire, Tevinter...the world never let you forget it.

And that's the whole game of DAI - wherever you go there's always traces of the people that came before you, unable to swept away by time or conquerors...and sometimes those people claw their way back to the present like Corypheous or Solas. In Ferelden you find traces of the Avaar and Chasind, In Orlais you find the remnants of the Elves, the Western Approach is dotted with Old Tevinter outposts and the Wardens, and the Hissing Wastes/Storm Coast with the dwarven ruins on the surface! I loved discovering every inch of those maps (large as they were lmao) and it added so much to the world. It made the world feel large! It added to the idea that this world had so much mystery to it - so much lost history.

And Arlathan?

It's a maze, not in a good way, but because parts are cut off only to be opened 'when allowed', and not like in Inquisition where there was a rock-slide or you needed a bridge etc... You're boxed in with glowing doors that tell you 'not now come back later' or water that instantly drowns you, and it's hard to not be taken out of the experience when the game is so very upfront with you that you are not supposed to explore until we say you can.

This game doesn't reward exploration, it has fast travel spots all over the place that seem to discourage it once you find an area. Camps in Inquisition were spread out over large maps but sparingly used in comparison - it still made certain that you explored the world to find new things on your journey from a to b. The quests train you to fast travel, to get to where you need to go - kill, talk, repeat. The game teaches you to look out for crap to break and so my eyes are rooted firmly on the ground because of it. The game can look gorgeous at times, but it doesn't feel like it wants me to look at it too hard, like it will break the illusion of this game lmao.

It's a personal opinion, of course, but my experience with this game was that it made the world smaller, less interesting, and devoid of that mystery and reverence that made this series so compelling. Like you said, there are some cool visuals like those giant statues in Arlathan, but everything else in the map is so condensed and twisting on each other that it's hard to notice them naturally while playing the game.

'Why can we not show our obeisance to the Evanuris with logic and whimsy'

That would be so cool! I can get Andruil's alter having a hunting test - like with the Vir Tanadhal (the way of three trees), which is a hunting philosophy the Dalish have relating to Andruil who is the Goddess of the Hunt. That makes sense - you show deference to her by hunting according to her way.

...but for all of them?

It's a game design choice, I get that -> make it simple, keep it the same...it goes with the repetitive combat and exploration loop of this game. But they really lost out on showing us how the Evanuris differ to each other - how each of them had their own little 'aspect' they had dominion over in accordance to their lore. Why not have a little puzzle for June, God of the Craft? A riddle for Dirthamen, God of Secrets? Have some sort of brazier lighting puzzle for Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, who gave the elven people fire?

From what we learn in DAI with the veilfire and temple of Mythal we know that they were massively egotistical assholes for the most part, some way more than most. They had their own temples, their own valaslin, their own mythology/legends...giving them all the same prayer puzzle is pretty dull when you consider how different they all are and the efforts they went to to distinguish them. Not that you'd really know in this game - for a game about the 'Elven Gods' there's very little discussion about the rest of them.

But, yeah, to sum it all up: Elven ruins in Inquisition were gorgeous, encouraged you to explore and interact with the lore with veilfire runes, and gave you some gorgeous set pieces like with the giant Dread Wolf statue in Suledin. Inquisition may not have been everyones cup of tea, totally get that, but for me it really captured the wonder of Thedas - the depth of its history...datv unfortunately did not.

[the-northern-continent]

Arrogance became our end. Come not to a prideful place. Now let humility grant favor.

- tracing from the Solasan temple

There was no word for heaven or for earth, for sea or sky. All that existed was silence.

- excerpt from the Canticle of Threnodies

The chantry teaches us that it is the hubris of men which brought the darkspawn into our world. The mages had sought to usurp heaven. But instead, they destroyed it. They were cast out, twisted and cursed by their own corruption. They returned as monsters, the first of the darkspawn.

- Duncan’s opening narration, Dragon Age: Origins

[short666bread]

[vhenan-ma-ghilana]

wip of my mage lavellan :)

[line art + flat colour + working on lighting+bg+render]

lightly introduced her prior but i was dissatisfied with the work so i deleted it. here she is now 🧙‍♀️

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Friday: Trespasser

(From the poll: "In Which the Demolition Duo made it to the Wastelands without being banished because They Are Trespassing)

Damas was not, by and large, a religious man. He didn't worship Precursors -- there were some who insisted that his ousting from Haven was divine punishment for his arrogance -- nor spirits. If spirits could be killed, so could Precursors. That made them oracles, elders to be respected for unique perspectives on time, but not gods in Damas’s opinion.

Which made it an oddity to find him in the temple.

He sat on the shallow steps, staring up at the six carved heads meant to represent Precursors. More insectoid than Oracles, or perhaps just more elaborate. They seemed to wear headdresses over their bizarre masks.

"If you, by action or inaction, let Mar die, then at least have the decency to tell me," he whispered into the empty air.

"You always foretold a future moment of need that my House would answer. Has that need passed unnoticed that you stay silent while my bloodline ends? Or does my son live?"

The masks were silent, of course. Carved stone could neither hear nor speak.

Ungrateful wretches. Damas had a fleeting thought that perhaps they'd allowed -- or even orchestrated -- the abduction of his little son because he wasn't servile and "pious" enough for their tastes.

Damas wondered if spirits could harm Precursors. If perhaps the "Good Grandmother"*, She-Who-Hears-Them-Cry, might take an interest if something in this temple had been directly involved in bringing Mar to harm.

Má took her payment even from the hides of fellow spirits, after all.

"Even if you were capable of bringing him back unharmed, I very much doubt you would," Damas whispered harshly to the open air. His throat bobbed with a painful, bitter anger.

"But if you took him, you owe blood-debt to my House, old ones. So grant closure or sit in your realm knowing that I will seek answers among others as old as you."

Was it wise to threaten the Precursors? Damas neither knew nor cared anymore. Two years he'd barely survived having his heart metaphorically ripped out of his chest.

What more could they do to him? Really, what could they possibly do that could be worse than not knowing?

No answer arrived, not that it surprised him. Damas sighed and braced his elbows against his knees, head in his hands.

Stone grated against stone and metal to his left, and he turned his head swiftly.

There was a door there, one heavily fortified with traps. A hovering Sentinel eye kept watch for movement, designed to activate a spike trap if anyone tried to enter the lower levels without permission. And if someone managed to somehow get past that, the door would still be sealed. Whether by an enterprising ancestor of his or by meddling Precursors, that door could not be opened without an Heir of Mar. Damas was the only one who had ever been beyond it.

It should not have opened even an inch.

And yet Damas was witnessing the two mighty halves forcing themselves apart with a tortured groan born of idleness.

He was on his feet in an instant, ready for a fight. There was no chance that this heralded anything good.

"Whoa!"

That was a hu'men voice.

Damas’s hand hovered over his sidearm, ready to draw the moment he saw a face.

"And I thought this place was huge before!"

It was a young voice. High and a little squeaky.

"It just keeps going, doesn't it?" laughed a second voice, deeper, but just as young.

And then the doors were open wide enough to see the silhouette in between them.

And more importantly, to see the object glowing faintly in his outstretched fist.

Damas’s mouth was dry as he fumbled for the pouch between belt and leather armor where he kept his own amulet of Mar. He knew the shape by heart: twin comets orbiting each other, over stylized hands.

Thief-!

Pure, outraged, fury burned through his veins for a moment. Who had this scrawny figure stolen that amulet from? Heaven forbid it be Mar's amulet, lest Damas murder this boy before his very next step.

"Identify yourself!" Damas shouted, raising his gun.

The figure stepped into view. He was small, so thin his clothes hung loosely on scrawny limbs, but he held himself like a warrior.

"People!"

The animal curled around his shoulders sat upright and spoke.

"Jak! There's real people in here! We're saved!"

Odd reaction to a man pointing a gun at them.

The boy eased a step forward, hands raised as if soothing a frightened animal. He still held the incriminating amulet in his hand.

"Whoa, okay, put the gun down. I don't want to hurt anybody-"

He took a step too far and the sentinel flashed. The spikes shot up out of the floor with a faint shunk!

With a yelp, the boy leapt back -- he was surprisingly light on his feet for someone wearing boots two sizes too big. Then, as if the nearly fatal encounter was no more than a slight inconvenience, he backed up, got a running start, and launched.

He kicked off the wall, seeming to find handholds in the tiniest of crevices as he bypassed the spikes entirely.

Once on the ground again, the boy dusted himself off.

"You okay, Dax?"

"Just peachy, considering you almost dropped me!"

"Did not!" the hu'men boy protested in annoyance.

He really was small.

The general gangly sprawl of his limbs suggested he would gain an impressive height, but for now he just looked..small.

And entirely too excited.

"Who....do you- Where did you come from?" Damas demanded.

The boy pointed back down at the steps and shrugged before scratching his head.

"Exploring?"

Oh that green hair hurt to look at. It was filthy, and matted, like it hadn't been correctly washed in years. He couldn't even determine the age of the trespasser, what with the layers of grime embedded into every crevice of his face. The clothes were just as stained with sweat, dirt, and what looked to be bloodstains. From traps?

"Exploring."

Damas repeated the stranger's explanation incredulously. "How did you even get in here?"

The boy and the orange animal looked at each other for a curiously long moment. They seemed to be having a conversation merely by narrowing and widening their eyes in turn. Then, seeming to come to an agreement, they shrugged and turned back to face Damas.

The boy pointed down a barely visible flight of rough-hewn stone steps, lit by torches.

"We came up through the catacombs."

There were catacombs? He hadn't seen anything like that down there, and Damas liked to think he'd made it pretty far! He examined the stranger more closely, avoiding his eyes -- they're not familiar, you're just projecting your grief -- and avoiding looking at the talking weasel thing. He saw sunken cheeks drawn tightly against sharp cheekbones. A pale, barely visible scar across the bridge of his nose. Deep, deep shadows beneath his eyes. How large was the temple, altogether? Were there more people living below their feet?

"How...long were you down there?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Trust me pal," the weasel-rabbit said, "he smelled like this before we got in that zoomer."

"Hey!"

"What zoomer?!" Damas asked, feeling more confused than before.

"The one we took through the lava tube to the catacombs."

Damas was beginning to wonder if he'd somehow inhaled the monks' incense by accident.

The trespasser cringed as if only just noticing the bewildered and only barely softened hostility on Damas’s face. He shoved his amulet -- not his, it can't be his, there aren't any more of us left!*-- into his pocket and waved his hands placatingly.

Was there another Heir all this time? Is that why I was given no chance to protect Mar? Were my child and I expendable?

"Didn't mean to bother you," the kid apologized, "We'll just uh- huh. Actually, where are we?"

And then he looked to the door rather than Damas.

"Hey Oracle!" he shouted, and Damas was glad no monks were present to hear this and faint at the impertinance.

"Where the rot are we?"

Alright. This was now officially more of a problem than he'd first thought. Not even the monks were supposed to have found that Oracle down there.

One of the past Heirs who never inherited the throne had sealed it up the moment he discovered it long ago. After all, the discovery of light and dark eco being opposite poles of one energy might have thrown society into chaos and they didn't want to deal with the fallout. Even Damas was leery of reintroducing that knowledge outside of the Arena yet. Apparently this trespasser had no such thoughts.

He spoke to Oracles -- or pretended he did.

He held and used an amulet.

The boy was a mystery. And Damas hated not having the answers.

"You," Damas decided, wearing anger like a shield, "are coming with me. You have questions to answer."

The boy balked.

"No!"

He dodged before Damas could seize his arm, stumbling back amidst the columns.

"Uh-uh, I'm not falling for that."

"Falling for what?"

Damas was genuinely confused, and more than a little irritated.

The boy continued to back away.

"No, no I know how this goes. You're gonna take me back to the Haven Council, aren't you!"

*

"Haven?!" Damas sputtered, "Why the bleeding rot would I want to go there?! I'm taking you to my city!"

That didn't reassure the kid, who apparently was not fond of the leaders of Haven City.

Well, that was at least a bare minimum of common ground.

"You ain't takin us to no secondary location!" the orange one declared, pointing a skinny digit at Damas.

"The last time I got transported to a new place, I got kidnapped and experimented on for two years," his friend agreed.

Embleer Frith.

Damas stared at the boy. He squinted, as if that would give him insight into the unsettling response, then shook his head.

"You what?!"

What was he talking about? Experimented on?! That would explain the sudden shift from curiosity to distrust. But why-?

Damas knew. Deep down, he thought he knew.

If the boy was an Heir -- and he didn't even want to entertain the thought, but it had to be acknowledged as a possibility -- then that alone would be motive for someone like Praxis to torture even a young man -- or young boy?

If he was still obsessed with creating the ultimate war-sage, then an unclaimed and unattended Heir of Mar would be invaluable.

But if Praxis had been so focused on an older Heir, then perhaps it at least meant that he'd never gotten his hands on Mar.

That there was a stab of shame to follow that whisper of relief was an unsettling proof that he had not successfully hardened his heart as much as he'd thought.

"You came here from Haven?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

Thoughts of a breach in their defenses sickened him.

"And others will follow in pursuit of you?"

This time both trespassers scoffed.

"Only if they feel like sharpening their reaction time enough for a volcanic subrail," the hu'men said. He almost smiled.

The orange one nodded. "Jak here's the best driver there is! Also the most demolition-happy, but nobody's perfect."

Jak?

Now that was a name his spies had been mentioning a lot in their reports. An alleged juggernaut who had turned the Baron's own secret project against him and -- rumor had it -- even destroyed the metalhead nest.

Damas had been expecting someone a little...older.

* the "Good Grandmother" Damas is referencing is a spirit I made up for the Wasteland called Má Crocadeer. Fairly grisly figure with a crocadeer skull wreathed in flowers for a head, and a crocadeer's legs and tail. Her purpose is to punish those who deliberately cause or inflict harm on children. There's a lot of people in Haven who should avoid the desert for this reason.

[paperleef]

The week is complete! Even though I was very late with 6.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

wrap-around view of my fen'o'lantern! there's a post with still photos of the design here :) I'm very pleased with how it turned out. I love doing these wrap-around effects on pumpkins, i wish every holiday had some form of gourd carving activity

[vigilskept]

i'm not fully committed (yet) but i've been contemplating a trespasser rewrite where the inciting incident for the gathering of political leaders is the mac tir-tabris wedding.

[delicate-paint-stained-daffodils]

My entire brain is taken up by dragon age right now. It is fizzing up there, hyper fixation going HARD

[endawna]

stages of blood-starved.

[anextravagantliar]

WE ARE TWO MOON TRUTHERS

[marcosrfotografia]

Imposible pasar (SA-102). Buscando/encontrando la gasolinera abandonada de Santibáñez de Béjar.