#ruler of Arlathan

[resrerum]

King of the eclipse

based on Jean delville - la justice d’autrefois

[martiancake]

Just cultists looking for a new jerk to follow

"So hear me out... 'Elgar'nan' sounds a lot like 'Elder One'..."

-- The Venatori, probably.

[lafaiette]

Some people on Reddit Dragon Age are saying that it could be an early/modified build used for the preview event in order to avoid too many spoilers. In that case, there could be more choices simply not shown here.

In the screenshot, there are just 5 tabs: one for the Inquisitor's appearance, one for their LI, one for the fate of the Inquisition, one for Solas, and one it's the recap we're looking at.

The wording used is a bit odd: many were convinced "Friendship and Romance" would include not only the Inquisitor's LI, but also their friends and amicable relationships, due to that title. "Past Adventures: The Inquisition" also seems to imply there could be more choices related to Origins and DA2.

It's unclear whether the devs wanted to keep the Inquisitor's page so under wraps because they knew people would be disappointed, or simply to avoid sharing too many spoiler-y info.

If this is really all we'll get on October 31st, then Bioware definitely wanted to avoid the disappointment and light negativity this news caused; if we'll get something more complex and fleshed out, that would be grand, and it would mean Bioware succeeded in keeping some important secrets until the release date!

AH DAMN

A friend sent me a picture from a German article - it seems it inadvertently spoiled the Inquisition world state that we can "import" into Veilguard. Big spoiler under the cut.

It's just three major choices: the romanced companion, whether the Inquisition was disbanded or not, and whether the Inquisitor vowed to redeem or stop Solas. I'm (unpleasantly) surprised tbh 🫠

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard - Meet the Factions

"Major players on the stage of Thedas, any of these factions could prove useful allies throughout your story. Your faction choice will influence your Rook’s backstory, conversation options, and potentially the balance of power on this divided continent."

"Grey Wardens An ancient order sworn to fight darkspawn & monsters. Wardens undergo secret rites that grant them supernatural powers. Veil Jumpers Explorers of ancient elven ruins. They welcome anyone brave enough to face Arlathan’s reality-warping magic. Shadow Dragons A resistance opposing corrupt rulers and slavery in Tevinter. They are determined to bring justice to the people. Lords of Fortune Explorers, hunters, and treasure-seekers from Rivain who are famed for their daring exploits and narrow escapes. The Mourn Watch An elite necromantic order that tends to Nevarra’s sprawling Grand Necropolis, where undead walk and spirits dwell. Antivan Crows Swift knives in the dark, these ruthless assassins are respected and feared as Antiva’s shadowy protectors."

[source]

[bleeding-star-heart]

Post Veilguard, the entirety of Thedas has a huge reckoning on its hands re: mages

After Solas was defeated, several things are quickly going to become public knowledge: 1) That Solas, an elven deity created the Veil in order to quarantine the Blight. 2) That the elven deities-who were in fact real the whole time-created said Blight by killing the Titans, indirectly screwing over the dwarves in the process. 3) That the elven deities also manipulated the Tevinter empire of old by what is essentially dragon-assisted (metaphorical) Groucho glasses.

4) Finally, that the Tevinter magisters did not in fact release all the Blight onto the world, but merely a tiny amount of it. All these things, when put together, pretty much removes all the blame from the famous Magisters Sidereal. Yes, they did walk into the Fade and bring the Blight into the world. But they aren't responsible for tainting the Golden City (which was likely just Arlathan anyway), their "hubris" didn't create the Blight, and they didn't even bring all of it into Thedas anyway. In other words, everything the Chant of Light claimed about them is total bunk. And thanks to Solas, Elgarnan, and Rook and co., that is public knowledge. And since a huge portion of the Chantry's justification for their treatment of mages is tied up with the Magisters Sidereal... The possibility of a whole new mage rights revolution has opened up. Especially if you take into account the Inquisitor's letters detailing how the Orlesian aristocrats apparently had no problem siding with Venatori. (A piece of bad writing if ever there was one IMO, but that's neither here nor there.) Many previously accepted pro-Templar, anti-mage rights arguments are no longer going to hold water in the face of this new information. After all, you can't indirectly blame all mages for the Blight if the Tevinter magisters are barely responsible for it in the first place. And the threat of demonic possession is a harder sell when the very famous Lucanis is walking around with free will intact. Consequently, a lot of people are going to lose faith in the Chantry and Andrastianism as a whole. Others will fanatically cling to the Chant, denying the truth Rook and co. publicly exposed and choosing instead to paint the Veilguard as heretical liars. These two factions will inevitably oppose each other, and it would be damn near impossible for any sort of reconciliation or "reaching across the aisle". Thus making Anders and the Mage-Templar conflict of Inquisition are likely small potatoes compared to what's about to unfold. Of course, one problem is, we don't know how the Mage-Templar conflict was "canonically" resolved. (the default Inquisitor is apparently Lavellan, but that's all Bioware cared to tell us). The factions the Inquisitor sided with, the ruler they chose for Orlais, the identity of Divine Victoria...all that is up in the air. Therefore, the Chantry's reaction could be just about anything. See, if a softened Leliana became Divine Victoria, and the Inquisitor supported the mages, there's hope that all these changes might be more peaceful. Leliana's radical reforms would likely have already paved the way for a peaceful transition to full mage rights. But if Vivienne is Divine, or the Inquisition was pro-Templar, then southern Thedas is fucked. It is violent revolution o'clock. (And not just because of the Blight).

[thekingofwinterblog]

The Elven Gods Weren't Good At Magic

ok so i have seen some chuckleheads try to defend this Epler, but holy shit...

Im very much NOT the guy who tends to jump on Bioware's take on the dalish/elvhenan(and to a lesser extent the Qunari) as Racist or unfortunate... but MAN this is just flat out... no not unfortunate implications, this is basically the argument the people who have been complaining that the elves were portrayed as a "Weak" people who's defeat to the tevinter imperium was innevitable due to inherint weakness on the part of their culture, and rather than showcasing the reality was a bit more nuanced and complicated than that, they instead said:

"Yeah that's about right. The Elven Gods, the cream of the crop of Elven kind, their god-kings who knew more than anyone about magic, the very nature their society ran on, the thing they used to reach such heights, knew absolutely nothing impressive about magic at all."

Like... this is so bad. because it says that no, the elves WEREN'T good at magic they DIDNT have any more innate understanding of magic than Tevinter. They were actually shit, and the only reason they were able to make anything impressive at all, is because they lived in the age before the veil, and they were able to mooch of the power of the titans.

The Elves who led their people to victory over the titans were not good magic users, or at least they didn't actually understand magic at all.

Now im not saying the titan's powers werent THE driving force of the Elven Empire greatest heights, but what Epler says here is that the elven rulers, after using magic for millennia, had no greater understanding of it whatsoever, which would put them beneath the most lowly circle apprentice who beat his harrowing.

It is, in fact, saying that the Archons who conquered the Arlathan remnants WERE superior mages to the greatest heights the elves could ever hope to reach, and yet another showcase of bioware shitting on the Dalish for daring to try to believe that their ancestors actually was great.

No Merill, the Elves were never great, they just had an inexaustible battery, Epler said so.

[broodwoof]

Mythal Character Analysis

Please don't include character/ship/game hate on this post, ty 💖

This got so long so I’m gonna be all official and add an introduction and thesis statement. Because that’s apparently where I’m at when it comes to Mythal Dragon Age.

In the following meta, I explore the depth of Mythal’s character through her numerous ‘entities.’ While avoiding facile arguments about which is a ‘true’ version, as all versions of her are true, I do attempt to utilize all we know about her to try and infer some information about what she was like as a spirit and during the Arlathan era. More importantly, I try to draw attention to her inherent complexity and the nuances of her character, for she is a very rich and layered individual.

Her forms, in chronological order:

Spirit – Benevolence & Retribution

Arlathan era

Lyrium dagger fragment (fragment!Mythal)

Flemeth + Mythal (Flemythal)

Morrigan + Mythal (Morrithal)

Listing all these because I think this is the first step in trying to discern who Mythal is.

Spirit!Mythal is one we do not get to see directly. Mythal took flesh, so she, like the rest of the Evanuris, like Elgar’nan himself, like Solas, existed once as a spirit. She was close with Solas during this time, but that’s about all we know for certain.

Arlathan era Mythal is similarly shrouded in mystery, although there is more we know about her, and more still we can infer.

Lyrium dagger fragment Mythal is the most direct connection we have to Arlathan era Mythal, but it is still not a perfect, 1:1 comparison. “I have spent thousands of years watching. I shall miss that. But if what I am can protect the innocent and smite the guilty…” Thousands of years. Thousands. Solas woke up ~11 years before the events of DAVG. So he either released her from the lyrium dagger before he entered his uthenera or she was conscious while she was within the dagger. In either case, she would have changed during this time.

This Mythal is very complex. She’s fascinatingly layered. She is direct, passionate at times (sometimes in anger, sometimes in grief), but mostly something I struggle to describe. A little distant, a little authoritative, a little contemptuous. A little like a parent trying to guide a child to the right answer. But what I find the most interesting – and the most telling of Arlathan era Mythal – is how she speaks about the threats during Arlathan’s time.

“I ruled beside them for centuries. I bear them no love now, and they were ever flawed, as all rulers are… Yet they were better than the others who threatened your ancestors. Monsters like the Titans, or selfish fools like Anaris. Set the blight aside, and tell me why I should help you topple your own gods.”

“You’ve no idea how many monsters lurk outside the walls of the house your parents created to keep you safe!”

(In response to an elven Rook announcing that they don’t need their gods – i”m uncertain if this dialogue is available with non-elf Rooks) “Ungrateful child. You would not be here had I not waded through fire and blood to give the elvhen a future!”

There’s nothing about the rest of her dialogue with Rook that implies a deceit or a trickery happening here. She isn’t telling them everything, of course, but what she does tell them seems to be true. So she believed this. To her – and presumably to the other Evanuris – the Titans and the Forgotten Ones, like Anaris, were very real threats. Threats she stood against.

Fragment!Mythal is very displeased with Flemythal. “You listen to the human, and the cowardly echo she carries? Pathetic.” She seems to view Flemythal as a weak version of what she is/was, and although she refers to herself as something other than a whole person – that she is a part, that she is all that’s left, etc. – she seems to exclusively refer to Flemythal that way. I think it’s safe to conclude that she has a great deal of contempt for Flemythal and likely some anger. 

Part of that anger may stem from the fact that Solas and Flemythal interacted, even briefly, at the end of DAI, while he has never visited fragment!Mythal. Fragment!Mythal has good reason to be angry with Solas, even though she continues to care for him. For instance, in response to Rook suggesting that she should stop caring about Solas: “Just like that? Do you feel so little that you could follow such a path with someone you had known for centuries?” (If you haven’t heard this, you should listen to it. The voice acting here is… ouch.) There is also this bit of dialogue: “Tell me this. What should I have done when Solas turned against me after all we had been to one another?”

Thus, Fragment!Mythal is:

Stuck in this specific area, where she has been for a long time, observing. She’s been alone and isolated, having to cling to memories and watch without the ability to affect anything – something that must be particularly challenging for a spirit of Benevolence and Retribution. Nothing about either of those aspects, or her role as protector, works well with passivity. 

Arlathan era Mythal asked Solas to join her – this is particularly relevant here because Solas, as Wisdom/Pride, was content to remain an observer within the Fade; Mythal, as Benevolence/Retribution, was not. Their natures varied, his being more naturally passive, and hers naturally more active. Emmrich also mentions in a codex that fragment!Mythal has been shaped by her situation and the condition she’s been living in for so long.

So all this is to say: this may be the closest we come to seeing Arlathan Mythal, but it is still fundamentally different.

So we arrive at Flemythal. She has been present since DAO, guiding, shaping, encouraging… she helped the Wardens figure out a path forward to stop the blight, a blight which she did not have the power to stop herself, yet it is clear given what we learn in DAVG that she is deeply and personally aware of the danger posed by the blight. She’s not helping them figure out what needs doing because she’s getting some weird kick out of it, she’s doing it to protect the world. Whatever else she is, however angry, however bitter, she remains the protector. She continues to defend the world.

Whether she feels a sense of personal responsibility for the blight is unclear, but also not entirely relevant; where Solas is largely defined by his regrets, Mythal does not seem to be that way. Any version of her. And Flemythal in particular appears to focus more on the present and the future than the past. Fragment!Mythal focuses on the present and the past, because she doesn’t have access to the rest of the world or the ability to do much for the future.

And then, Morrithal. We really don’t know much about her. She says she only carries Mythal’s memories, but she calls Solas her old friend. She has some of Mythal’s intonations. She has her presence, and wears her headdress. I think there is more of Mythal in Morrigan than she is willing to admit, although whether she’s avoiding that truth for herself or simply opting not to share her deepest, most personal aspects with Rook is unclear.

Let’s look at what all versions of Mythal seem to have in common and go from there.

Mythal sees herself as:

The protector.

A necessary guardian for the elvhen – and the elven, modern elves

A ruler, deserving of respect for what she did for her people.

A parental figure for the elvhen/elven.

Mythal sees Solas as:

Her old friend.

Someone she continues to care about.

Mythal sees the other Evanuris as:

Fellow rulers, but she bears them no love.

Personally, what I extrapolate from this is that Mythal thought of herself and the other Evanuris as rulers but not literal gods. She does not seem to need worship from the elvhen/elven, or from Rook. She seems to want respect. To me, that is the hallmark of a self-perceived ruler and not a self-perceived god.

She saw the Evanuris as the best defense for the elvhen against forces arrayed against them – forces that we as players still don’t understand, by the way. Was she right? We have no way of knowing! It is possible that the Evanuris were truly the only thing standing in the way between the elvhen and certain doom. Or it is possible that they simply perceived themselves as such.

If Rook says the blight is her mistake she needs to fix: “My mistake? I saved lives and ended a war, you petulant child!” We can view this as being true, as being something Mythal thought was true, or as being something Mythal is trying to convince herself is true. I don’t think fragment!Mythal cares enough about Rook to bother putting on a performance to convince them of any particular truth, so I think these are the only three valid options here.

To be clear, I think the basic actions are accurate. Mythal, presumably in working with Solas to create the dagger, stopped a war. Stopping a war would save lives. I don’t think she’s wrong about either of those things. I also suspect she was correct about the Titans and the Forgotten Ones being threats, although what kind of threats is more uncertain, particularly in regard to the Titans. Were they a threat of uncertainty, or one of malice? Because those are vastly different things.

At one point, Mythal says this to Rook: “Any petty tyrant can fight those who come to their land and claim to be protecting their people. What is a protector, to you?” This is very interesting, considering the questions I’ve posed thus far. 

None of this, to me, gives any evidence for Mythal being an evil figure. I don’t think she twisted Solas or abused him. I don’t think she bound him to her. I don’t think she ruined him. I think they were close, very close – their exact relationship left up for interpretation, but she does notably call him love and that matters – and she asked him for his help. Help he agreed to give, until he stopped agreeing. That drove a wedge between them, but she was still willing to listen to his concerns about the blight, even when he was rebelling against the Evanuris – and, thus, against her.

They hurt each other. Badly. But they loved each other, too. They cared for each other, and they still do. People can hurt each other without malice, particularly when the stakes are as high as they are here. Mythal hurt Solas, Solas hurt Mythal. They were each betrayed by the other in a way. They both thought what they were doing was right.

We are looking back on their choices with countless years between us and them, without the full context, and with a much more sympathetic view of Solas than Mythal because of the time we’ve spent with him in DAI. That’s fine! That’s normal. But I think a lot of people would really enjoy Mythal if they sat with and really thought about her, as someone more than “that woman who hurt Solas” or viewed her as Solas’ “bad start" or "abusive ex."

A final note: in gaining her willing essence, fragment!Mythal says this: “Use it to protect this world with kindness when possible, and cunning when necessary.” I think this summarizes her character better than any essay I could ever write. This is her. This is Benevolence. This is what drove her to take form, to protect the elvhen from Elgar’nan. This is why she’s the protector, and why she pulls the strings, why Flemythal was always nudging history along, why Morrithal is doing the same thing.

This is Mythal, at her core.

Kindness when possible. Cunning when necessary.

[starlightchaser]

Info dumping a brief summary of how my Veilguard ElgaRook bad AU timeline goes in my brain. My actual timeline for them goes differently; this is the bad ending version (not for Elgar'nan though).

The first time Elgar'nan sees Callum when going to save Ghilan'nain, he's immediately intrigued. Callum's ability to resist his powers is unusual, even if they brush it off as being Solas' influence. There's a few other things he finds out the more he digs into Callum - the spellblade fighting style is rare/almost unheard of in the present day in my headcanon, but was a common fighting style that Elgar'nan himself as well as his elite soldiers used. And Callum specializes in spell blending, another technique that was once common before the Veil but is now difficult and rare. Plus Callum focuses on lightning and fire, the same elements Elgar'nan uses. Elgar'nan becomes a tad obsessed with Callum and wants to have him.

During Blood of Arlathan, they're losing badly. Callum ends up bargaining with Elgar'nan for the rest of his team's and the captured elves freedom, and Elgar'nan does agree because he considers Callum enough of a prize that he's not so bothered about the rest. The Venatori that sacrificed the halla - Elgar'nan has Callum kill one of them and then he kills the rest and uses blood magic to create a bond between him and Callum. The bond lets them share emotions with each other so it's very intimate.

Callum eventually gets rescued from Elgar'nan's temple when the rest of the team attack one of Ghilan'nain's labs - they learn its location from Solas (Emmrich contacts him, but the magic required almost kills him). Elgar'nan feels super betrayed and hurt by this. And Callum is forced to stay in the Lighthouse/Crossroads because they believe Elgar'nan can track him through the bond, but Elgar'nan can still reach out to him in dreams. Their relationship is super messy because Callum saw a softer side of Elgar'nan and feels like Elgar'nan genuinely loves him but also knows he's evil and sucks lol.

He still works with the team to kill Ghilan'nain, and Solas traps him in the regret prison as a mercy because he doesn't think Callum will be able to bring himself to kill Elgar'nan now. And then Elgar'nan rescues him from the prison, which just feeds the resentment Callum is feeling towards Solas already for everything and this is the last straw, he just turns completely against Solas. So in the end sequence everyone thinks Callum is still in the regret prison and are horrified when they reach the top only to find Callum sitting in Elgar'nan's lap. He helps Elgar'nan, and the team plus Solas can't win against the both of them so the world is fucked. Happy little evil rulers ElgaRook.

[choccy-zefirka]

A ship ask I got suddenly reminded me of Elgara Lavellan, my ex-Tranquil Inquisitor and one of my many many Alexius kissers, and how she tried to nudge him towards escaping Haven for Reasons Seen Below (he did not get far tho, got lost in the mountains and was eventually recaptured).

This was obviously written pre-Veilguard so Elgara's beliefs about the gods (which are fractured at best already, as she's a city elf) have not yet been re-examined. Enjoy rarepair shipping and OC introspective?

(Also I know some readers get very upset about single quotation marks; I tended towards writing in British English at the time, please calm down).

There is a whole pantheon of gods out there. The Gods of old. The Creators and guardians of the Elvhenan.

They have been locked away in the abyss, and their light has faded with the memories of Arlathan. But some of their influence still lingers. Some of their essence is still preserved. In the air and the water, in the deep forest moss and the silvery sheen of a halla's coat.

These gods are still remembered by the People. Both those who walk the Lonely Path amid the scattered shards of the Dales, and those who endure within the walls of human cities — like Elgara's family.

It has been many years since she caught her first, fleeting glimpse into the gods' stories; or reverently opened a book on Elvhen lore, heavy against her bony teenage knees. Many years, yet she still yearns to know more.

More than the alienage hahren has shared, in snatches of whispers, with furtive glances for round-eared shadows around the corner. More than has been revealed by her Circle's library, packed to the brim with books that should have been safeguarded by her People, not by human enchanters with half-lidded, bored, indifferent eyes.

There is so much more to learn.

About Sylaise, whose name her Mom and Mamae mouthed, half inaudibly, just before she was born.

And about June, with whose tools her neighbours did their best to keep their modest dwellings sturdy and clean and homely.

And about Mythal, whose sacred tree reached with its mighty roots even into the alienage, where the intricate weave of its branches was reflected in the vhenandahl's rustling crown, and in the strokes of red and white paint across its trunk, and also in the little etchings along the door frame, which you traced with your fingertips before going in.

She would like to understand these gods better, and welcome them into her heart. But apart from the faith in the Creators — a precious secret hidden from humans — she was also raised to revere Andraste.

A very… particular kind of Andraste. The kind that the Sisters serving her Circle would later try to whip out of her and the other elven apprentices. A slam of a ruler across your knuckles, leaving a dent; a shrill, screeching voice in your ear, splitting your little skull from within.

The Sisters, humans one and all, did not like the 'blasphemous' stories that the Wycome child brought with her to the red brick tower on the outskirts of Ostwick, when her magic awoke, nearly three decades ago. She had just entered her teens when the Templars came for her, and she saw Mom and Mamae one last time, with her throat tight and hot and her head feeling swollen, as she was trying desperately to pack all of her memories of the alienage into her skull.

She did not want to leave anything out. She memorized, as best she could, every face, every sound, every smell, every texture, every splash of colour. Right down to the orange squares of evening light on the kitchen floor and the squelch of dirt under her bare feet just after the rain.

She preserved and catalogued all of this in the nooks and crannies of her brain. So she could take it carefully out in the Fade at night, and show to the spirits, asking them to recreate the memories of her childhood.

According to the Templars, those little performances were something she needed to be afraid of — but she has never been afraid of spirits. Even the howling, tooth-gnashing, red-eyed ones, who just looked this way because they were in pain.

So much time has passed since that day, the day of turning her back on the anguished, tear-streaked faces of those who called her daughter, cousin, neighbour, friend… Elgara, because of all the sunshine they said she'd brought into their lives. And still, she believes in her alienage's Andraste.

A mythical hero of old. A mighty battlemage that walked with the elves, and fought for the elves, and, if you asked hahren, might even have been an elf herself.

The protector of slaves.

The friend of the smallfolk.

Always ready to listen, to soothe and to understand, even as the human Maker was distracted by the scented candle smoke in the gilded Chantry halls, with tall stained-glass windows that Elgara would have loved to admire up close but was not allowed to.

She believes in that Andraste, and tries her best to follow in her footsteps. And she is very honoured to know that the ghost of this great hero decided to pull her out of the Fade, just as the clicking pincers of the voracious, nightmarishly giant spiders grazed her ankles. And shielded her from the explosion that punched a jagged hole through an entire mountain and melted down the imposing walls of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. And, most important, brought her emotions back.

She had been cut off from the Fade for most of her life at the Circle — more than sufficient for it to become her new normal — when the Conclave was called together.

She has never been afraid of spirits. She has always thought that they are just like people. Capable of twisting beyond recognition when they are frightened, or in pain, or grieving for someone they love.

She still remembers, in the mists of her childhood, how Uncle Killian, once the merriest, most apple-cheeked elf to strum a modest self-carved lute while the others danced, turned grey and bony like a Despair wraith after his wife died.

Or how their neighbour two doors down, Lynni the street sweeper, usually serenity incarnate, with her long thick eyelashes always casting down a fluttering shadow on her cheeks, flushed a vivid crimson, and drew herself up to her full height, like a Rage demon rising out of the cracked earth, when some mischievous boys wanted to play Emerald Knights and broke the broom with which she was earning a living for herself and her son.

Those two events, a big tragedy and a small hardship, happened really close to one another. And then, on the same day, Uncle Killian's lute began to strum itself as he sat still in his room, worn out and listless and seemingly all alone. And Lynni's broom glowed bright green and soared into the air, and the splinters began shoving against one another and clumsily attempting to fit back in place. That was when the alienage realized that Elgara might have magic... But that is neither here nor there.

She has never been afraid of spirits. And she was certainly not afraid of the spirit that was bound to a sigil in a small (rather cramped, really) pocket of the Fade and used for testing the apprentices from her Circle during the Harrowing. She saw how much it suffered in its sizzling, burning ghostly-purple tethers, and set it free. As simple as that.

This counted as a failure of her Harrowing, and earned her a brand on her forehead. A bleeding, swollen imprint of the sun, which tainted her name with a chilling darkness.

With the brand, came a plunge into dense, heavy fog, where she wandered on and on, with her heartbeat dulled and her mind pristinely, blindingly white, like a room with a blanket over every piece of furniture.

Until she travelled to Haven with Minaeve and the other Tranquil, and met the ghost of Andraste.

The blankets are off now. There is a multitude of different shapes in that room inside her mind now. A multitude of different emotions. Prodding and poking her, sometimes all at once, sometimes in rapid succession, sometimes in a bizarre spinning cycle.

Like an abrupt stab of fear, when Seeker Cassandra pointed a sword at her and barked 'Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?'.

…Which was suddenly drowned out by sinking into the pink, squishy, glitter-speckled goo of 'Oh no, she is attractive!'.

Or bounce of squeaky, puppy-like excitement (probably unbecoming for a woman her age, she knows, she knows) when Solas the apostate invited her to a conversation about spirits. Which was followed by even more of pink and gooey 'Oh no, he is also attractive! Everyone is so attractive, and I can properly appreciate their attractiveness again, instead of impassively describing the symmetry of their faces!'

She loves it. She loves that she can love it.

She loves that she can feel relieved, and just a little bit smug, each time she closes a demonic Rift with her mysterious Mark, and the people that she has saved crowd around her, each breathless with shock and an overpowering wave of gratitude.

Of course, she never stopped helping people, not even as a Tranquil. Seeing others worse off than her, hungry while she was full, injured while she was in perfect health, sobbing while she was always impenetrably calm, seemed illogical to her white-wrapped mind, and therefore undesirable. So she shared meals, and clothes, and bandages, and monotonously recited facts that proved that the person's distress was statistically unlikely to last forever.

She even took up sword lessons from a friendly Templar — to protect the other Tranquil, along with some of the young and elderly mages, when their Circle fell and they found themselves afloat in the broiling crucible of war.

But now… Now saving innocents, and mending the green wounds in the fabric of the world, and putting corrupted spirits to rest, like she had done during her Harrowing, actually puts a smile on her face. A real, sincere smile, accompanied by a tender warmth, a honeyed brightness inside her chest, like those sun squares on the kitchen floor.

It is not all sunshine, though. Sometimes, the prodding of emotions in her mind grows too strong, so that her brain wobbles, close to puncturing.

Sometimes, tears come gushing out of her eyes unprompted, and she feels the urge to pound her fists against the nearest wall, a scream scraping at the back of her throat like a feral cat.

Sometimes, even the happy bark of a friendly mabari is too loud. Even the whiteness of a small patch of snow in the streets of Haven is too searing.

As a Tranquil, this was all just a part of her foggy world. But now that the Mark graced her hand, every tiniest thing, every face, every sound, every smell, every texture, every splash of colour, has started evoking emotions. And there is only so much she can feel at the same time.

…And then, there are the bigger things.

The clamour of steel against steel, which so often fills the air, like half-formed bubbles in near-boiling water.

The deafening, dazzling bursts of magic, unleashed by Solas, and Madame Vivienne, and their newest companion, Dorian of Minrathous. And the slither of magic through her own veins, awoken by the Mark but still not quite under her control.

And the dreams. Oh dear gods, the dreams.

She has lost count of times when Solas has had to walk beside her through the Fade and help her calm down the hapless, innocent spirits that would begin to writhe at the sight of her, with their peaceful see-through faces beginning to twist in a snarl. Because her head is now filled with more than just memories of an ordinary alienage childhood and an ordinary Circle life. There is war there, and desolation, and death.

There are the Temple's ruins. Carpeted by contorted red-and-black husks, with hungry green wildfire still picking out the last crisp morsels out of their sockets.

There are unnatural red crystals pushing out of cavern walls, throbbing with heat like infected teeth, with a whispering darkness oozing out of them.

There is the once broad, safe, well-paved road, now burrowed by fleeing refugee carts and pockmarked by shallow blackened pits from magefire blasts.

And there is that delirium-like future that she has only visited just recently. A future where the world was a smattering of barren islands floating in a green abyss under a sunless, moonless, starless sky, sucked one by one into the insatiable vortex of the Breach. Where mortals and spirits alike were reeling from a year's worth of torture, whipped into submission by cultists from Tevinter.

'My less good-natured, and certainly less good-looking countrymen,' Dorian would call them, with a wry smirk splitting across his face: a disguise, to hide a crushing mix of outrage and grief.

It was probably an excellent disguise, but Elgara could see through it. Any hidden emotion was easy to spot for her, after spending all these years surrounded by the vacant faces of her Tranquil siblings.

In that future, her companions — her friends, she thinks (unless she has let herself be carried away by her sparkly excitement and started using the word too soon) — were locked away in dungeon cells. Rather like the ones some Circles used to discipline the mages. With barely enough space to spread out your arms, and with a constant trickle of moisture that coated the walls in a sticky, tar-like film... Except there was a single, gut-pulling difference that set those cells apart from the Circle solitary.

Those crystals — again.

Drooping from every surface like gigantic clusters of poisoned grapes, they crawled under the prisoners' skin, welling up at the bottom of their straining lungs, rising above their spine like the crested back of a dragon, and hardening their veins into lumpy threads of crimson glass.

They would absorb every inch of their victims, every sliver, till they turned into crystal themselves, to be 'harvested' and used to feed the cultists' guardsmen… Most of whom, too, were scarcely human any more. Deformed into their most demonic selves, they now had jagged scarlet claws for fingers and stretched-out mouths full of far too many, far too sharp teeth.

Perhaps, some day she will be able to move on from all these memories, and look back on them without dissolving into a wailing wreck (yet again, unbecoming for a woman her age, and the Herald of Andraste at that).

Perhaps, some day she will start seeing just Mom and Mamae's faces at night, and the faces of her old Circle companions, and all the new people that she has met on her journey. With no shadows looming around the corner.

But that day has not come yet. In fact, her spikes of emotion have gotten worse since they returned from Redcliffe.

She guesses that it's because her schedule has been so hectic lately. New and new groups of their mage allies have been arriving, and she has to be there to ensure that they settle in properly.

And speaking of settling in! She also has to watch over Dorian. To supply him with warm clothes and whatever modest batches of spice-scented tea Josephine can get her hands on. And to keep the good people of Haven (she tries to think of them as good people, she really does, as they are all in her care, but sometimes they try her patience) from scrawling 'Maleficar' on the walls of the little cottage he was given as lodging.

And... It goes without saying that she needs to prepare for the march against the Breach. A daunting mission that makes restlessness crackle through the air in Haven like shock magic.

Sometimes, the charge of this shock is so strong that she cannot walk straight, and has to whimper discreetly for a little bit. Preferably while leaning against anything solid: the side of a building, or a snow-capped mabari statue, or the shoulder of one of her warrior companions (all so helpful, and so gorgeous, and not really deserving to be bothered by her like this).

Most often of all, though, she does her whimpering in the dungeon. Down here, she can safely rock from side to side. And rip into her fingernails with her teeth. And stare ahead with unseeing eyes. And try to breathe through the frenzied drumming of her heart, so hot, metallic in her mouth.

Down here, no-one can catch her in this state, and start questioning if the Herald of Andraste is truly fit to do her duty. After all, the dungeon is nearly always empty.

She will do anything to avoid imprisoning people. And not just because she does not need any witnesses to her embarrassing breakdowns.

She remembers the Circle solitaries all too well, and those crystalline cells in the dark future, and also the damp, rat-infested cellars where some of her neighbours had their ‘quarters’ when the humans took them on as servants.

No-one needs to suffer through something like this. So she declared, as the Herald of Andraste, the Andraste of the alienage, the Andraste that protects the small.

Her advisors do not quite agree. Which they make abundantly clear, again and again.

Cullen frowns and clears his throat. Cassandra tosses her head up, measuring her with a gaze that is filled with unuttered objection. Leliana narrows her eyes, which somehow grow less cold (a contradiction that Elgara might be imagining).

Even Josephine seems uncertain, but eventually opts for offering Elgara a glass of water when the tension in the war room congeals so much that her eyes start streaming with tears again.

They do have… a consensus of sorts. While they, indeed, imprison their foes far less often than could have been expected from an organization calling itself the Inquisition, sometimes the guards do escort a chained captive or two down the dungeon steps... And the poor soul is surprised to find a well-lit room with a warm bed, a bookcase or two for entertainment, and a tray of food from Flissa's tavern sitting beside the barred door.

 Right now, there are two people residing down here.

One of them is the leader of the bandits that, for some purpose still unknown, were trying to scare away travellers in the eastern Hinterlands. Elgara let most of his men go altogether: quite a few of them were former farmers, driven to banditry out of desperation when the demons razed their fields and the rogue Templars confiscated their tools, because some of them were vaguely mage-staff-like. Hopefully, Elaine, the horse master's wife, will find some honest work for them, now that the enchantment has been lifted off the local wolves, and her hold is thriving again.

A couple of the more... disagreeable bandits, prone to spitting in people's faces, and shoving at the guardsmen, and grunting with laughter when questioned about how they set fire to a refugee's belongings for fun, were given a chance to cool off… While digging latrines under Quartermaster Threnn's supervision.

And their chief — a red-faced man with a protruding lower jaw, nearly as tall as Iron Bull, and built like a druffalo, especially around the neck — called Elgara a 'half-witted rabbit' when she listed all the peaceful jobs he could do around Haven, to make up for all the damage he and his crew had caused.

Pity. Someone as big and strong would have been of great use. Hauling building supplies; helping put up more shelters for the people that flock to the Inquisition's banner... But he chose to be everything that makes a human a shem, and there is no help for him now.

After barking out his insult, the bandit chief lunged at Elgara, intending to close his enormous hairy fist around her throat. She blocked his blow as best she could, straining the arm muscles that she had honed while practicing all that swordplay ('An enjoyable side benefit,' Solas had once noted, while Sera, bright-pink and huge-eyed, made an odd noise deep from her chest, 'Whoah, you are thick for an elf!').

Anyway. Back to the bandit. In the end, Cassandra brought him to his knees by slamming her shield against his shins. And off to the dungeon he went.

He likes the bed, Elgara thinks, and devours the food in shovelling handfuls, with many a belch in between.

The books had to be taken away, though, after he tried to use one as a wipe when answering the call of nature in one of Threnn’s... facilities. Elgara would have asked Sera to draw him some picture stories, as they do to entertain the children of Haven — but he does not deserve them.

The other prisoner is, perhaps, the most unusual one these walls have ever seen, since the time when Haven belonged to dragon worshippers: the Tevinter magister from Redcliffe.

Or, well, former Tevinter magister. Dorian is nearly certain that, once word of his work for the cult reaches the Imperium, he will be stripped of his rank, his house name, and his land. To make a public show of how the Archon wants nothing to do with 'the vile Venatori'.

Dorian mimed that last part during a conversation over drinks, in a mocking, squeaky voice, while stroking an imaginary cat with his little finger extended. Quite a hilarious impression, even to someone who had never met the Archon, which was pretty much the entire tavern (young Krem from the Bull's Chargers only caught a glimpse of him once, when he was passing in a festive procession down the street, but there were many rows of heads blocking his view).

Well, maybe Dorian's show was not really that hilarious. But Elgara collapses into hiccupping laughter just as easily as into tears these days... And yet again, it was a disguise. Meant to distract from the shadow that glides across Dorian's face whenever he talks about the magister.

They were friends once, as far as Elgara understands. Two brilliant mages, mentor and apprentice, working together on a spell that challenged the laws of time.

She wonders if they made each other laugh. She wonders if they had inside jokes and wild stories — like the ones the apprentices in her Circle used to swap in the dorm, muffling their giggles into pillows and freezing in silence whenever a Templar's footfalls clamoured by.

They must have, surely. But now the magister, who tried to erase Elgara from time upon the orders of his cult's would-be god, and created the dark future in the process, spends his days in his room with a barred door.

Quiet and wraith-like. Empty-eyed, much like Uncle Killian in the days after his wife's funeral. Not caring for the books on the shelves and the food on the tray.

He does not try to deface the former like the bandit, at least. Sometimes he even picks one up and flips the pages. But in all her visits to the dungeon, Elgara has never once seen the faintest light of interest in his eyes.

And the root cause behind his state is not even his cult's failure. Nor the triumph achieved by Elgara — and her friends. Specifically, Dorian, who did the most important, the most vital work, reversing the time magic in a matter of minutes, while Elgara was nearly brought to the floor by weeping for Cassandra and Solas and the others, as the demons trampled and shattered their crystallized bodies.

He did not even try to rant about how they foiled the Venatori's efforts and disrupted his grand scheme. Well, not too much at any rate.

The root cause is... his son.

The da'len whom he fought so hard to save from the Blight. The da'len whom he watched leave, riding out of Redcliffe towards his destiny, with exactly the same look in his bruised eyes that Mom and Mamae had when the Templars took Elgara.

He really does love his da'len, so much that the force of that love echoes in Elgara's bones. As does the force of his pain.

The young Tevinter will die, and the man that his father once was, the man that Dorian admired, is gone already. Like a spirit that melts away in the flames of rage and grief, moulding into a demon — and then, when the demon is defeated, escapes out of its shattered carcass like a dying sigh.

With the dungeon thus... populated, Elgara tries to keep to the shadows. To sob into the empty dark. To leave the prisoners, the bandit and the magister, undisturbed.

She has just finished up with crying, again, and is taking slow breaths through her nose. To clear off the last of the dizziness that has wrapped around her pulsing head like cottonwool… But she is interrupted by a sharp voice, with a thick rural Fereldan accent.

'Oi! You lot! Time to stretch yer legs! 'Erald's orders!'

Elgara perks up, smiling to herself.

It's the guard on duty, about to take the prisoners out on their daily stroll around the back of the Chantry building. It's another part of their routine that she insisted on. Another comfort for the Inquisition's captives.

As Tranquil, she was allowed to travel beyond the tower's confines, rendering her rune-crafting services to various Marcher nobles. And she was still Tranquil when the Circle ceased to exist, and her tower's doors swung open, and the mages walked out under the boundless, ever-changing sky that many of them had last seen as children. She still recalls the sweetness of the air, washing her lungs clean of the caked dust from the book stacks.

A little bit of such sweetness every day will do her prisoners some good, she decided. The advisors, oddly enough, did not object. And she is always pleased to see the result.

So much so, that and brightness touch her heart again. Like a sparkling wave of sunlit sea, the sensation carries her up, giving her strength to get to her feet and step forward. To meet the guard and the two hunched figures that he is herding.

Even in this murk, she can distinctly see the guard's features. He’s frowning very strictly at the ropes that he has just tied over the prisoners' wrists, to keep their hands restrained behind their back. As if the serious look on his face will coerce those tight loops into staying put.

'Do you mind if I join you?' Elgara says, in a more or less… steady voice.

'Course not, Yer Worship!' the guard springs into a stiff, toy soldier pose. But not for long. The chin straps of his helmet are rather poorly fitted, and he has to constantly adjust them in sheepish, fidgeting motions.

'If yer so inclined, could ye help me watch this lot? Might need an extra pair of eyes in case they get ideas 'bout escapin! Coulda gotten more backup, but the Commander says he cain't spare folks. I'll take this big thug here, and you can take the Vint. He seems more... whatcher call it... docile.’

The magister quirks an eyebrow — the first time Elgara has seen his face change expression since he was imprisoned — but does not have it in him to as much as scoff.

The bandit, too, merely strains his druffalo neck till his veins start bulging. He’s keeping something pent up within him; some angry, malicious emotion that Elgara cannot quite read.

With no objections from the prisoners, the four of them set off. Up the stairs; and along the candlelit main hallway (which, as Sera pointed out with a chortle, looks rather like a cock on the Chantry map; that's something that Elgara also found far more hilarious than it probably was).

Along the way, Elgara spots Avexis, another Tranquil from Minaeve's little group. With her back perfectly rigid, she’s staring at the statue of Andraste in the alcove ahead of her.

Elgara calls her name and waves, but Avexis remains silent. She has been avoiding Elgara ever since her awakening from Tranquility. Elgara's guess is that Avexis doesn't want to hear about her experiences.

Not every Tranquil is keen on the idea their state might be reversed (much as they can be keen on anything), and Elgara cannot blame them. All the wonders of smiling and laughing do come at a heavy price.

As they exit the front gate, they turn a corner and begin to climb a snowy slope. For a moment, Elgara looks away from the magister, who is dragging his feet beside her… and allows her senses to carry her off.

Everything is so beautiful out here.

The saturated, cloudless blue of the sky. So unlike the snaking billows of green and black that had swallowed the sun in the wrong future.

The juicy, apple-like crunch of snow underfoot.

The faint smell of something roasting that the wind carries from the village fires.

It has always been beautiful, of course, and Elgara's mind registered that even when it was swaddled in blankets. But now this beauty, like the beauty of the people she meets, can bring her happiness.

She feels a tingle in the corners of her lips, and it even seems to her that there are cheery little sparkles dancing before her eyes, shaping into soft, pastel-like silhouettes of flowers and birds, and just simple swirls, like fronds of some forest plant...

'Ah. Your mood seems to have improved all on its own. There is no need for this, then.’

Elgara blinks, coming back from her happy place. With a tiny jolt of astonishment, it dawns on her that the sparkles and the silhouettes are not imaginary. They have in fact, been conjured by magic, and are now hovering right in front of her face, blossoming softly and melting from one shape to another, like the traces of raindrops on the window pane... And just as she realizes that, the apparitions vanish.

She blinks again, and turns her head to face the magister. His hands are still tied, but there is an unmistakable pull of arcane energy distorting the air around him; something that Elgara always senses very keenly, sometimes to the point of developing a migraine.

'Have you...'

She fumbles for words, uncertain how to address the man who went from negotiating with her for the freedom of the rebel mages, to shrieking that she should never have existed, to kneeling in her shadow and leaving himself at her mercy.

He jerks his shoulder, as far as he is able.

'I overhear you in the dungeon at times, and it occurred to me that I might try... brightening your spirits. I may be in binds, but I can still cast some very minor magic. Not enough to break free and slaughter everyone, as I am clearly meant to do...'

This… is probably sarcasm. Elgara lost all ability to understand it while she was Tranquil, but she thinks she can deduce when it is there.

'...But enough to put on this little performance, especially since your watch dog with questionable fashion choices is lagging behind somewhere.’

He shakes his head, and goes on in a much quieter voice — likely not even addressing Elgara.

'A foolish impulse.'

The grey pall drapes itself over his face more, and the lines on his forehead and in the corners of his mouth suddenly appear more prominent.

'No, no — it's... What you did is... It was beautiful, and quite thoughtful! I — '

Suddenly, her heart feels tight.

Suddenly, she does not know whether to look away or show her assurance by maintaining eye contact — and when she chooses the latter, she gets carried off again, far, far away. Oblivious to everything in the world, except for studying the magister's eyes.

They have a very curious colour. Many mages' eyes do, she has noticed.

Even her own, which used to be more of an indefinite muddy shade when she was a Tranquil, are now back to the same saturated hazel, with a touch of gold, as when she came into her magic.

His eyes, in turn, are shaded a beautiful dark brown, with a swirl of silver just around the pupil... Like rays of moonlight against a night sky.

It is only after she stubs her toe against a snow-covered rock that this daze releases her. She whips her head to look away; so brusquely that the side of her neck feels like it has been stabbed by a knitting pin.

It turns out that the two of them have meandered quite far up an icy mountain slope, leaving the Chantry a long way behind. The building has now been reduced to a blob of misty blue, far beyond fir trees that rise all around them, tipping their fuzzy heads in the wind, as if in a bow of reverence before the Breach.

This is... not quite what she imagined when she asked the advisors to let the prisoners go on walks.

She shuffles to a halt and digs her boots into dough-like snow they have dug into. With the same suddenness as her admiration of the magister's eyes, comes a nauseating surge of panic.

The guard is nowhere to be seen; the magister can still cast magic; he tried to kill her once already — twice, if you count their battle in the wrong future...

No, no!

She bends forward slightly and digs her fingers into her hair.

In the Circle, it used to be cropped into tiny ringlets close to her skull, growing out after being shorn to the root to keep it being singed by the sun brand. And now, she is growing it longer than ever. Mostly so she can ruffle her wavy bangs and let them hang like a curtain over her Tranquil brand, since to many people are startled at best, and deeply disturbed at worst, when they see the telltale sun on the brow of Andraste's chosen.

No! She is not going to cower like a child!

She handled the magister before, when he was much more powerful, when time-altering Rifts sizzled into being upon his command, splashing their acid light all over the dark, half-ruined throne room.

Surely, she will be able to stop him as a half-starved prisoner! She has her sword with her: Cassandra insisted that she carry it at all times, even around Haven!

…But what if she will not even need to use it? What if she decides to trust the magister?

 She has never been afraid of spirits. And he is just like one — just like Kindness.

That was the spirit from the sigil, from her Harrowing. It had been drawn to the Circle's corner of the Fade with the best of intentions. Eager to help the students learn and grow into better mages... But then, it was trapped and forced to tempt them instead. This affront against its nature, together with the agony of being chained, changed it. It darkened, and its softness peeled off, like the flesh of the red crystal victim, revealing a pained snarl.

But even inside the demon that was born out of the trapped spirit's torment, a wisp of its original self remained. Just a little bit of warmth and brightness. Like the sunlight squares that Elgara kept with her, packed safely in her memory trove, and carried through the coldest Circle nights.

That wisp called out to her, responding eagerly to her touch when she destroyed the sigil. And before she knew it, the demon's bulky, thrashing body turned into a distorted silhouette, as though someone had poured a bucketful of ink over its gnarly head. Presently, that silhouette thawed into a smoking black ink puddle. And from it, a much smaller figure emerged, its head inclined in gratitude.

It had always been there. Kindness had always been there. And it revealed itself to Elgara, because she was not afraid.

So why be afraid now? Why decide that the man from Dorian's past is gone, without giving him a proper chance to show himself?

'I do most sincerely apologize for all these outbursts,' Elgara says, with a sudden clarity and a firmness in her voice.

Oh gods, she is really doing this! She is getting a grip on herself!

She is straightening up, and turning back to him, and speaking to him not as a vile maleficar, but as a pleasant companion on a fresh-air stroll!

'You might find them bizarre, revolting even. But there is an explanation. I am a former Tranquil. Getting the Mark that your master wanted brought my emotions back, but the side effect is that I cannot always control them properly. Not yet, at any rate. I am certain I will get better at it with time.’

To further show her point, she pulls back her bangs, allowing the magister to see her sun brand. And now, it is the magister's turn to be stupefied.

'You are... You were... You were one of...' he stutters, his perpetually weary face twisted by dismay. 'Fasta vaas.’

His shoulders jerk, as he tries and fails to move his bound hands.

'The key,' he breathes out. 'There was...  I had a key. Your Spymaster confiscated it, probably. It opens the door to an abandoned shed in Redcliffe. There are... artifacts in there... Crafted on the Elder One's orders, which I passed on to the Venatori in the Hinterlands... Though I imagine other Venatori cells are doing the same all over the south...'

'Doing what?' Elgara asks. An invisible hand draws a tight, perfectly attuned string through her body, from tongue to stomach, cutting into her innards.

'Hunting the Tranquil,' he says under his breath, dipping his head to his chest.

'The artifacts... the oculara... they are made from their skulls. I — I tried to hint to them... to your brethren, that they were not welcome in Redcliffe... Tried to get them to flee; to save themselves... Because even after stooping this low... I could not bear to...'

His lips twitch, and the moonlight in his eyes, before he shuts them, wincing, glints bright and wet.

'The things I did for the glory of the Imperium... For the sake of my son... And what did it lead to? The Elder One will reshape the world. He will make that future, the one Dorian screamed at me about, a reality, all over again... Felix will either succumb to the Taint, or perish in the storm to come. Your brethren will still be hunted, if not by me, then by the others who will replace me... I sold myself, over and over again — and it has all been meaningless.'

Elgara inhales, in several hoarse gasps, as if she were drowning.

Something slithers up her throat like a centipede, scraping her flesh raw. Another emotion. Anger.

The Tranquil are being hunted! Her brothers and sisters under the Rite — her friends! — could be in danger, even within Haven’s walls! She could lose Avexis, and Helisma, and others! And the man who had a hand in this, is standing right in front of her!

She squares her jaw and swallows hard, washing the centipede down.

He regrets what he did. The wisp is in there. It must have always been there.

She does not have to forgive him; not yet. But she can understand. She can reach out. And then, maybe, he will do what it takes to cast aside the demon husk.

'You heard me crying in your dungeon and wanted to ease my anguish,' she reminds him, placing her hand on his arm just above the elbow. Not afraid. Not afraid.

'That is not meaningless. And your friendship with Dorian, your love for your son — that is not meaningless either.'

He opens his eyes, and then his mouth, the knot easing between his eyebrows — but before he can say anything, he is cut off by a loud cry.

Using a spell like Fade Step would probably have helped her get there faster. But over the years of Tranquility, Elgara has come to rely on a blade, not magic, and she is still uncertain about returning to her Circle apprentice roots. Even if it makes Solas frown in disapproval and tell her that she is burying the great gift she was given.

So she chooses to do things the mundane, old-fashioned way. She runs.

She moves at a rapid, threshing rhythm, her sword hilt clamouring against her hip; and really, really hopes that her heart, which is not what it used to be twenty years ago, will not be speared by exhaustion. Or that the ever-intensifying apple crunch of snow will not trigger another migraine. This would be a really inopportune time.

She runs, as fast as she can. Which is not fast enough.

When she arrives at the source of the cry, she finds the bandit chief standing with his back against a large boulder, grating his tied hands fiercely against the edge of the guard's sword... Which is clutched in a stiff, frozen hand. A dead hand.

When the white blankets were still hiding all her emotions away, leaving her mind clean of distracting clutter, Elgara got very good at that clue-seeking they write about in novels where guardsmen track down criminals. Usually through the winding streets of a sprawling, anthill-like town like Kirkwall.

And even though the emotional clutter is back, lodging in between the puzzle pieces, sometimes she's still got it. Sometimes she can still spot the threads of logic — stretching between objects and people like spider webs.

She sees them now as well. She understands how they tie it all together.

The bandit.

The boulder.

The chaotic dots and dashes of tracks in the snow.

The Inquisition-issued pointy helm, which must have come off in the struggle because of those wretched chin straps.

The viscous smear of blood and bone matter that has painted the stone dark-red.

And the small armoured figure of the guard, which looks so still and hollow now, like the carcass of an ant that has been sucked dry by an antlion.

All of this takes far, far too long to describe. Her brain draws the connections much faster, and replays the story in lightning flashes.

The guard and his charge must have passed here on their walk, separated from Elgara as she was too caught up in talking to the magister. Then, seeing the boulder — just the right size, just the right height — the bandit must have seized his chance and, ramming his shoulder into the guard, overpowered him with his sheer weight, and sandwiched him between himself and the rock surface, pressing down till the protective helmet fell off, and the skull caved in.

And now, here he is. The druffalo is about to charge.

One last grating push — and the ropes come off. The bandit chief steps away from the boulder, and, with a smug grin, flexes his fingers: broad and square, like sausages someone drove a cart wheel over.

After the flexing, comes the looting. Just like in the guardsman books. Except real, and no less horrible, even after Elgara has witnessed battle scenes that were so much more gruesome, so much worse.

The dead guard's armour is too small to fully protect the bandit, but his sword fits quite nicely into his fist. He greets Elgara with a spittle-filled curse — 'Let's hear ya cry about this, fucking knife-ear!' — and a tremendous whoosh of the soaring blade.

She yanks her own sword out of its sheath, the steel’s flash nearly blinding her.

The bandit's blow is blocked, as is the next, and the next.

Her body fights of its own accord. Guided like a puppet by her sword fighter instincts. Another useful 'side benefit'.

Meanwhile, her mind, her over-cluttered, overemotional mind, is still with the poor guard. So sweet, so friendly, doomed to a stupid, stupid death because he did not have a good helmet. And an extra pair of eyes.

She was not there. She was not there.

He asked her to help out. He counted on her. But she forgot.

She took a wrong turn, let him out of her sight, left him behind to die.

She was not there.

These four words keep ringing out, like four slaps across her burning face.

Louder than the clanging of her sword.

Louder even than the sudden peel of thunder that rolls out somewhere from behind her back, while the clearing around the boulder is flooded with a pale purple glow.

Louder than the shriek the bandit lets out, staggering away from Elgara,

'You fucking Vint!'

Then come more shrieks, punctuated by panting as he tries to dodge the spears of lightning that pierce the ground all around him.

'Siding with the elf bitch now, are you? After your fucking friends hired me and my boys to work for you? No matter! I hid away the gold you hooded fuckers gave me for the road job — and once I am outta here, I —'

The next spear hits target. There is a whipping crackle, a gargle, a thud, a whiff of an acrid burning smell. But Elgara does not see the bandit fall.

She is on her knees again, hugging her head, whimpering, the four words rolling out of her mouth like vomit.

'I was not there... I was... not... there...'

Somewhere on the rim of her consciousness, a voice whispers. Soft, soothing, nearly unrecognizable. Far from the voice that gloated at the rebel mages been sold into servitude, or raved about the might of the Elder One,

'I know. I know.'

And then, Elgara tumbles into blackness.

When the world begins to take shape again, the boulder, or the guard, or the bandit, are nowhere to be seen.

Instead, there are more fir trees. Their bushy lower branches have formed a sturdy silvery roof over a patch of snow, coloured a rich dark blue by the lattice-like shade.

A small circle of ground has been thawed clean — likely by fire magic, since its outline is far too smooth to be natural — and Elgara has been seated in its middle, back firm against the trunk.

The magister is pacing back and forth in front of her. His hands are untied: he must have followed the bandit's example and used something sharp to cut himself free... Maybe one of the poor guard's pauldrons...

Elgara shudders at the thought, and a loud whine escapes her lips.

The magister stops pacing, suddenly on alert like a startled bird.

He rather looks like one, too, with his gaunt face and narrow, slightly curved nose. A very distraught bird that has had its nest ravaged… and has still decided to take a stranger, an enemy, under its wing.

It truly is there. That wisp of the man Dorian was friends with.

'You...' the magister begins to explain, keeping his voice down and making a small gesture in the direction of the hillside beyond the trees' shelter. 'You were sobbing and shaking, and I reasoned you could use less light and noise. And...'

He smirks mirthlessly.

'And fewer dead bodies, naturally. So I teleported us here. And cast a healing spell, just to be on the safe side. Have you... recovered?'

Elgara passes her hand over her face.

Her fingers are unsteady, and she feels withered and drained like a prune, but the urge to howl in tears has passed.

'I — I think so. Thank you'.

'Hm.’

The magister purses his lips and looks away.

‘Consider it me - awkwardly - trying to make up for the gruesome Tranquil hunt. And to thank you for your extraordinary treatment of your prisoners. I wish I were capable of appreciating the books you so graciously supplied me with.'

He glances quickly back at Elgara, and she almost stops hearing what she is saying to him, transfixed by the moon beams in his eyes.

'Think nothing of it. You had too much on your mind to focus on reading. I... certainly know what it's like.'

He gives her an absent-minded nod, and turns back to gaze into nothingness while his fingers restlessly peel off flakes of pine bark.

'I have known several enchanters with a... predicament somewhat similar to yours. We Tevinters love breeding our bloodlines like prized horses. The stronger their magic, the better. But strong magic often comes with fragile senses, easy to overload. I imagine it is the same for you as a former Tranquil, is it not?'

'Quite so.'

Mysteriously, the more time she spends like this, amid the serenity of the winter woods, shielded from the... overloading world by these snowy branches, side by side with the man who once plotted against her, the stronger those warmth and brightness bloom inside her chest.

When they reach their glowing peak, she blurts out,

'I am... deeply thankful that you were there.’

The magister moves his head slowly from side to side.

'Sing no false praise, Herald. Not in front of your advisors,' he says bitterly. 'I am still very much looking forward to meeting your kind headsman.'

Elgara's heart makes a new, rather painful leap up her windpipe. But she does not let this shatter the bright, warm sun squares in her mind.

'As a matter of fact, I intend to tell my advisors that you had escaped while I was fighting the bandit. And that I simply could not find you anywhere.’

She laughs suddenly, and covers her cheeks, her skin scorched by a blush.

'I... have not lied often since my Tranquility was... cured... but... I think I have it in me.’

The magister tears away from the pine trunk, pulling his fingers out of the crevices in the bark like a cat pulls out its claws.

'You would let me go? Just like that? After all that I wrought?' his voice thins out into a rusty creak.

'What is the point? I do not have anywhere to go. I am a wanted man out there, in Ferelden — and in here, I can at least have an execution. Like I deserve. Like I need.'

Again, Elgara senses a tide of pain rising around him. She jolts upright and, casting aside all of that Tranquil logic, not caring to waste even a single moment on thinking, grabs the magister's hand and squeezes it.

'You do not need to die,' she says earnestly. 'And if you go free, you can try making the journey to Tevinter. You can go home. Like Felix wanted. You can be near him when he passes away.'

You can do what it takes to revert from demon to spirit. Like Kindness did, when it, too, was set free.

'I...' the magister chokes, two red dots breaking out over his cheekbones.

Elgara wonders if she has crushed his hand too hard, and drops it hastily. But his expression remains the same.

'I was so wrong about you,' he manages to squeeze out at last. 'I should never have called you a mistake. I apologize, Herald... And I wish... I wish we had met under different circumstances.’

'So do I,' she admits. Quite truthfully.

He bows to her — like he did during that charade of a meeting in Redcliffe. And yet... Not exactly like that. This time, there is no darkness pooling and bubbling around him. No malice in his eyes. Just... Just sadness.

'Farewell, Herald,' he tells her. 'I am not certain if your ambitious little expedition succeeds, but... the sheer idea is quite fascinating.'

'Well, now I have to seal the Breach just to spite you,' Elgara says — and nearly gasps, petrified by the realization that she just... bantered!

She thought the skill lost to her, erased by Tranquility, just as her ability to decipher sarcasm. But she... She actually did it... She bantered!

And in response to her banter, the magister chuckles, before fading in a cloud of smoke. This must just be the effect of another teleportation spell — but Elgara thinks of Kindness again. Of how it was transformed from a demon back to a spirit. Perhaps the same will happen to the magister, if he finds his way.

There is a whole pantheon of gods out there. They probably care little about the fate of a Tevinter, a man whose kin once destroyed the realm of the People beyond repair. But they might listen to Elgara if she speaks on his behalf.

They might keep him safe. They might bring him home.

Elgara smiles at the thought, running her fingertips along the grooves the magister left in the tree bark.

Well. Time to turn back to Haven.

Time to tell her lie, and then the truth.

To face the family of that poor guard, like the magister faced her, and to warn Leliana about the hunt for the Tranquil, so that she sends out scouts across Thedas. Rescuing as many as they can, from among those who are still wandering about, displaced when the Circles fell.

Maybe Madame Vivienne will have some ideas too.

All of these tasks will overwhelm her; more than once.

She knows they will.

But — but she is not afraid.

[zibahyi]

⊹ VERSE POST. spanning through pre origins, origins, inquisition and veilguard. in this verse, the warden / player character is @greyswarden's ariel surana as this verse is heavily affiliated with him. while i am willing to tweak a few things for any other player characters, ariel remains an important part of this verse.

centuries prior to the existence of shams, in -3200 ancient, people fled from thedas to the eastern deserts and fertile river valleys of a different continent. in the harsh environment, several tribes formed alliances to survive against the darkspawn, roaming bandits and harsh natural conditions. shah - eshandar, the future king of the nation, united them and received the ability to purify corrupted lands and bring forth water from barren deserts. esmandar declared the newly unified territory zarnesha, meaning "land of the golden light." the monarchy was established with him as the first ruler, claiming divine mandate from one of the gods herself. zarnesha survived quietly, unknown to most of thedas for a long time.

it is said that the land was a chaotic and untamed wilderness, fractured by forces and ruled by warring spirits. according to legend, the world was shaped by the struggle between two primordial beings: zurvasha, the spirit of boundless time and varghat, the spirit of endless chaos. to bring balance to this war - ravaged land, zurvasha created the avahran, six divine stewards, each governing a natural element. these stewards forged the foundation of the land. however, varghat's remnants seeped into the earth, creating places of corruption and spawning creatures of darkness that sought to undo the stewards' work. the avahran, unable to deal with varghat's lingering power, imbued their essence into a mortal champion, a visionary leader who would come to be eshandar, whom they tasked with uniting the warring tribes and protecting the land from chaos.

and thus, the area got divided into three main districts:

the golden plains (dasht-e - zar), which were expansive deserts with golden sand dunes. oases dotted throughout serve as hubs for trade and agriculture.

the riverlands (abshahr), which were fertile lands fed by the twin rivers, believed to be gifts from ahryvaun.

the azure mountains (kuh - e - lazvard), which were towering peaks rich in precious gems like lapis lazuli, believed to house spirits and dragons.

one of the most important locations in zarnesha is the temple of the sixfold flame, an ancient site where the rivers met. it is said that this is where eshandar made a sacred pact with the avahran and received what would now be two of the infamous royal objects given to each new generation. the first is the shamshir - e - borhan (the sword of clarity), a blade imbued with mehrathar's light, capable of dispelling corruption. then comes the farvanaar mantle, a shimmering cloak woven with the winds of vayoran, granting eshandar the voice to unite people. it was through eshandar that future warriors were able to fight the darkspawn.

the nation thrives on trade, exporting silk, spices, gems and intricately designed weapons to distant lands, including thedas. the rivers varan and mazand allow for advanced irrigation systems that support agriculture. the caravan serai, an ancient trade route connecting them to other continents, ensures a steady influx of wealth and culture.

IMPORTANT HISTOICAL EVENTS.

zarnesha is founded around -3200 ancient by eshandar the first shahanshah, chosen by the avahran spirits.

early zarnesha thrives, rivers varan and mazand bring life and the people develop a magical system rooted in balance, not domination.

the fade is thin here too, so spirits often cross into the mortal world but are carefully bound and honored through the six pillars of balance.

as tevinter rises and arlathan falls, zarnesha remains distant and self - contained.

early explorers from tevinter vanish mysteriously trying to reach zarnesha, leaving behind myths of a "golden river kingdom" untouched by blood magic.

when the darkspawn rise in thedas, zarnesha feels a ripple in the fade, like a sickness infecting the spirit realm.

darkspawn emerge in zarnesha too, but differently. instead of pouring from the deep roads, they manifest in the mortal world through corrupted spirits. spirit wells become tainted pools. infected spirits, called "varzhan" (meaning "twisted echoes") fuse with beasts, dead things and even rocks, forming grotesque but semi - sentient horrors.

unlike thedas, zarnesha’s darkspawn are not endless armies. they are isolated outbreaks, tied to specific corrupted spirit wells. most of the country remains untouched, but wherever a well falls, the land becomes barren, cursed and dangerous.

the shahanshah at the time creates the order of the verdant spear, warrior - mystics trained to purify wells and destroy varzhan before they spread.

chantry envoys arrive much later, around 1 divine to 5:00 exalted.

zarnesha accepts their traders but bans chantry missionaries.

inquisition agents once tried to make contact during the chaos of corypheus’ uprising, but found a closed, heavily - guarded empire.

around 9:30 dragon, news of the fifth blight reaches zarnesha.

their scholars quickly note the difference: in thedas, darkspawn corrupt and conquer physically. in zarnesha, they corrupt spiritually, poisoning fade touchpoints.

some suspect that if zarnesha’s spirit - wells all fall, the nation would collapse from within, not through invasion, but through spiritual death.

as the veil weakens everywhere in 9:52 dragon, the number of corrupted spirit wells is rising alarmingly.

even strongholds once protected by the verdant spears are now faltering.

civil war is brewing between:

the order of the verdant spear (traditionalists who want to strengthen old spirit pacts) and the glass lotus circle (reformers who seek new magic, even blood magic, to fight the spreading corruption).

now, shahanshah ali rules a land on the brink. his court is split between advisors who believe they must awaken old powers and those who believe they must renew their pact with the avahran. in secret, ali sends a group of people to thedas, hoping to learn about the grey wardens and their knowledge of darkspawn taint before it's too late. this is where shams, a mage here, comes in. two years before the events of origins, at the border of zarnesha, a secretive cult from thedas known as the crimson altar found a hidden passage by shipwreck along the coast. this cult had forsaken the maker, worshiping the ancient dragons and believed that consuming dragon's blood granted them "ascension". during a ceremonial march between two holy cities, they abducted shams under the cover of a sandstorm, spiriting her to a hidden cavern. she is, then, forcefully fed a dragon's blood and is innately transformed.

her magic mutates overnight. upon her return, the zarneshan court was horrified. blood magic was strictly forbidden as it was seen as a violation of natural balance, a path to demonic possession. shams voluntarily submitted herself to isolation in the sacred shrines of avanisha, ancient places used for healing and spiritual testing. there, over months, she mastered her blood magic, reshaping it into something defensive, self - sacrificial and non - corrupting. instead of sacrificing others for power, she sacrificed her own blood to shield soldiers, cleanse wounds or ward off darkspawn taint. she invented spells like blood ward (sacrificing health to create protective barriers) and sanguine bond (linking to allies to absorb their pain). at the age of twenty, she is being trained to rise as the next commander in chief and one final task awaits her: uniting the forces between thedas and her own continent.

ORIGINS. shams arrives in ferelden before the events of the battle of ostagar and can be found in the camp when the player character first meets the wardens. she is there beside duncan, gently encouraging the recruits who are having second thoughts about the joining. she is surprised by ariel's appearance, as they have been friends since a young age, there and after she finds out how he is no longer in the circle, she is found conversing with him about it. in her specific tent, one can meet the forces she brought with her. they entail the verdant spears, the sapphire host (swift scouts and outriders), the azure shields (frontline defenders), the glass lotus circle (spirit healers) and the oathbearers (shams' personal guards). before the joining shams can optionally talk to the player character, giving them the chance to ask questions about zarnesha or get encouragement before facing the joining. regarding her quest, it can be divided into a few categories.

after ostagar’s fall, shams is among the few who survive, but she is wounded and separated from her army. the warden has to find her and reunite the scattered forces, bringing them together to rebuild strength against the blight. this quest will also determine whether shams and her soldiers will fight alongside the warden later or not. after ostagar’s destruction, the player character is traveling with morrigan and alistair. at night, around their second or third campfire, a dream - vision comes. the character sees shams surrounded by a broken battlefield, clutching a bloodstained standard and calling their name. this could be interpreted as a “pull of fate”, suggesting shams might still be alive.

THE FIELDS OF RUIN:

the characters will return to the outskirts of ostagar (now a haunted ruin overrun with darkspawn) and search for markers left by the surviving zarneshan soldiers: sunburst carvings etched into trees and rocks.

eventually, they find a small collapsed shrine, where shams has been hiding and tending to the wounded, injured but alive, her armor battered. when she is found, she is kneeling over a dying soldier, quietly praying.

she insists on standing and fighting, despite her wounds and explains what had happened. many of her forces scattered during the chaos. others tried to protect civilians fleeing the battlefield. a few are trapped or held prisoner by darkspawn or sheltering in abandoned villages nearby.

and as thus, a new objective is formed: track down the five scattered divisions of the zarneshan army.

each division is its own mini - mission: the verdant spears are trapped in a ruined tower south of ostagar, besieged by darkspawn and blood mages. the sapphire host are caught in a swamp where the fade leaks into reality, suffering hallucinations. the azure shields are fortifying a collapsed bridge and one must defend their position in a desperate siege event. the glass lotus circle are hiding in a desecrated chantry, so the pc must cleanse the area of corrupted spirits before they can move. lastly, the oathbearers were tasked with defending the retreat routes but were betrayed by a local bann seeking to curry favor with loghain. the player must track them to a small, fortified estate where the bann has imprisoned the surviving oathbearers as leverage.

once all divisions are found, shams calls a final gathering at her camp. in return for their help, shams and her forces promise to aid the warden at key battles, including redcliffe, denerim and even the landsmeet if they survive that long. a few special side options can be unlocked:

summoning zarneshan healers during sieges

calling zarneshan honor guards as temporary party members for certain large battles

AWAKENING. after the events of origins, shams kept her oath to remain loyal to ferelden until its lands were stable. now working with the warden - commander, ariel, she is elevated to commander in chief of zarnesha's military and has created the lion guard, elite warriors with lion emblems representing courage and the immortal warriors, a separate regiment, hand - picked from childhood by her generals and trained in the arts of combat, magic and diplomacy. while she remains with her current forces in thedas, she has put trust in her soldiers to train those two new factions until they are needed, whether that is in thedas or zarnesha. shams establishes a fortified outpost at the ruins of an ancient tevinter watchtower near amaranthine, now called sarn thaen. her forces back roaming darkspawn hordes outside of warden control and protect local villages.

while they were offered lands by the surviving ferelden nobles, she refused any official lordship, choosing to live as protectors and friends to the people instead. she can be easily found due to her connection to ariel. if allied with, zarnesha becomes a critical support force for the grey wardens, especially defending amaranthine or vigil’s keep. if virgil's keep survives, she builds a small permanent settlement, a blend of ferelden and zarneshan culture, teaching new grey wardens desert tactics. she returns to zarnesha, but remains in contact with the grey wardens through ariel as they exchange letters throughout the years.

INQUISITION. by 9:41 dragon, shams has officially become sardar - ahura (supreme commander in ancient zarneshan tongue), head of zarnesha's military and a powerful figure in the royal court. her experience with blood magic and darkspawn in thedas caused her to advocate for opening limited diplomacy between zarnesha and distant nations, quite a controversial stance. when the breach tears open the sky, zarnesha already suspects something darker is stirring. the council of twelve (zarnesha's ruling court) sends a formal delegation to the inquisition once it stabilizes at skyhold and shams is among them, this time as ambassador - general and military attaché. her official purpose is to offer assistance against the rifts and tevinter incursions in the south, observe the inquisiton's strength and judge whether a formal alliance would benefit her homeland and seek knowledge about red lyrium and ancient blood magic artifacts.

she can usually be found overlooking the training grounds where soldiers spar, often advising trainers and helping mages in the undercroft research how to better contain or close rifts without relying on raw destruction. during her time in thedas, there are two side quests relating to her. the first is where she asks the inquisitor to help her destroy an ancient artifact tied to forbidden dragon blood rituals hidden in orlais. the second one is a simpler quest: she proposes a joint training mission where inquisition forces and zarneshan soldiers working together to close minor rifts. during her time with the inquisition, she struggles with the use of red lyrium, as it only reminds her of what happened years ago. she does questions, quietly, whether there is truly any safe blood magic or if she is just living on borrowed time.

if the inquisition leans toward diplomacy and healing, she might suggest forming a permanent alliance between zarnesha and the rebuilt southern kingdoms.

if the inquisition abuses magic, she quietly withdraws, taking her forces with her to protect her homeland from a world spiraling into madness.

VEILGUARD. during the events of the game, shams is more of an npc than an actual companion. she returns immediately to her homeland after trespasser because the fractures in the veil are affecting her homeland too. zarnesha is at a crossroads: do they remain isolationist or finally engage fully with the world beyond? she leads a new diplomatic mission called the sapphire concord, a council of zarneshan generals, mages and scholars who now try to build relationships beyond their borders, starting with tevinter, nevarra and orlais. she helps train new blood mages, but under strict codes of discipline, drawing on both zarneshan traditions and modern magical theory from the college of enchanters.

around act two the party will learn that she voluntarily entered a massive unstable rift in the anderfels to seal a growing veil tear. she's trapped inside a part of the fade, a mirrored image of her home, where spirits recreate her memories, fears and ideals, trying to convince her to stay forever. the quest will involve getting her out of said fade pocket, where the party will meet mirrored versions of her generals, parents and even a twisted version of herself that represents her blood magic corruption. they will have to face a high demon of regret that has bound shams' mind in chains of illusion. her own blood magic is used against the player unless they can invoke her humanity through dialogue. in the end, she offers to either return to her homeland for recovery reasons or stays with the veilguard as a blood warden of some sorts.

my preferred playthrough is the tragic end, in which shams will sacrifice herself as the fade corruption worsens, so she anchors the veil around zarnesha permanently, becoming a living spirit tied to her homeland. if a happy ending is preferred, however, she will then she founds a new school for blood and spirit mages called the sedaresh academy.

[gingervitus]

WIP Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday

well, here I am. better late than never, right? thank you for the tag @thedissonantverses. if not for writing in bed last night when I couldn't fall asleep, I fear I would not have much of anything to share at all, but WE DID IT JOE.

here's a bit from the next part of grief: in three phases, which I don't think will be out this week. Unfortunately, like with most things, I gave myself a goal that was a little too ambitious and lofty. Now it's taking much longer to write than I had anticipated.

(but also I'm proud of this work and love despair)

Anyway, here it is!

The dust had settled on the stories of the elven gods, leaving so much clarity in its wake.

Viago, of course, was and still is not pleased with her choices, but he's stopped sending his Crows to Arlathan in an attempt to retrieve her. They are never returned in any permanently disabled capacity. All simply maimed in a way that displays very clearly her repeated declination to return to House de Riva. A broken arm. A very sprained ankle. A fractured clavicle. Each one finds their way home to presumably resume their duties as soon as they've been healed. And each one has a scathing letter which arrives addressed to Rook a month or so after their initial arrival, critiquing their incompetence. Despite everything, she laughs as she reads them.

Trudging through the forest after a rain with the extra weight of her Antivan spoils, though, is almost as bothersome as the rare trip to Treviso she is returning from. With the disappearance and presumed death of the First Talon, the other houses have been in a state of turmoil for nearly two years. Her boots sink into a pile of mud, and she grumbles to herself about how impractical Crow armor and Antivan fashion is, wondering why she didn't simply plan accordingly and wear what she normally would. She knows very well that would never have been the case, not if the proprietor of her old haunt would have anything say in the matter. 

Teia insisted on showering her with gifts upon her return. Upon the return of an ally. An old friend. A confidant. “I am happy for you, Via… and Lucanis.” Luckily, they managed to work their way through most of the expensive wines and cheeses during her three week stint in the city. She is well aware that it would have been even more difficult to make it through Arlathan hauling all that food. Sharing them with a friend had also been gratifying. One of the few people she genuinely misses being away from the city she knew as home for so long, and her whole trip home, she cannot recall Teia ever looking quite so… defeated. “These last two years have been… illuminating.” 

Lucanis was meant to bring about change. Be the innovative progressive the Crows desperately need with a well established name to back him up, but it was a short lived title, all three Dellamortes up and vanishing without so much as a word. “House Nero is… well, Cesare snatched First Talon, and we all knew how that would go.” Slaves being plucked from Tevinter, half of them not making it through training. Infighting from every which angle. Black market dealings with every seedy operation imaginable. House Nero has been accumulating a massive wealth and set out to destroy the old Villa at the edge of the city as soon as they had been able. They all knew what would happen should the Sixth Talon ever take the reins. Suddenly, the Butcher was a benevolent and kind ruler if for nothing else than his true unyielding love for the city of Treviso itself.

I'M GOING TO DO THE WORD ONE SOON BUT IT'S NOT A PART OF A WIP. I HAD AN IDEA FOR IT WHILE I WAS FALLING ASLEEP.

[resrerum]

[lafaiette]

going from the detailed keep to just three decisions is such a drastic change, not to mention it says nothing about dao or da2? are those games just gonna have one default worldstate? i wonder how's that gonna work with varric literally being in the game is he just never gonna mention hawke?

Yes, I admit it bothers me, too - I hope it really was an early build used to avoid spoilers, and that more options will be available in the full game, but I doubt we will see choices from DA:O and DA2.

Iirc Epler said the focus will be on northern Thedas, and consequently choices from the two earlier games won't be addressed. I can understand this tbh - after all, I doubt Tevinter, Rivain, or the Veil Jumpers in Arlathan would discuss or even care about the ruler of far, rustic Ferelden.

Divine Victoria can simply be mentioned with her title, and since mages and magic are seen in a different way in northern Thedas compared to the south, it makes sense for them not to mention the fate of the Circles in Ferelden and Orlais. And considering there are two crazy elven "gods" wreaking havoc and corrupting the land, I doubt Rook, Antaam-occupied Antiva, and Weisshaupt have the time to pay attention to these "distant" things (even though I WAS expecting one of the available choices to be about the Wardens, since the Inquisitor can choose to exile them to Weisshaupt).

Speaking of Varric and Hawke, yeah, I have no idea how that will be addressed. Twelve years have passed since someone was left in the Fade, and it's pretty much confirmed that this person is dead and won't come back at this point, despite all the fans' funny pictures of Hawke coming out of a Fade rift we saw over the years. So, if Hawke was left in the Fade, Varric would have no reason to mention them, since they are long dead and there are much more "important" things to focus on at the moment.

If they're alive... we know that Hawke goes to Weisshaupt after the events of Inquisition, but again, many years have passed since then, so they probably went there to check, saw that things were weirdly quiet, and went back home, their mission concluded. No way they remained in the Anderfels for more than ten years - so even in this case, Varric would have little reason to mention them.

No matter how the devs try to spin this, it can't denied that the events of Veilguard wouldn't exist without Inquisition's. It's basically a direct sequel, even though Bioware is clearly doing their damnest to try and lure in new players unfamiliar with the series, doing everything they can not to scare them off with too many unfamiliar references and characters.

It stands to reason that the events of Inquisition are those that should majorly affect Veilguard's, but it's really odd how simply one (!) choice from the main game and two from its Trespasser DLC are offered.

The biggest concern is the Well of Sorrows - both Morrigan and the Inquisitor are in the game, so how is the game going to address that event? Will it be completely ignored, like a soft-reboot? Will they force Morrigan to be the canon choice no matter our world state?

Or maybe the Inquisitor won't have a very big role (and there's the problem of their personality, too, which wasn't a "fixed" one like Hawke's) or maybe there's something about the Inquisitor's character creator Bioware is hiding/didn't share on purpose to surprise the fans.

[felassan]

"also, on the broadest line around the edge, you can see those symbols again. I’m thinking now that these 6 symbols represent the 6 factions we can choose from for Rook to belong to."

not only that, but the factions of 6 out of our 7 companions, Harding/the Inquisition aside. from some of the things they've said lately (tho at the moment I can't remember specifically where), it sounds like we will encounter each faction in the game too and that they each play a role in the story. in the center is the Veilguard logo itself; it's like representatives from these 6 factions came together to form Voltron The Veilguard. :> about the symbols btw:

The Warden symbol is closer style-wise to this new seemingly updated or northern Warden[?] symbol than it is to previous game/southern Warden[?] symbology (two). shape of the wing, stylization etc. it being 'half' like that gives it the impression of a shield/heraldic beasts.

The Veil Jumper symbol looks to be a halla. it makes me nostalgic for Clan Sabrae heraldry :') makes sense for a faction based in Arlathan and interested in ancient elvhen ruins.

The Shadow Dragons (Tevene faction) have a snake. dragons are all around in Tevinter imagery, a country where they are a symbol of divine power. Another kind of 'worm'/wyrm also kicks around in Tevinter iconography; snakes. in the Imperium heraldry, a serpentine dragon faces off against a snake (opposition..). (side ramble - As a group the Shadow Dragons are a resistance group, they oppose slavery, corrupt rulers and the worst aspects of Tevinter society. Their name makes them seem like 'a different kind of dragon' - an alternative way for the 'dragon' Tevinter is to be, a different future it could have. a different kind of dragon than the dominant ruling one, but one that is currently still overshadowed. it also carries the implication of them working in the shadows and carrying out operations under the radar - this is contrast to the Lucerni, a faction in the Magisterium whose goal is to redeem and restore Tevinter. They're more like a political party, they operate more in public. "lucerna" is Latin for lantern. light, and shadow. Maybe the Shadow Dragons are basically the stealthy/secret operational arm of the Lucerni? like a left and right hand. end side ramble) Snakes crop up in Neve's design (her leg, her hat). I keep thinking about the snake in the Imperium heraldry. with their symbol, it's like the Shadow Dragons are saying they're fighting for a Tevinter.. without the 'dragon' part. in which.. the dragon is a metaphor for the bad stuff? corruption etc? Snakes also carry the symbolism of stealth and slyness, which again fits with the 'shadow' stuff. Would a dragon be able to see a lowly snake coming...? probably not :> I also can't help but think of the imagery of snakes that's to do with healing and medicine. like they wanna de-corrupt Tevinter, heal it of its rot. ALSO. the other thing thing is The Viper from Minrathous Shadows. well, look at that. The Shadow Dragons' symbol is a snake. "We are the Tevinter you forgot". And what do they want? "Everything". maybe The Viper is the founder of the Shadow Dragons? the story mentions they have a contact, a lady who is lightning-smart (Neve?). in the accompanying art-piece, the dealer's silhouette and other aspects of their design are snake-like, recalling Neve and what seems to be 'Shadow Dragon Rook's clothes.

The Lords of Fortune have a cephalopod. (it reminds me of House Greyjoy). makes sense for a faction with ships, dominion over the coasts of Rivain, a pirate-y aesthetic and originating from a nation almost entirely surrounded by sea. maybe this explains the cephalopod that was portrayed 'on' Rivain in the trailer from a few months ago? like maybe it was supposed to represent the Lords of Fortune, their presence in Rivain, and their storyline.

The Mourn Watcher one is just so cool. it's at once both a humanoid skull (you can see the two eyes and the teeth), recalling the symbol for the broader Mortalitasi itself, and a beetle. it makes me think of stuff like scarab beetles and deathwatch beetles, both of which have lots of cool symbolism/lore and cultural meanings irl on stuff like life and death, the cycle, decomposition etc. beetles are also culturally important in Nevarra, where they are prized. lots of households keep them in cages for good luck, and encrusted beetle wings are part of Nevarran decor.

The Crow one is obviously like looking down at a corvid in flight. its head is the top triangular part, but this shape is also known to be worn by Crows as a mask/disguise, and from that perspective the pointy part at the bottom gives the wearer a beaked appearance, masquerade-ball style. the Crows are always watching :>

[woodcries]

my canon worldstate for dragon age:

origins:

elian tabris is my default hof

alistair stays warden

anora is the sole ruler of ferelden

morrigan does the ritual

2:

marian hawke is my only hawke, this doesn't change

bethany dies

anders is spared

inquisition:

arri trevelyan is my default inquisitor

the mages are helped

hawke is left in the fade, alistair escapes

blackwall is pardoned

morrigan drinks from the well of sorrows

arri does not gaf about solas, totally cool with just hunting him down and not saving him

veilguard:

kione aldwir is my default rook

treviso is saved

didn't punch the warden

earned mythal's favor, let solas atone even though she would have liked to do worse but she didn't talk her way out of battling a dragon for nothing

the griffins stay in arlathan

the archive spirit is given up

[blade-of-the-crow]

Hey! I decided to make a short angsty fanfic for Davrin and Wardenrook!

Hope you enjoy a little snippet 🥹(not beta’d wanted to get this out quickly!)

What happens when after all they've sacrificed a simple life with their half-bird half-cat kid just isn't in the cards for our heroes 🥺

PART 1

It’s been nearly 5 years since the fight against the blighted elven gods, or as Bellara liked to explain it, a fight with several little wars.

Thedas has more or less moved on, she’s not back to normal and will never be the same as it was but in some way we are stronger for it.

Tevinter has a ruler that has begun to repair the damage its legacy has left on the world and the elves are slowly being recognized as people in their own right and not beings whose sole purpose is to live as slaves, and as for the Wardens, well the Wardens are figuring out what their purpose is now that the last archdemon has been slayed.

Since the fall of Elgar’nan the strength of the blight in Thedas has diminished greatly and with the help of the remaining wardens who volunteered, the South is finally starting to see the promise of one day hosting life again.

After the final battle the Veilguard went its separate ways. Neve stayed in Tevinter, Lucanis and Bellara returned home to help rebuild their organizations, Emmrich and Manfred returned to the Necropolis and Taash went to live with Harding’s ma who was in one of the first convoys from Southern Thedas fleeing the blight.

As for a certain Warden power couple Rook and Davrin decided to make their dreams of a quiet life with their half-bird, half-cat kid together a reality. Everything was finally coming together until two months ago.

“Hey Rook!” I hear a familiar voice call out my name as I am trying to hack through a blight tendril blocking what should be a doorway according to old blue prints.

About a year ago what was left of Warden leadership decided now might be a good idea to see if Weisshaupt could be taken back. With the darkspawn gone and the gods dead the blight's hold over the fortress wasn’t what it once was. I offered my assistance a couple months ago and came up here while Davrin decided to stay behind in Arlathan with Eldrin and the griffons.

“Yea?!” I called out.

“The first Warden wants to see you in her office!”

“Alright!” I called out as I sheathed my blade. “But give me a hand it’s easier to jump down this pit then it will be jumping up.”

I reached my hand up and felt a firm grasp take hold and lift me out.

“Damn Thorne skimping out on rations?” The man is taller than I am so I have to crane my neck to see who it was. I sigh when I realize who they sent to fetch me.

“And here I thought your ass was among the names of the fallen who had not been identified yet.”

“Bloody hell who knew you grew into such a bitter bitch.” He laughed “I guess you’re still upset about how I ratted you out to the higher ups back then huh.”

“Oh wait was that before or after I found you balls deep in a fresh twenty-year-old recruit.” I scowl at him.

Ashton Anderson, a fellow warden who I had the foolish notion to choose as my first love. We met shortly after our joining. It was a whirlwind romance that lasted way longer than it should have. My punishment for my actions with the horde wouldn’t have been so severe if not for him whispering shit into the First Warden’s ear about how my ‘reckless’ actions were a result of a broken heart and that I was not fit for anything other than a junior warden position. Turns out there was a promotion in the works and that the two names brought forth were ours. He used his position as my unfaithful ex-boyfriend as leverage.

‘Son of a bitch.’

“Okay I see you’re still upset about that.” He had the nerve to look sheepish and turn his head away.

“Actually what you did was probably the best thing for me. It led me to where and who I belong with so if you don’t mind I’ll be going.” I said as I stalked off.

Never had I imagined I’d run into him but to be honest it was a good thing. If it was anyone else I might not have been able to breeze past that comment about my weight so easily. I am able to hide my appearance under warm clothes and heavy make up, but how frail I am underneath is another thing entirely.

I get lost in my thoughts and before I know it I am in front of the First Wardens office. I take a moment to compose myself not knowing what laid behind those doors. I knock and a moment later a familiar voice calls out in response.

“Come in.” I push inside the door and find the first warden and her partner.

“Rook” Evka greets with a nod as she gets up from her seat behind her desk and walks over to where her husband was standing.

“Evka, Antoine.” I nod “What’s up, someone told me that you guys needed to see me.”

“Oui, thank you for coming so quickly.” Antoine replies as he gestures to the chair in front of the desk. “Please have a seat.”

“Uh oh.” I joke “Why does it feel like I’m being brought before a jury.” I say trying to make light of the situation.

“Rook.” Evka shakes her head. “I think you know exactly why you are here.” She admonishes gently.

I sigh. “How long have you guys known?” I asked not looking directly at them.

“Antoine knew as soon as you arrived.” Evka said as she sat down next to me and placed a warm hand on my knee. “I clued in a few weeks later, when you started getting turned around getting to the mess hall, a route you knew like the back of your head. I asked Antoine after to make sure I wasn’t making a bigger deal of it in my head. You taking longer each day to get ready in the morning was another obvious clue.”

“I can’t hide anything from you guys it seems.” I respond after a lengthy pause.

“You’re right. I hear it. I hear my calling.”