#oc: rook 🦌

[gyldowen-draws]

🔥 Tinder Time 🔥

Name: Dathrash

Bio: 29 | he/they | gay

Faction: Veil Jumpers 🦌

Appearance: 6’7” and I’ve been told that I am a “Thick King”. The pictures pretty much do me justice, but they don’t show that my eyes are a mix of amethyst and mahogany. It’s a nice combo 💜🤎 And my horns are healthy and strong so they make great handholds

Likes: Tea (probably too much based on how much I drink), taking care of kids, discussing philosophy, eating (but I’m not much of a cook), learning new things, and spending time outdoors

Dislikes: Surprises, snakes (they’re so scary 😱🐍), poor treatment of mages

Looking for: a fellow plant enthusiast, a yoga partner, or a confident and competent boyfriend to spend my days with 🥰

Tinder template and stills under the cut!

Feel free to use the template for your Rooks or any of your OCs! (You don't have to credit me but it would be nice) If you're a CSP user you can totally reach out for the editable version (the font I used is Bahnscrift Light Semi-Condensed)

[virenasalin]

📜 multifandom & personal blog, but 90% of my posts end up being about dragon age

>i enjoyed Veilguard overall but do have issues with it; i tag criticism with "#datv critical"

>i spend an absurd amount of time in photomode, here's my screenshot dumps

>intros for my canon dragon age OCs under the cut 🧹 my canon DA2 protag is my beloved wife default Garrett Hawke (mage, fugitives with Anders)

Rook ♜

name: Zalan Laidir (he/him)

age: 51 in 9:52 (born 9:01 Dragon)

gender/sexuality: trans man/pansexual

race: elf

height: 5'6"

eyes: violet

hair: silver, it used to be a dark brown. he started noticeably greying in his mid 20s

class: mage, Evoker specialization

faction: Lords of Fortune

romance(s): Emmrich & Davrin

closest friends: Neve, Taash, Isabela

[UNDER CONSTRUCTION 😏]

Inquisitor 🦌

name: Trandil Lavellan (he/him)

age: 27 in 9:41, 38 in 9:52 (born 9:14 Dragon)

gender/sexuality: cis male/gay

race: elf

height: 5'8"

eyes: hazel initially, with a ring of green around his outer iris from the anchor. the green dulls after he loses the anchor but it never fully fades. it took him a while to get used to fighting with Dagna's prosthetics and in that adjustment period he suffered a brutal facial injury. it left three long scars along the right side of his face and damaged his right eye. while he didn't end up losing the eyeball, it's clouded over and he can't see much of anything out of it

hair: chestnut brown, as of datv he's sprouted a few grey streaks by his temples

class: mage, Knight Enchanter specialization

romance(s): Dorian & Iron Bull

closest friends: Blackwall, Varric, Cassandra..... Solas

Rate Your OC Traits

Hero of Fereldan 🧙‍♂️

name: Levin Surana (they/he)

age: 19 in 9:30, would be 41 in 9:52 (born 9:11 Dragon, went to their Calling in 9:50 Dragon)

gender/sexuality: transmasc nonbinary/bisexual

race: elf

height: 5'1"

eyes: amber

hair: medium blonde

class: mage, Blood Mage specialization

romance: Zevran, had a crush on Sten

closest friends: Sten, Wynne, Morrigan

[purru]

And he had perfected his chant. And he had brought delightful sacrifices; the altar sang praises with their blood. His Master rewarded him with a curse instead. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Day 1 of Whumptober

In which Rook (my ttrpg character) hypothetically failed a ritual roll to grant him wish and suffered fun consequences. Such was the joy of working for a mercurial deity.

[purru]

hbd rk

[purru]

[purru]

I Like The Smell of Hell in the Morning

⚠️ content advisory: self deprecating thoughts

Fandom: original character (ttrpg) // in which I wrote about my PC’s canon reunion scene with an NPC, when they’re both still enemies

Note: fill for day 21 of Whumptober - Coughing up blood | Take me instead @whumptober-archive

It was unjust. Rook had prayed that their paths wouldn’t cross; it was absolutely unfair how they hadn’t met in twenty years yet their grand reunion had to end up like this.

Leonard tut-tutted, “Robert, where are you going?”

In an instant sulfur-scented smoke poured from Rook’s body and he felt like he’s experiencing the worst summer of his life. His pulse kept rising, he overheated; a small portion of hell that Leonard let him taste. Smoke permeated his lungs. His mouth tasted like burnt matches and table salt, he coughed heavily. It didn’t take long until Rook collapsed but he clutched the parcel as if his life depended on it. His eyes watered. He threw a pleading look at Leonard whose visage was still unchanged even after decades; in fact he looked healthier even. “Sir.”

Their eyes locked. “Oh Robert, just hand me the parcel and you’re all free to go,” Leonard’s offer was saccharine sweet. Sickeningly sweet, so unlike his dismissive gaze. The older man issued orders with hand gestures and the tar-colored apparitions surrounding him complied, circling around Rook with such ire. The ghosts were the instruments and Leonard was the conductor, directing the beat and tempo of their onslaught. “Don’t be difficult, boy.”

The smoke had dissipated from his body but he still felt like he’s standing in front of a furnace. Trembling, he took a glance behind him. Aaron and Malik were paralyzed, a common affliction when dealing with apparitions of the dead. Amber wasn’t visible from his position right now. He didn’t realize he had coughed up blood until he wiped the wet warmth off the bottom of his chin. This was unfortunate, he thought bitterly. All things considered, it seemed like surrendering was the logical option. In theory, he could buy his allies more time.

“Take me instead,” Rook hissed through the pain, “Let them go with the parcel.” I surrender. “You were looking for me, your congregation wanted me. It would be a good trade off, yes?” Everything led to this. I was a traitor, after all.

Leonard’s chuckle was laced with scorn, “I want the parcel and you.”

[purru]

Summer Training Arc

▷ Summary; Ah, summer; the season of self-improvement. What could go wrong?

⚠️ content advisory: slapstick/dark humor, gunshot wound, blood

"Shoot me, Leonard."

And immediately he did so. In point-blank range. He watched Rook growl and writhe in agony as red started to stain the shorter man's white coat. He thought the contrast looked evocatively interesting. Embellishing. Raw.

Alas, he couldn’t revel in the view any longer. He witnessed the bloody droplets trickle upward, making their way back to Rook's torso. The shorter man’s trembling fingers curled into a fist the moment they both heard a low muffled crack; bones and sinews rearranging themselves. Metallic clink echoed as a fractured bullet fell to the ground. Burberry coat pristine white once again, save for the bullet hole. It all happened in one swift moment, he could even still smell gunpowder permeating in the air.

"That was fancy," he remarked, running his fingers through the coat's bullet hole.

"I didn't mean for you to shoot me now now, Leonard!" Rook hissed in exasperation, "A wee bit later so I can ready myself to dodge it."

Notes: Rook owns an arcane artifact that can reverse injuries (1 use per day), hence the instant recovery

[purru]

Proper and Polite and Everything Nice

▷ Summary; They're nothing alike, Rook thought. They shared power but their methods are vastly different

⚠️ content advisory: characters with dubious morality, mentions of hypnosis and murder

Rook scratched his head, unable to comprehend as to why Leonard was adamant to volunteer peeling their already rinsed homegrown potatoes. “Would you be alright?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t be seen as doubting Leonard’s household skill. (He absolutely doubted it.)

“I’ll be fine. You go boil the broth,” Leonard answered. Rook declined as boiling was something that even someone as undomestic as Leonard would manage to do without fail, “It’s alright, you can leave the peeling and cutting to me.”

The taller man looked at Rook while messily peeling a ripe potato with kitchen knife, “And that’s exactly why I am doing this right now. Can’t have you holding a knife near me, especially when it’s just the two of us down here”

“I don’t understand what you’re implying here.” Rook fiddled with his apron and pretended to be deeply hurt, “I’m… I’m nice.” Leonard snorted and did an exaggerated nod, “You’re definitely the better actor when it comes to acting nice. But sure, boy. Whatever makes you sleep at night.” 

Rook awkwardly cleared his throat, “I am a proper gentleman with proper decorum; I pay my taxes and tip servers well.” He continued, “Moreover, to put it simply, I am more than capable to compel a man to immolate himself but I abstain from doing that. That’s not a nice behavior.”

There it was. The unmistakable glee in Leonard’s eyes. It was a blink or miss moment but Rook had known Leonard for some while; that was the look when Leonard was blessed with a twisted epiphany. 

Rook regretted that he had talked too much when he should’ve quietly boiled the broth. Leonard was back to his potato after he gave Rook a crooked smile, “I see.”

“Leonard, no.”

Notes: both of them possess the ability to magically influence human to follow their orders, even if the order is harmful

[purru]

Safer in the Dark

▷ Summary; They had banished the devil from his body, too bad he replaced its place

⚠️ content advisory: light stockholm syndrome, character with dubious morality

Fandom: original character (ttrpg)

Note #1: fill for day 8 of Whumptober - Back From The Dead | continuation of this fic, set right after his resurrection

He woke up from the dead with glacial resentment. When he noticed the handcuffs, he couldn’t tell when fury ended and grief began.

His murderer–no, savior, explained with great regret that he had to do it. Hicks had to kill Rook to separate his soul from the devil, there was no other way.

Patiently, his savior made it clear that they also destroyed the contract that binds him to the devil. He eventually learned that the process also made him lose a chunk of his arcane power. Lost in thought, Rook was quiet the whole time.

“What happened to you was not your fault. It's time to start over,” his savior finally said. There was a heavy lump in his throat. He slowly looked away, not wanting emotion to overtake him. He had to be grateful for what Hicks had done to save him. He had to. He convinced himself so. After all, Hicks was the first person who ever stood up for him.

“You have spent years under that devil’s thumb, unwillingly,” Rook heard his savior saying. “You are free now.”

The revenant tried his best to believe it.

---

Rook stood completely still when he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. Gun to head, not unlike his first taste of death. His mind raced. Sir?

“Hands in the air,” barked his target. Rook quickly complied. Sir?

He frantically evoked the devil’s name in his head. Static. There was no familiar taunting laugh. Rook heard his target saying something out of anger but his ears were swimming.

Cold sweat began to form on his forehead. Rook was confused as to why he couldn’t smell sulfur, why his target wasn’t set ablaze yet.

And he was truly alone, he realized. Fear wormed further into his head, now that it's devoid of The Prince’s company.

It was way too late and he had to learn the hard way, but they were right. There’s a price for everything in life. He had regained his soul but lost his protector.

‎

Note #2: title is taken from the lyrics of this song

[purru]

Fair Exchange

▷ Summary; They said to be prepared is half the victory. Set right before BBEG fight What could go wrong would go wrong, but Rook believed that one can always prepare. During their respite in the middle of rose field, he traded a few bottles of pitch dark soul with his darksight goggles and shadow cloak, knowing very well that Leonard would need those items the most. The shorter man was content that in the (possible) event of his death, he had left Leonard useful inheritance—something to complement his weaknesses. Rook waved at Leonard as they parted wordlessly. If I do not make it, let us meet again in Hell.

[purru]

Don’t Make It Sound Like an Interview

▷ Summary; Rook seeks answers

⚠️ content advisory: characters with dubious morality

Leonard was wolfing down his second club sandwich when Rook decided that perhaps it’s finally time to look for red flags in their interpersonal relationship (or lack thereof). “May I ask a question? Singular question this time,” Rook looked expectantly.

The taller man responded after he had finished chewing, “You know the drill. Don't make it sound like an interview; just don’t make it weird.”

“Well-”

“It will be weird, innit,” he cut Rook’s sentence as if he could sniff the anxiety in the air.

“Do you hold the view that private property should be enforced, and strictly be enforced not by the government but by private parties that you willingly choose?” Rook asked in one breath.

“The fuck.”

“I apologize, let me rephrase it. Do you think that the government is absolutely unnecessary? Do you think that it’s unnecessary, that you’d rely on the free market to protect your personal belongings?”

Leonard stared at Rook in disbelief, “Don’t care about all that. My things are mine. if I get or take something then it’s mine, and if someone takes what’s mine they’ll face the consequences.”

There was a hint of a smile on the younger man’s face. “I see how it is then.” He paused to take a slice of sandwich. “It doesn’t concern you.”

They spent the rest of their picnic in comfortable silence. Rook was relieved that Leonard was merely morally challenged, and not some anarcho-capitalist fella.

[purru]

Exalted

▷ Summary; The first of Rook’s many mistakes

⚠️ content advisory: unreliable narrator, prison setting, implied angst at the end

Robert never knew why other inmates tend to avoid Mr. Martel. He found it odd that a handful of them would be put-off by the dark haired man’s tepid temperament. Impassive Mr. Martel with sunken eyes that barely concealed his boredom. Mr. Martel who stirred his bowl of gruel absentmindedly, peculiar looking tattoo adorning his bony hands.

Young Robert maybe lacked experience but he knew that keeping proximity to power was the key for survival and good life. Luckily for him, that proximity wasn’t ever far away as Mr. Martel’s cell was right next to his. There were practically neighbors and Robert was sure he’s not going to let it slip.

It didn’t take a long time for Robert to strike a conversation and actually hold the said conversation with the taller man. It was easy to slowly like Mr. Martel as the man turned out to be receptive, answering his questions and humoring him during recess while maintaining personal distance. They were incarcerated anyway, it wouldn’t be wise to talk freely especially to a stranger like him. It wasn’t difficult to crave a conversation with Mr. Martel, as he’s the only one there who doesn’t see Robert as a sore thumb who never really belonged anywhere.

He was delighted (and partly terrified) when his theory about Mr. Martel secretly being in the possession of power turned out to be true. In the dead of night, Robert witnessed the older man grappling with a ghost. Not merely shouting commands like they did in fictions, but actually went in contact with an incorporeal thing. Limbs intertwined with each other, the echo of a dead man struggling hard. In the end he struck the ghost down like it was lifeless fabric against stone walls, eyes alight with hunger foreign to Robert. ***

Over time, Robert conversed with Mr. Martel more often. He complimented his nice tattoo and gushed about this romance book he read then; the one about a sanctimonious wealthy gentleman and a woman with lively disposition. Robert only grew bolder, he risked corporal punishment by speaking in hushed tone to Mr. Martel while they were weaving bags.

Eventually he would get more confident at dealing with the others, only to shrink away behind Mr. Martel when things went south. Sometimes they would be amused by the whole situation, and their laughter were light unlike their rusty fetters. Robert lit up, for figuring out why Mr. Martel kept for himself, for finally forging human connection in this monotonous perdition.

Robert internally denied it but he has put Mr. Martel on a pedestal. He never meant to emulate the taller man, to aspire to be proper just like him. He could deny all he wanted but his joyous expression betrayed him when Mr. Martel offered him more protection. ***

Robert never knew why the others tended to avoid Mr. Martel. By the time he knew, it was already years too late.

[purru]

never uploaded this before but here’s rook in his full regalia (with alternate version) from last year

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