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Can we talk about Davrin in Davrin’s arc.

How beautifully it ties together his role as a warden vs. his nature as a gentle boy who would sing to halla. Halla who don’t give their trust to just about anyone.

How it examines the hardening of heart under the pressure of being the shield between the world and the blight that Davrin refuses simply because he’s too kind and too caring and too sweet despite it all.

How him choosing to call a blighted monster by her name says more about him that anyone else; how he chooses to be humane over anything else. I would trust his judgement of monsters vs. non-monsters simply because he’s willing to acknowledge humanity where everyone else would see a monster (as does he, at first, when he lacks information).

Davrin’s arc is beautiful. It’s not about Assan or Isseya, it’s about him — these two are important because they say something about him. The beautiful soul that encompasses the true calling of a Warden. But also, the heart of a halla.

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Couldn't resist drawing a little retro-esque travel poster / postcard of my favourite city in Veilguard! I can already smell the coffee~☕️

Also, happy Dragon Age Day!❤️

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Love Undying

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Leyendecker study but it's Lucanis ✨

The original piece is too perfect for our favourite sleep deprived crow, how could I not Available as a print here!

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mr thrill of the chase

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something I think we all know about fanfic, but don’t talk about because it would hurt writers feelings is that some fics are like fast food. I mean this as a compliment. I don’t always want to sit down for a six course meal that will be a flavor experience. Sometimes I just wanna dip some fries in a frosty. Sometimes I want something homecooked and delicious and super niche, but super comforting. Sometimes I want to eat an entire dark chocolate cheesecake in one sitting even though I know Its gonna make me sick. Just. holy crap, y’all. Sometimes I don’t even want fast food, I just want to eat an entire bag of chips. and yeah, I’m ashamed of myself afterwards, but at the time it was exactly what I wanted. So, no, we’re never going to say to our fanfic writers that we consider their writing to be the equivalent of a midnight run to taco bell - and we shouldn’t, feelings would be hurt by that. But writers, please, please, please, remember this. You don’t need to create a six course meal if you don’t want to. You don’t have to make something complex and homemade if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to finish cooking it - because someone will be thrilled that you brought a bowl of cookie dough and a spoon, because they cannot even consider sitting down and having a proper meal right now. It’s okay writers, whatever you decided to make. Someone was happy to have it. You gave them what they needed. You made them happy. You did good.

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Fenris in his blue wraith comic fit that I finished about a month ago but never posted here.

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sketch of an egg

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three breast friends. i mean best friends

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UPDATE 11/27/2024:

The full alphabet was found and has been made into a font.

Some notes:

Elvish uses a symbol for spaces between words. They do not use punctuation. K and Q are the same Elvish letter.

The elvish writing in DA4 is a 1:1 mask of English and can be decoded! The pic below is out of date, as the whole alphabet was found. In addition, Tevene, Anderfels, Antivan, and Nevarran alphabets can be linked to each other!

English, Elvhen, Tevene, Anderfels, Antivan, and Nevarran alphabets!!!

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All That Remains + things that cannot be unsaid

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Weisshaupt mission was insane I still think about it ghghghhg

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If anything I think they made up too quickly.

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Chalant As Hell

[Summary: Davrin and Rook take the measure of each other during their first meeting in the Anderfels.

Assan's not the only one with ruffled feathers, here.]

Davrin’s blood is singing through his veins, his hunter’s focus locked into place.  There’s a certain trick to keeping far enough away from bands of darkspawn to train Assan on their scent, without risking battle and injury every time.  They’ve tracked this particular group over the better part of the day, winding farther up into the high canyons.  The band has kept well enough away from the trainers’ camp for the most part, but Davin’s started seeing more signs of darkspawn closer to where they started this morning.  One hand is close to the hilt of his sword as he scans the scene again, nostrils flaring as he inhales more of the metallic and sour scent of the taint.  Assan shuffles close to him, a soft curious sound in his throat as he looks around, too. Davrin absently places his hand on Assan’s downy head, gauntleted fingers lightly scratching through the griffon’s feathers.

Davrin kneels to study a print in the dirt, mind divided between tracking and trying to gauge how best to hone Assan’s instincts, when he hears footsteps and a scattering of stone chips sound along the small canyon that leads back to their camp.  Assan’s head shoots up, ears twitching and alert, and a small spear of pride shoots through Davrin even as he jumps to his feet, muscles tensed.  The constant hum of the Blight in his veins is too distant to be darkspawn, but he doesn’t recognize the two sets of treads coming closer.  Whoever they are, they aren’t Lancit and Remi.  Assan leaps to a rocky outcrop and begins prowling in the direction of the noise, a low sound in his throat.  With a curse, Davrin hurries to keep up with his charge, losing sight of Assan within a few moments thanks to the fact that Assan can fly, and Davrin has a distinct lack of wings. 

“Assan!”

He hears Assan let out his hunting shriek, and Davrin lopes up the last steep rise before laying eyes on the scene before him.

Assan’s crouched before a lithe elven woman, his head lowered and wings flared as he squawks again.  A small dwarven woman stands by the still-burning campfire. Neither stranger has weapons drawn; the elven woman’s hands are held placatingly in front of her.  He takes a few heartbeats to assess the situation, his keen hunter’s instincts buzzing. 

He certainly didn’t expect to return to a wrecked campsite after a morning of training with Assan.  There aren’t any signs of Lancit and Remi, best as he can tell, not even a blood splash.  It’s small comfort to Davrin, even as he smells the stench of the Blight.  Wherever his fellow Wardens and their charges are, it isn’t here.  He beckons Assan to his side with a murmured, “Easy, boy,” still ready for a fight if it comes to that.  His hard gaze falls on the elven woman in front of him. 

Davrin’s almost embarrassed at how seeing her nearly drowns out the Blight and worry running through him and instead sets another song singing in his blood.  For a second he feels as an untried young man again as he takes in the riotous mass of copper curls spilling across her shoulders, her valleslin and angular face, her tan and freckled skin—entirely too much of it, especially this close to darkspawn.  Her golden armor appears too ornamental to be practical, from the small golden breastplate fastened over bright blue cloth that drips nearly to the ground, to the golden armbands circling up to her biceps, to the woven leather sandals adorning her calves and feet.  However, a mage staff peeks over her shoulder, and a wicked-looking coral knife is buckled at her hip.  Ah. Teeth to her bright plumage.

He hasn’t had much opportunity to cross paths with a Lord of Fortune, but he’s heard tales of their deeds and rumored preening ostentatiousness.  What is one doing here, practically in the ass-end of the Anderfels? 

Where the elf shines like a fire in the afternoon light, the dwarf behind her paints a more tempered picture.  She is much more practically outfitted with what appears to be a serviceable scouting kit, not an ounce of skin exposed to potential threats.  A potions belt is slung across her hips, a bandolier securing a bow and quiver latched across her torso.  The dwarven woman’s auburn hair and bow are lined in gold from the dying sun. 

A wonder-filled smile breaks across the elven woman’s face.  “I’ll be damned…a griffon!”  Her voice is husky enough to weasel past Davrin’s defenses, and he scowls. Assan squawks at her, his wings flared and feathers ruffled. 

“Trouble is, he’s not sure what you are. Neither am I.”  His voice is hard, but the woman doesn’t seem phased. 

“Rook.  This is Harding.  Evka and Antoine sent us.  We’re looking for Davrin.” S he cocks an eyebrow at him, an openness to her face.  He knows what she’s doing, trying to defuse the tension radiating from him and Assan.  Put him at ease.  Mentioning his fellow trusted Wardens helps to quell his misgivings at them finding their hidden camp some, but not completely.

“You found him."  His reply is curt.  "Mind telling me why you smell like darkspawn? Griffons hunt darkspawn.”

There’s a wry tilt to Rook’s lips, and she jerks a thumb towards the tent erected against the cliff.  “We don’t smell that bad.  It’s the tent.  You’ve had company.”

Davrin scowls and inhales, holding out his arms.  “Blight?  Where are Lancit and Remi?”

“The camp was empty when we got here.”  Her voice is pitched to be calming, and Davrin takes a moment to admit to himself that he expected more brashness and arrogance from a Lord of Fortune.  Makes sense some of them would know how to speak honeyed words as well.  As far as he’s heard, anyone with a thirst for "gold and glory"—be it privateer, treasure hunter, explorer, the occasional scholar—is welcome in their ranks.  He’s not sure which category this Rook falls into, and decides then and there to keep his guard up with her until he does.

A sudden scream rips through the air, the cry of darkspawn grating on his nerves and setting a steady aching pulse behind his eyes.  He turns to Assan, signaling with his hand.  “Assan—to the trees!”

Rook is gazing at him, and he knows she’s taking his measure, too.  “We can help.”

He fights to keep down a scoff, even as he’s intrigued to see what Rook and Harding are capable of.  Besides, facing darkspawn alone has never been his favorite pastime, even without the threat of his fellow Wardens being in danger.  Still scowling, Davrin tilts up his chin in challenge, hands on his hips.  “Try to keep up.”

A sharp smile slashes across Rook’s face, and she gestures for him to lead the way.

Davrin is quickly forced to amend his very early—and very biased— first impressions of Rook after they encounter the first band of darkspawn.  She moves like a dervish across the battlefield, mage knife flashing out to rip through sinew and bone alike, lightning crackling around them in a protective field as more darkspawn leap down from the canyon walls, keeping them from getting overwhelmed. In the next heartbeat Rook slams her staff down and out, fire erupting in a wave before her.  Davrin slides his blade between the ribs of a darkspawn, before leaping to knock another aside with his shield, putting more distance between it and her.  He wants to say she’s reckless, the way she fights both at range and up close, what with her lack of protection.  But at the same time he is begrudgingly impressed. 

He pulls his blade from the last darkspawn, noting the proportion of scorched bodies around them compared to those with sword marks and protruding arrows.  He amends his thoughts further.  “Not bad, Rook…for a Lord of Fortune.”

There’s that look again, that almost smug tilt to her lips and eyes, that tells Davrin he’s not fooling anyone.  The word gorgeous flits through his mind, closely followed by dangerous.  He files them away for later, and brings more of his fierce Warden resolve to bear.  He can’t afford to get distracted now.  Not until he finds Remi and Lancit, and knows the other griffons are safe.

—Even if Rook appears to have stepped right out of his dreams, if he’s honest with himself.

He’s never seen anything quite like her.

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“All right.  Come on, Assan.  Let’s get to know our new friends.” 

Davrin’s rich voice twists through her thoughts even after she’s helped Lucanis clean up after their evening meal.  Davrin and Assan had joined them briefly, long enough for Assan to receive many head scratches from Bellara and Harding, much to Davrin’s chagrin.  She could see that the Warden was still not quite sure what to make of their rag-tag bunch.  He had been friendly throughout dinner, going so far as to swap some quick hunting stories with Taash, but Rook read underlying tension in the way he held himself, an aloofness that she herself had tried to maintain at the start of this job.  Her heart gave a small twinge on his behalf when he excused himself and beckoned to Assan, saying he wanted to settle in to their assumed quarters more.  How hard it must be for him, losing two friends and comrades-in-arms, as well as the last bevy of living griffons in the whole of Thedas—all in one day.

She’s had jobs like that, she muses to herself now, as she paces through her room.  That sense of the ground dropping out from under her, that listless pit in her stomach; that’s how it had felt after her last Rivaini job went sideways and she had needed to go to ground for her own safety and keep her distance from the other Lords.  That’s how it felt when she and the others disrupted Solas’s ritual, and got them all in this crazy mess.  Life altered in an instant.  She’ll check in on Davrin tomorrow, but for tonight she’ll let him be.

That won’t stop her from replaying their first meeting in her head, though.  She brings her small strung elven bass to the plush chaise in her room, fingers running absently over the strings.  In her line of work, she’d had to learn how to hold a poker face when meeting new clients or prospective business partners.  Rook thought herself a fairly composed woman who was able to keep her expressions—not to mention hormones—in check.  Davrin had certainly given her a run for her money.

Isabela and her penchant for tall, dark, and handsome had nothing on the monster hunter.  Meeting his dark gaze as he stood on the rise above her, fading sunlight shining around him like he was some sort of avenging spirit, had nearly stolen her breath. His broad shoulders and chiseled jaw, full lips and toned chest and deep voice— he’s utterly bewitching.  Rook feels her cheeks heat even now, like she’s a blushing maiden again.  She plucks out a simple melody by heart, turning over her other impressions like river stones. The way he fought, fierce and determined, cutting a swath through the darkspawn.  And protective—she hadn’t missed the way he had angled himself towards the worst attacks and drew attention away from her and Harding, all on top of keeping an eye out for Assan. 


Rook knows she is competent at ferreting out artifacts and traversing ruins.  She is comfortable in her considerable strength as a mage. And still her heart thrills to think of the heroic knights protecting others, like she reads in the romance serials she secretly loves.  She is no damsel, but can’t help but swoon at Davrin’s actions all the same.  Rook herself is also no maiden; she’s flirted and bedded her way through enough people in her time as a Lord to know what she likes in a lover, and how to be a good lay in turn.  But something about Davrin makes her breath catch, her blood sing in her veins like lyrium.

She bets he’s considerate and chivalrous in bed as well as battle, fierce and confident.  The thought comes to her unbidden, and she nearly slaps herself.  You have just met him.  Have you no shame, Veryl Laidir?  Her fingers still on the strings of the bass.  Having these thoughts as the boss of this expedition won’t do her any good, not with what’s at stake.  But it also wouldn’t be the first time she’s mixed business with pleasure… 

Hmm.

She sets the instrument down across her lap, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks.  Maybe she will ask Varric if he’s ever experienced anything like this raw attraction on any of his previous jobs—she certainly hasn’t, at least not at this magnitude.  Then again, she would sooner burst into flame than discuss crushes with her assumed mentor.  And she’s only just met Davrin.  This doesn’t bode well for her.  At all.  Having a cute and equally fierce companion like Assan certainly doesn’t hurt his odds in her eyes, either.

Rook just hopes her facade of warm nonchalance won’t fail her now.  There’s a lot riding on her as leader of this growing outfit; she can’t afford to be distracted. Somehow, though, Rook hopes she won’t be able to help herself. 

Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

[Notes:

I just actually can't with Davrin right now. I say I like him a Normal Amount (TM) and then go and churn this out. Is it just me or is he one of the best-looking companions in any of Bioware's games???

Also shout out to my friend's shirt that says "I'm chalant as hell: I care." This one's for you, sweaty.]

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what’s with the fic trope where varric handles hawke’s fortune

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Someone was being a fucking hater on my explicitly positive DATV post AGAIN (u all know I can see your tags right. They get delivered to me express mail style) so here’s an essay about how I thought the Grey Warden plotline was great:

First, it was extremely lore-consistent. I don’t know how to tell people this, but the Grey Wardens simply are sort of shady— it’s part of their charm. In DAO alone we found out they:

- kill anyone who refuses the joining

- are definitely using a blood magic ritual to induct people

- tried to usurp the throne of Fereldan

In DA2 they:

-Forced Malcolm Hawke to perform a blood magic ritual against his will to contain Corypheus, by threatening to kill his family

- Built a giant prison in the mountains they didn’t tell anyone about and that someone could wander into and not be able to escape

- the entire Corypheus thing. They didn’t even tell the other Wardens like what he was or how dangerous he was.

DAI:

- the demon army thing was pretty bad

And that’s not even mentioning any stuff from the books or comics or shows! That’s just stuff in the games!

So they’re shady. It’s okay! They’re my little woobie guys, idc if they’re sort of shady!

But the plot in DATV is about all of those previously established issues coming back to bite them in the fucking ass, as they should! Knock knock, it’s the consequences of your actions, baby! The chickens are home to roost

(Which is just good storytelling. Like if you set up a bunch of issues and then never pay them off or anything that’s bad.)

Destroying Weisshaupt was inspired! Firstly bc Davrin is Weisshaupt, metaphorically (bulwark against the darkness, etc, I already made a post) so it serves his character arc. But also because it strips away the pageantry and the grandeur from them; no more castle for you! No more myth!

Davrin explicitly tells you that the First Warden is a traditionalist; he represents the historical attitudes of the Wardens. They do not accept help, they do not give up their secrets, they are standing alone against the dark. And it doesn’t work! He’s fucking wrong (and very punch-able). Being secretive and isolationist is a mistake that costs them nearly everything.

But also, and I’m not sure how many people experienced this on the first go-around, the game does ultimately come down on the side of the Wardens always trying to do the right thing. You CAN talk the First Warden down, because in the end he’s a Warden, and he might be stubborn and curmudgeonly and miserable but he CARES about the world. He came to do good. He admits he was wrong and he helps you. Because the heart of the Wardens is about selfless service to other people. In Death, Sacrifice.

Stripping away Weisshaupt and the glory and pageantry leaves the Wardens at their most vulnerable and forces them to return to their fundamental principles: helping people. That’s what Lavendel is about. Helping individual people and preserving every life possible even if it doesn’t feel that glamorous or heroic. Lavendel isn’t a significant place; it doesn’t matter, but it matters so much.

And then, the Cauldron.

First off, do not at me about Last Flight. I don’t think people should have to read external materials to play this game and understand it. If the information is vital it should be presented to the player in the text.

The Cauldron is the repository of the Wardens’ secrets; it’s where the keep the bones of the Archdemons, the secret to the Joining, ancient and dangerous weapons, as well as the bodies of the griffons, which represents their most shameful errors. Isseya is the avatar of the Wardens’ mistakes; she’s been hurt by what they made her do, and her pain was never acknowledged by them. They buried her story and her suffering like they bury everything they don’t want to deal with and are ashamed of. They left the bones of the griffons, whose deaths they directly caused, to rot because they were too sad to acknowledge them.

But it was wrong to walk away, it was wrong to bury it. Isseya makes sure that they can never do that again, that they have to own what they did and take responsibility. By discovering who she is and by restoring her personhood to her, by reminding her of her love which drove her to her anguish in the first place, Davrin saves her and he saves the griffons. He doesn’t do it using violence, because another sin of the Wardens is just assuming that they can kill their way out of their problems, which the game disproves by revealing the origin of the Blight. You can kill as many darkspawn as you want, you will never fix it! The Titans’ dreams do not need to be slain, they need to be healed.

Isseya is in so much pain because of her incredible love for both the griffons and the Wardens, and because of her guilt. Look what she builds! An alternate Weisshaupt, a distorted reflection of her home. She entreats both Davrin and Assan to join her, because she doesn’t think she’s trying to destroy anything. She’s trying to save them! She wants them to come home. “I am their mother,” she says, and she’s right. She saved them, then, and she ends up saving them now! Because she made Davrin and the other Wardens look, unflinchingly, at what they had done, it will never happen again. She was going about it wrong during the game, but she was ALWAYS trying to save them.

Davrin, Antoine and Evka represent the Wardens’ commitment to being different. They let Flynn undergo the Joining without becoming a Warden, they reveal secrets to non-Warden Rook, they offer to help the Viper without asking for anything in return. They ask for help and offer it freely. If the Wardens are going to persist into a world without Archdemons, they HAVE to change. They can’t be what they were anymore. The game is asking what a Warden is when they have to be more than their oath, when they have to live. It’s a great exploration of and expansion on previously established lore.

Anyway, my advice if you hated the plot and the game and the characters is to a) make your own post b) don’t bother me about it, because I have the time and I will be loudly positive in response!