#Orlesian and their own roots

[dreadfutures]

Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan | art by @whoisnotmyname

I commissioned Mumford for a portrait and item collection for my Inquisitor and I highly recommend you do the same! I'm so happy with how my wall of muscle Champion turned out, and her items are rendered better than I could have imagined! Seeing them all laid out on her Champion's Standard makes them feel so real!

Item descriptions under the cut.

Champion's Standard. Behind everything is Ixchel's Standard, which Vivienne designed to reflect her Dalish identity and her presence as the Inquisitor. It features a modified version of the Dirthamen vallaslin, and the Inquisition eye/sword.

Chromatic Greatsword (modified). In my fic, Ixchel discovers a stash of ancient weapons from Andruil's own armory. Among them was a chromatic greatsword, which she modified with schematics from the Sulevin Blade to honor the Dalish warriors who came before her. She can deactivate the glowing blade when not in use.

Longsword. Someday she will lose her arm and no longer be able to wield the heavy greatswords that made her career. Instead, she adapts to one-handed use of more mundane blades. She knows she will lose her arm, so she carries this with her and practices with it in preparation for that day.

Dalish Banner Crown. This was something she's had since day 1 of my Inquisition playthroughs and has become synonymous with her leading troops into battle. She carries the banner with her against their foes, and brings it with her to audiences with human monarchs to make it impossible for them to forget she is a member of a race they tried to subjugate and exterminate.

Hart's Decorated Bridle. The people of Halamshiral's alienage, a mix of elves and impoverished humans, presented a special white hart to her when she arrived for the ball at the Winter Palace. He was given to her with ribbons and paintings on him to symbolize her Dalish roots, but in the traditions of Orlesian alienages. He is a proud and fancy beast and his bridle matches him.

Dorian's Talking Crystal. It no longer works--it's from her first life, in a world and timeline that no longer exist, but she keeps it anyway as a reminder. Even until the day she died, Dorian tried to hold on to her, his dearest friend.

Health Potions. Every good hero needs them!

Flemeth's Gifted (Mask). In my fic, Briala received an Orlesian courtesan's mask from a mysterious witch with directions to give it to Ixchel. The mask helped Ixchel blend in with the human crowd in Wycome on her infiltration mission. Only if one looks very, very closely can you see the subtle carvings of Mythal's own vallaslin, marking Ixchel as Dalish--and, perhaps, marking Flemeth's designs upon her future.

Spilled Deathroot Potion. Ixchel began her story with this potion--but she will not meet that end again.

Ardent Blossoms (Marigold Crown). In my fic, marigolds are an ancient symbol of Champions' dedication to their causes and their lords. Ghilan'nain wore them in honor of Andruil when she was but her honored priestess. The cempasúchil symbolize a bond to, and beyond, death. Cole found these, the Ardent Blossom, and Ixchel has named herself Champion of the People--not Champion of a lord, or a cause, but Champion of all those who need someone to fight for them. They have become a symbol everywhere of fighting for equal rights, and others wear them in their hair to show that they're willing to take the fight to the end.

Gingko Earrings. Ginkgo symbolize hope, and hope for peace, in my continuity. They've become a symbol she wears often in my art.

Halla Horn Comb. Ixchel was actually adopted by the Dalish Clan Lavellan, after growing up as a feral child in the wilderness. One of the dearest memories she has of the Clan is of the First, Terinelan, teaching her how to braid her hair. She has kept the halla horn comb ever since.

Hair Ribbon. Same as the above. In Dalish tradition, she made this ribbon and embroidered it herself.

Puzzle Ring. Given to her in the future of my fic by Solas. It's a puzzle for her ingenuity, but it's also a promise of dedication and return.

Raven Feather. Symbolizing Dirthamen, and her role as "Kin-Finder," a great title given to her upon receiving her vallaslin and acknowledging that she has uncovered, and returned, so many elven secrets lost to history due to the hardships they faced since the fall of Elvhenan.

[old-archivist]

More Fun Thedosian Food and Drinks Facts

So, a few more fun facts to tide you all over while I finish my food posts. (Also some snide commentary of my food frustrations at the end.)

Part 1

The Inquisition soldiers stationed in the Western Approach, Griffon Wing Keep, eat quillback and occasionally varghest. Which, considering they’re predators and you want to cook that all the way through means a lot of stews, soups, roasted, and other means.

Orlesians drink almond tea.

They also have punch, which can be both alcoholic and non-alcoholic.

When needed Thedosians will sweeten yellow wine with honey and spices.

Thedosians, Nevarran and other nations alike, eat dragons. Which isn’t entirely surprising but I mean they salt it, dry the blood to use as seasonings, all of it. Which, honestly, I appreciate them using the entirety of the animal.

Thedas has caviar, which implies sturgeon - unless Thedas has it’s own caviar making fish, but until noted otherwise you can assume sturgeon as most Thedosian food follows real world sources.

Thedas has both the dessert and savory forms of pudding. Which threw me for a minute when I came across Varric’s dialogue suggesting they put gravy on pudding.

Qunari have their own type of ale.

Avvar have their own type of mead and it is supposedly better than lowlander mead. Though, Amund might be a bit biased.

Both Avvar and Fereldans eat harts.

With the existence of Cacio e pepe, there is the implication that spaghetti and pevorino romano cheese exists in Antiva/Thedas. In Tevinter Nights it is implied that the Imperium makes it wrong meaning they uses butter, oil, or another ingredient aside from the cheese, pepper, and spaghetti.

Thedas has ale, beer, lager, and drafts, but since those things historically haven’t always been made from hops, it’s hard to say if hops exist. Hops in Thedas are theoretical, like waffles and lettuce.

Waffles aren’t mentioned as a food. Hawke’s nicknames are actions so... likely not a food. But open to headcanon, cause I ain’t here to rain on your parade.

There is not a single mention of salad or lettuce in Thedas but there are objects labeled “salad bowls” and I have intense feelings about this. Especially since the foods referenced range up to the 1900s. Let there be lettuce Bioware. Please.

The Bioware devs seem to like just saying “root vegetables”, “cakes”, “teas”, “fruits“, ect. instead of specifying which leaves a large gap and hurts my heart. Cause honestly I would love to know more veggies they used or even to see more foods unique to Thedas.

[scriptores]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 : asteria amell , dragon age: origins

overview: in the world of thedas, the darkspawn are orc-like creatures who dwell in an underground network of tunnels known as the deep roads. every few centuries, they rise to the surface in a hive-mind attack led by an archdemon. these apocalyptic scourges are known as the blight. out of the darkspawn's tainted essence, enhanced warriors known as the grey wardens were created to kill the archdemon and put a stop to the blight no matter the cost. it has been over 400 years since the last blight, but the fifth blight finally takes root in the country of ferelden. asteria is a newly initiated mage who was conscripted into the order at the eve of the first battle against the blight. political treachery lost them the battle and killed the king of ferelden, as well as nearly all the grey wardens. only asteria and alistair survived. with ferelden's borders closed and political ambitions still taking precedence, these two rookies and their motley crew of unlikely companions are thedas' last hope to stop the blight before it spreads beyond control.

CANON VERSES.

✧ origins : the events of the first game unfold and ultimately end with asteria being the warden who kills the archdemon. she survives the ordeal albeit changed, having incidentally absorbed the archdemon's soul unto her own, a fact that is evident to anyone who sees her violet eyes (as further explained here). [ alt. companion verse ] asteria can be picked up (or snuck out) during the circle tower crisis and join the warden's party. afterwards, she'd either live as an apostate mage or request to join the wardens as a new recruit during awakening. [ full bio ]

✧ awakening / da: 2 : asteria becomes the new warden commander of ferelden tasked with rebuilding the order. however, tensions are high as her survival and rumors of her absorbing the archdemon's soul brew resentment among the ranks. after she vanquishes the darkspawn threat in amaranthine, tensions begin to smooth over. she establishes the silver order and comes the new arlessa of amaranthine (although actively seeking a means to separate the two roles). when the mage-templar war starts, asteria receives an influx of mage and templar refugees alike seeking to join the order. she sets out looking for a cure for the taint so that those who chose this path in desperation could someday reverse it. ( a good crossover verse, since asta's search can take her to all sorts of places even outside of thedas )

✧ inquisition : my default is that asteria gave up her search for the cure and went straight to skyhold upon learning of the breach from a wisp in the fade. this happens sometime after warden commander clarel and the wardens of orlais are killed. after adamant, she becomes the temporary warden commander for the surviving orlesians and leads them in tandem with ferelden's warden forces against corypheus, should the inquisitor accept their aid.

AU VERSES.

✧ greek myth : asteria is the titan goddess of fallen stars and nocturnal oracles. she was a commander leading her father's northern celestial forces during the titanomachy, but was spared from being locked away in tartarus by her daughter, hekate's appeal. after being pursued by zeus, asteria fled to the underworld, and has been nyx's ward ever since. [ full bio ]

✧ dnd / critical role : asteria is the matron of ravens who presides over fate, winter, memories, and death. she was a mortal mage during the age of arcana, but ascended into her position after killing the previous death god. her name and her story has been wiped from historical memory. any remaining legends about her are varied and conflicting, but the one thing that is certain is that she has a disdain for orcus, the demon prince of undeath (or koschei if we decide to integrate his au here too). she actively seeks champions to defeat his undead forces and cult followers.

✧ fae verse : asteria is a faerie from the unseelie court and/or winter court. lots of flexibility here, but my default is affiliated with maeinade's unseelie queen, whom asteria assisted in usurping the previous monarch. she also has a proclivity for sorcery outside of faerie magic that she doesn't frequently employ in fear that it could raise suspicions that she isn't fully fae. [alt. acotar verse] also flexible. default is that asteria is illyrian, secretly a witch, and was one of the girls who joined the ranks in book 3. she fights in the battle against hybern, and uses her magic to save some but unfortunately not all of the illyrians who were caught in the cauldron blast.

DOSSIER

name. asteria amell diminutives. asta pronouns. she/her titles. champion of redcliffe, hero of ferelden, warden-commander of ferelden, arlessa of amaranthine (verse dependent) age. 19 (during origins), 31 (during da:i) origin. free marcher (w/avvar roots), identifies as ferelden etymology. human mage, spirit medium (spirit of command incarnate)* sexuality. bisexual alignment. chaotic good / neutral

relations. revka amell ( mother, presumed dead ), aerick ( biological father, presumed dead ), ethan amell ( father, deceased ), leticia amell ( half-sister, deceased ), diana amell ( half-sister, deceased ), apollonius amell ( half-brother, deceased ), hawke (cousin, alive)

height. 5'7" build. athletic & mesomorph hair. black & smooth as a river stone, usually kept back in a long braid. eyes. originally blue; now an unnatural violet scars. multiple faint scars, but the most prominent one is from the arrow she took at the tower of ishal. it sits right on her left shoulder, just below her collarbone, about the size of a coin and shaped like a gnarled silver star. there's an identical one on her left shoulder blade where the arrow pierced through. scents. rosemary, deathroot blossoms, & bergamot. 

abilities / skillset .

entropy & necromancy specialization.  the school of entropy deals with spells that attack the life force of an enemy and includes: creating death clouds to drain life energy (which can be absorbed to heal herself & companions), drawing residual spirit energy from the surrounding dead to replenish mana, paralyzing, disorienting, spirit bombing etc. necromancy allows her to call on and bind spirits from the fade to dead corpses and command them to attack on her behalf.

spirit medium . not a specialization that can be learned, but one she was born with. mages can interact with spirits and demons in the fade in their dreams, by physically summoning them with spells, or through their possessed vehicles, but spirit mediums are mages who have one foot in each of the two worlds. they can see through the veil and communicate with the beings on the other side at any given moment. 

grey warden abilities . wardens undergo a ritual (the joining) where they infuse darkspawn blood (the taint) with their own. this grants them: enhanced strength, durability, immunity to blighted illness, ability to sense when darkspawn are near, a connection to the darkspawn hivemind controlled by archdemons during a blight. typically, the archdemon can be seen & heard through dreams

archdemon soul absorption . after absorbing the archdemon's soul in the final boss battle, asteria essentially became an archmage, with an increased capacity for mana storage. she refuses to tap into that extra powerbank for a variety of reasons

restrictions .

other schools of magic . asteria was one of the top students of her class in the circle, and had to learn all the schools of magic at some capacity, but in the years since she's become a warden, she's been out of practice, and relies almost exclusively on entropy & necromancy if not her weapons.

high risk of possession. as a spirit medium, she can see through the veil in the waking word, but likewise those entities can see her. demons are often drawn to mediums like magnets and chisel away at their peace until their will is weak enough for a possession.

the calling . while the joining grants wardens increased abilities, it does not come without consequence. the taint is a poison which corrupts and overtime her mind will become more darkspawn than warden. this process is known as the calling. eventually through delusions it draws a warden to the deeproads where they are sure to meet their death or worse. it usually takes up to 30 years after a joining to hear the calling, but wardens, like asteria, who are active during a blight have this process accelerated, bringing it closer to 10 years.

archdemon soul absorption: although asteria has an increased mana powerbank to draw from, she still has a human body and to tap into that powerbank will take a massive toll on her physically. to draw on it completely might actually kill her.

themes. battle cry, imagine dragons / ezio's family, assassin's creed / to the stars, tyler bates / female robbery, the neighbourhood

[lairofdragonagelore]

Patterns and Styles: Orlais

Orlais design is one of the most over-detailed ones, having a lot of common roots with elvhenan design due to the historical implication: The Promised Land, the Dales, where the ancient Dalish established a Kingdom, coexisted with more or less frictions with Orlais while it developed as an empire in its own. This will have a clear effect in the design of Orlais.

This series of posts are not exhaustive since I’ve developed a very detailed list of tags tracking certain features of a given design. These posts merely try to gather in one place the symbols and elements I used most of the time when identifying buildings in my analysis of DAI.

[This post is part of the series “Patterns and Styles ”]

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

Patterns

1- This pattern decorates the walls of the Chateaus or forms a lattice on the doors to give them a particular fancy texture.

2 and 3 - are the same elvhenan pattern number 3 from “Patterns and Styles: Elvhenan”. This pattern decorates most of the buildings and door/window frames in Orlesian architecture. 

4 - This pattern is a series of thorny vines usually painted in golden, that decorates the walls or the upper parts of the buildings as it’s shown in 5.  

It’s usually accompany with a “mask” which has a resemblance to the old Dalish symbol of Mythal [DAO].

6 - This pattern emulates flower petals and it’s found mostly in rugs. 

7 - It’s a pattern of thorny flowers, that look very similar to the elvhenan pattern I called “flowers made out of circles” [pattern 2 from “Patterns and Styles: Elvhenan”]. This pattern is usually seen on the floor. 

8- It’s an orlesian classic floor pattern of squares.

9 - This is a symbol-pattern found in some decorations, it’s a mixture of a shield giving a sense of a dragon-like design or maybe a mask, depending on how you see it. It has been present in the urn of sacred ashes in DAO.

10 - This pattern looks like the point of a spear, usually seen at the bottom of statues. 

11 and 12 - These patterns are seen in the Winter Palace, and not in Chateaus. 12 is as if it were a simplification of pattern number 1.

12 is also found in more humble decorations of Orlesian villages, like Montevelan in the Exalted Plains, or in the Orlesian additions to the Fort Revasan. This pattern seems to be done on wood in these cases.

13 - It’s a pattern seen in Winter Palace, and has a strong inspiration in the pattern 10 from “Patterns and Styles: Elvhenan”, which is an eluvian-shape repeated at the basement of the statues. The Orlesian version looks more like a rounded point of a spear or an arrow, but the inspiration from the elvhenan one seems to be there.

Architecture

Orlesian architecture is over-saturated, filled with golden “filetes” and intricate designs, showing an excess of details. The chateaus we find in DAI [ Chateau D’Onterre and Villa Maurel] are a good example of being a “simplification” of more exuberant places like the Winter Palace. In the Exalted Plains we also find a destroyed orlesian village which shows similar architecture that we find in the chateaus.

The main detail we notice in Orlesian architecture, aside its overdecorated structures, is that doors and windows tend to be eluvian-shaped, showing the clear influence of elvhenan style in their own. However, the decoration around them is different to the elvhenan one, usually more simplified in terms of pattern-borders.

Decoration

Orlesian decoration is always intricate and too elaborated, with a lot of swirls and leaves that resemble the art-style of the Fileteado. It’s also accompanied with the constant presence of the “triangular face” that I suppose represents Andraste. Orlesian art is deeply entangled with the Chantry, since it used the religion as a way to unify the different tribes and create Orlais. I’m not showing all the statues and art where Andraste is represented, nor the orlesian design of all the main characters of the tale of Andraste, but they can be found in the tags  Andrastian design.

Because this section in these posts is more about showing some decorations that caught my attention, I want to talk about this one. This statue is only seen in the Winter Palace, in the ballroom; and in Valammar in Hinterlands or Daerwin’s Mouth in Storm Coast, both places are now hideouts of smuggling groups.

What I think it’s easy to see is that this statue represents an elf. Strangely, her ears have not been hidden nor altered. It has feathered wings and vine-based decorations in her arms. 

I always found this statue quite curious because Orlais actively erased all elven presence in their art after the Exalted March of the Dales. Or this statue is a new addition in the Winter Palace ordered by Celene, or... I really can’t explain how this statue survived the policy of erasing elven figures in orlesian art.  We know that after that time, elven authors were banned or made anonymous, Shartan passage in the Chant of Light was removed and considered heretic or dissonant [as it’s called now], and in general, every piece of art [painting or sculpture] was altered to remove the pointy ears and turn these figures into “humans”.

The rest of the objects in DAI or are representation of Andrastian figures, or are objects of beauty, always showing golden details to make them look fancier. Some of these objects may have resemblance to Dalish or elvhenan symbols, but for a better track of the Orlesian design the tags Orlesian design and Andrastian design can be explored.

[rma1031]

Shep's Hermitcraft Character Design Event [Week 2, Day 6 - The Betrothed Nobles]

Hello! This post is in regards to @shepscapades Hermit Design Event! Check it out here!

The prompt I'm doing throughout this week is:

"Video Game Swap"

With what I'm doing for Shep's event, it's all about my AU named Hermit Age! If you wish to know more about the AU, check the masterlist out!

For this day's designs, it's about these two engaged nobles, Lizzie and Joel!

Lizzie

[Note that Lizzie does not have her pink hair because I wanted to go mostly realistic for this AU. I decided on making her a blonde (dyed) with her natural roots being brown]

This is Lizzie, the Orlesian-born Fereldan noblewoman!

Here's a backstory regarding Lizzie in the AU!

Lizzie was born in Jader, from her Orlesian mother and Fereldan father. She grew up however in Amaranthine as one of the nobility, learning the etiquettes of a Fereldan noble, and yet even with the properness of being a noble, she was carefree and mischievous to pursue her likings. She learned swordsmanship from her father and defied everyone else's expectations for being an Orlesian. She grew up balancing being a noble and a woman of her own wants and needs.

When she was twenty-two, her parents have been looking for potential suitors to get her wedded with, and they found someone from Markham, a city-state in the Free Marches. Lizzie's family then crossed the Waking Sea to Markham and met the noble family and the suitor they say, and there she met Joel.

Even with the complexities of noble politics between Ferelden and the Free Marches, her family agreed to betroth Lizzie with Joel. And though this engagement was born from a matter of convenience and political connections and empowerment, it would soon be seen as a matter of love as well.

She has no interpretation yet, but it will be possible in the near future!

For her Hero Forge Design, you can check it out here!

As for the picrews I used, this is the first one, and then this the second one!

Joel

[I didn't give Joel his standard green dollop on his hair, but I did do a little discoloration on one part of his hair in the Hero Forge design that is very dark brown but has hints of what can be green.]

Now this is Joel, the Free Marcher nobleman!

His backstory ties in with Lizzie's but I'll give what I can during the time before he met her and at the point of which he has met her.

Joel was born in the city-state of Markham, known as a center of agricultural research and is home to one of the largest universities in Thedas. He was raised within the nobility of the city-state, where he was taught in the ways of being a noble, especially as a Free Marcher. His family had a large sway with the farms of the nearby land, making great harvest for themselves as well as the people of where they live in.

Joel grew up in Markham and was trained to know the farmlands, the way agriculture works. His family, being so embedded with the agricultural trade and research, was one to get their hands dirty down on the tilled soil. Besides the life of a nobleman with farms to tend, he was also a warrior of his own right. His parents gave him tutors to teach him how to fight with an axe he favors so dearly.

When Joel was of the age twenty-one, he was made a suitor by his parents from someone in Ferelden, down south. With interest, he waits for this supposed noblewoman to come to Markham. The time this noblewoman and her family arrived at the gates of Markham, they were given proper introductions and was put under the hospitality of Joel's family.

The moment he saw Lizzie, everything changed for him. He was to be the suitor to her.

Joel currently doesn't have his own interpretation, but I will do one in the future!

For his Hero Forge design, you can see it here!

While for his picrew, this is the one I used!

Lizzie and Joel's Designs

For their designs, I am inspired by this person's wonderful headcanon art for Southern Thedosian noble fashion as well as Fereldan noble fashion!

From what you see from Lizzie's outfit in the first picrew, and what Alistair (the King of Ferelden on the right) is wearing, this is what I see as something that she can wear. Like for my own headcanon, this is what the higher Fereldan nobility would wear with certain designs and variants of it as well.

Lizzie doesn't exactly come from the higher nobility but rather in the more moderate ones. Lizzie's family aren't teryns or arls but rather just nobles themselves. While they don't own true land, they are considered a part of the nobility, but aren't considered royalty.

For Joel's case in this type of noble fashion, he doesn't wear it. He's not a Fereldan himself but he wears something else.

This is what you may see as Southern Thedosian fashion for nobles. Southern Thedas consists of Orlais, Ferelden, Nevarra, and the Free Marches.

I see Lizzie wearing the lower outfit for the women with certain differences that go akin with her Hero Forge design. As for Joel, he would wear the one on the bottom outfit for men but given more splendor and extravagance just like with his Hero Forge design.

If you want to know more about Dragon Age, check out the wiki! It's one great way to know about the series!

And that's Day 6! Thank you honestly for the opportunity to share my AU and the designs I've laid out for the Hermits and their friends! It's honestly a rare moment for myself to share what I have in mind especially on the visual space (like the Hero Forge stuff) and idk wnjadnawja

Thank you again! I'll continue making more designs in the future <3

[lyfeward]

THE SILVER MASK.

IT WAS EMPRESS JEANEVE I of the Drakon dynasty who mothered the courtly use of masks in the empire, but Orlesian mask culture has roots reaching much further back. Much has been lost to the ravages of time and Chantry persecution. Nevertheless, these traditions persist in one form or another in remote areas, particularly the far northwest (i.e. the Nahashin Marshes, Serault, Perendale).

Specifics in belief and practice can vary between families let alone villages, but there is a unifying theme: the mask is truth, whether that be a truth already in existence or one yet to be born. To don a mask is to become it as it becomes you. It is no mere accessory to be worn and cast off on a whim. There is no deception in it, no hiding, only becoming. Though the patterns carved and the occasions necessitating a mask vary by region, all agree that whatever the pattern depicts on whatever occasion is what you shall embody — or endeavor to embody. There are consequences for a wearing a false mask. They are, above all, about honesty. They have a power of their own, a truth of being on which they insist, and they will not be denied.

Amis' family taught him as well that there is a protective power in a mask. Just as one should be careful with their true name, they should likewise be careful with their true face. A mask is an anchoring point, an immutable thread of identity to which you can hold as the world seeks to batter and shape and carve you. Once someone has your name, your face, you cannot control what they do with it. These anchors (names, faces, masks) are what separate mortals from spirits who, untethered, change with the wind quite beyond their will. That is why, he was warned, they will try to take your name and your face for themselves. Keep your mask over your face and your sobriquet on your tongue.

Before he was old enough to wear a mask, his face was painted each day from the moment he was born. (First with the birth blood and then with carefully created pigments.) His parents hastened him into his first mask at the age of eight, unsettled by the signs he showed of blossoming magic. He has never forgotten the midnight ceremony held in the heart of the Blasted Hills as first it was placed upon him. The scent of the burning herbs. The wooden masks of the holy folk. The Chantry may deride this Cult of Masked Andraste, as they call them, but these practices, though they embraced the Prophet, thrived long before Her and will thrive long after.

Though his mask was wrought with the markers of his House (silver and green embossed with goats) in accordance with imperial law, there were patterns subtly inlaid that had a power and purpose predating Kordillus I. And, it covered all of his face, as his parents' covered theirs. Let the court dandies prattle on behind their little half masks. The du Peren of Perendale knew better.

He wore it the day his parents traded their marquisate for safe passage out of the war. When his magic burst in a flurry of grief, the Nevarran commander had laughed, ripped the mask from his face, and thrown it at his parents' feet. He froze, tear-stained, like a rabbit ripped from the protection of its burrow, too shocked and frightened to run. He was bare-faced when they paraded him through the streets. He was bare-faced when they dropped him in the College of Magi. He was bare-faced when he understood he was now removed enough from politics to be alive but not enough to be other than a trophy of war. The world had his face and his name now. He could not control what they did with it.

He lived thus for fifteen years, desiring to be close to others yet fearing what else he might lose. He was twenty-eight when Markus Pentaghast contracted an illness none could name or treat. His prodigious skill and innovative approach, combining mundane and magical medicine, earned him a summons he could not refuse. But, this was the court that had conquered his home, and this was the monarch, though a boy himself during the war, who had reigned over it ever since. It was not in him to turn from a person in need. Neither was it in him to face this without bitterness . . . and fear.

They had his name still and his face, but if he could not reclaim them for himself, the only recourse was to fashion a new one. His house had fallen; he had no right to their emblems; and there were none in Nevarra who knew Perendale's other patterns. Truth be told, he hardly knew them himself. It had been so long. But, there were silversmiths, and there was coin he had saved, and a plain mask of polished silver could be molded to his features.

Arriving thusly to Markus' court — the last du Peren wearing a silver mask — had roughly the same result as kicking a hornet's nest. He was not making political statements or declaring an intent to lead Perendale in revolt, but he had known beforehand it would be taken as such. He had not anticipated the clandestine offer to become the face of a revolution or the failed effort to frame him for an attempt on Markus' life, but those did not wholly surprise him either. Relieved is the smallest word to describe how he felt when he could finally leave the court behind.

But, he did not remove the mask. As has been said, one typically seeks to embody what has been carved into a mask, but his is plain, displaying only the hints of his own features. He did not become the mask; the mask became him. He had no true face to protect. It had been stolen from him years ago, and if it could be reclaimed, he had rejected that opportunity the day he had rejected the opportunity to return to Perendale. This is his face now, this smooth plane of silver. It lacks the markers of home and family, for those belong to the other face and all were taken in one snatch. It serves him well to conceal the ravages of leprosy and death and undeath, but practicality is far from the only reason he wears it. He can no more exchange it for another covering than he can exchange his own skeleton.

Although he took possessions of his ancestral mask during DA:O, it is not quite right to say he has claimed it. He has never made use of it. It remains magically shrunk and tucked away on his person. He had a duty to save it from misuse, but the simple truth is that it is not his face and never will be. He can never embody what is etched into it; there is only torment in pretending otherwise.

[exhausted-archivist]

Early Thoughts and Feelings...

So, we got a look at the table of contents, the introduction, and a total of 13 recipes from the upcoming cookbook. I'm going to delve into my thoughts and preliminary feelings. I'm super excited but I have noticed a few things and I am excited to see how the book in its entirety pans out. This is going to be long so I will shove most of this under a cut cause it's long and yeah.

So lets start with the cover, easy, entirely picky of me and opinion based. The left is the final and the right was the early concept. We see that the red soup in a wooden bowl along with the gold font is really the only thing that stayed with the two covers.

Personally, and I know this is picky, but I like how the early concept reads better: "The Official Dragon Age Cookbook", versus the new one "Dragon Age The Official Cookbook Tastes of Thedas". The listing on Amazon has changed and the final wording is very clunky "Dragon Age: The Official Cookbook: Taste of Thedas".

It really comes down to how they arranged the words on the final cover, and there is probably some logistics to it and maybe some polling. But I think "The Official Dragon Age Cookbook: Tastes of Thedas" reads better and the arrangement would have looked nicer if they kept with the old formatting and added Tastes of Thedas below it. It's how my brain keeps trying to read it anyways.

Other than the title, I'm not a fan of the whole 4 blocks showing the individual dishes - images that are likely the same as their recipe page. It's definitely an improvement from the mock up which has a Lord of the Rings prop in the top left image. But I would have liked something more unique and interesting, whether that was a full table spread of all the dishes or something similar to the Critical Role cookbook where it's an illustration of a feast. But Insight Editions publishing does have a certain look with their cookbooks, and this is one of my more preferred ones out of their previous works.

General Page Layout and Structure

I do like the page layout over all, it's easy to read and fun. Little iffy on some of the font choices because they aren't too accessible. But overall, it's not too busy and is styled enough that it fits the theme and focus I think.

They also did this fun thing similar to what they did for the God of War cookbook, though less of the fun sketch style but still nice none the less. We see an outline of the map created for the Tevinter Nights anthology on the pages for the Starters and Refreshment contents list.

The images for the food are also charming in their own way. Some are very clear photoshop - the crab cakes with the photoshopped flames and smoke, the "lyrium" rock on the cave beetles spread. But I think it adds to this books charm and sort of whimsy.

Other than that, I noticed something within a couple of the recipe entries. The recipe blurb, essentially the section between the title and the recipe instructions, is rooted in lore. The recipes however are not. Best examples of this are the Eggs à la Val Foret and Fluffy Mackerel Pudding.

Here are their respective blurbs, emphasis text added by me:

Eggs à la Val Foret

Ah, yes. Tons of cream! Exactly what I've come to expect from Orlesian cuisine. Do I have any tips for creating the perfect poached egg? Well, ever since I heard that Solas's bald head was once likened to an egg, I simply try to make my eggs just as round and shiny! So far, it's worked wonderfully and never ceases to put a smile on my face.

Fluffy Mackerel Pudding

Can it really be Feast Day without fluffy mackerel pudding? No! In fact, there's no dish I associate more strongly with the holiday than this unique combination of mackerel, onion, celery, and eggs. Granted, I've heard stories that, several decades ago, someone once attempted a diet consisting entirely of fluffy mackerel pudding. Now, that I certainly wouldn't recommend. It stops being Feast Day Fish if you eat it every day, no?

When compared to the recipe given just below the ingredients don't match up. Eggs à la Val Foret is a play on eggs Benedict - which I will note there is also discrepancies between the image and the recipe; the image of this dish has bacon/ham, eggs, and hollandaise sauce on top of a pancake where as the recipe calls for an english muffin. Kinda funny honestly, but on top of that, this dish isn't one I would describe as having a lot of cream. So why would it be described as such? Well because of the note in Trespasser:

Yes, for Our Lady's sake, there was an official menu for the first day of a visit from the Inquisitor during an Exalted Council, but the paper was so old it fell apart in my hands! Our so-famous sous-chef needs to come out of her sulk, because we ARE doing Eggs à la Val Foret, and we WILL need enough cream sauce for tonight's course! The Council of Heralds and the Fereldans are in a pretty fit after the Inquisitor abandoned the talks. Dinner must be tremendous, or we'll hear about it.

Hollandaise sauce is described as a "creamy" sauce but it doesn't actually use cream, butter yes but not cream. It's mainly egg yolk, lemon juice, and melted butter with salt, white pepper, or cayenne pepper. There is a derivative called Sauce Bavaroise that does use actual cream as well as horseradish and thyme. There are also a few other derivatives that use cream and are considered a cream sauce.

Then with the Fluffy Mackerel Pudding, the recipe in the cookbook doesn't actually have onion or celery. It has egg and mackerel, but it also has potatoes in it. Something the original recipe, derived from the weight watcher recipe, didn't have. The original ingredient list we see in Origins is: celery, pepper, mackerel, diced onion, mustard, salt, Antivan pepper, ground mace, cardamom seed, eggs.

Now, it's obvious why they didn't keep the exact same recipe, but it is a little funny they didn't mention it to be a derivative of a classic recipe or the like, as they did with the Crab Cakes from Kirkwall - which are just fried shoft-shelled crab instead of your typical crab cake.

I'm not complaining about the differences though, I'm grateful and pleased to see the recipe blurbs being used as something to share more lore and create an atmosphere with and then have the recipes be a little more grounded in the realm of not only realistic, but also convenient for time, abilities, and skill. Eggs à la Val Foret even directs you to use store bought hollandaise sauce and the Snail and Watercress Salad calls for canned snails, I appreciate that it is going for something more realistic for the instructions and not being overly thematic and such. After all this should be a functional cookbook before its a lore book.

The way everything is organized and the recipes we see are really well varied to me, they're also not something one would consider "typical" western cookbook food - nettle soup, lamprey cake, blood soup (though I think this is likely the red, beet looking soup on the cover). These three have my big interest so I'm eager to see them. But they're also seemingly well varied in catering to not only different skill levels - beginner to more advance (One recipe is grilled chicken and another is a rather elaborate cake called blancmange.)

My initial impression is that this book is a step away from what this publisher has usually put out and I hope that remains true when we have access to the full release.

I think the only other thing I wrote down when reading the sample was that: I will continue to "not my canon" travel times provided, even though Devon was using a carriage, traversing all of Thedas in a year? Sus.

The other thing is in the Stuffed Deep Mushroom recipe where Devon is citing an example of why to be wary of lyrium being consumed by people without resistance, they cite Fenris. Who... I understand why they might have made that connection but also, that was a choice of ingesting lyrium and I just feel like using the templars would have been better? Especially Cullen, or if tying to Devon's hero worship and adventurer streak, King Alistair would have been a good example as the BioWare default has him as king and also taking lyrium again.

Fenris just felt like an odd choice on the whole "example about why ingesting things too close to lyrium is a bad idea" angle. Not wrong, just not the first one that comes to mind for me personally.

[iamnotyourgodsherald]

Running. Running so fast that everything was blurring past me. Running as much as I could, as much as the air and my body would let me. Flashes of trees and bushes wizzing past me. Not even paying attention to the branches whipping my face, cutting into my skin like knives. My hound, Octavius, panting hard as he ran beside me. His paws making thunderous noise as he ran.

It wasn’t until I tripped over a root from a tree and fell hard onto the muddy ground that I realized how out of breath I was. How much my legs and body ached. Parts of my long black hair and scratched up face were caked with earth. My muscles and legs screaming in pain as I laid there. Tears finally caught up to me as I laid there, hugging my body and sobbing. The dam on my emotions breaking through. Distant yelling was now fading into a soft and gentle silence.

Nothing was comparable to what feeling was aching in my heart. Familiarity and comfort is now so far away and being torn apart by the very people my father trusted. That my family once trusted! All that was left was now flames and my families blood soaking into the floors. The very same floors I ran around on, growing up.

Arl Rendon Howe betrayed my father, attacking our castle in the middle of the night. Feigning ignorance and incompetence. My father, who helped free Ferelden from the clutches of the Orlesian empire when he was younger, now lays in a pool of his own blood with my mother, slain right beside him. I wanted to stay and fight, But they told me to live. They told me to run but how can you run from the very people who loved, taught, and raised you? How could I have abandoned them? I was their son! Now. They are gone.

A firm hand on my arm and a yanking motion all but snapped me back to reality. Pulling me to my feet was Duncan, the Commander of The Ferelden Grey Wardens. He was the one who helped my father get to a safe spot and who saved me from Arl Howes treachery by making sure he and I got away in time.

“We need to keep moving. Once we are up on higher ground, we should be okay to take a moments rest.” He spoke curtly.

I nodded and with heavy breathes, we continued until we broke out of the forest tree line and up a tall grassy hill that was overlooking fields and fields of flat land. I was out of breath and becoming slightly dizzy, my legs aching with heavy use. It was only a moment of rest that I had before my eyes caught a light in the distance.

Except it wasn’t the sun or of a nearby village with their torches still out at night. There was no comfort in that light. No joy. Nothing there was warm or inviting.

It was Highever Castle. Burning up in flames in the distance. I fell to the ground onto my knees, watching my memories burn in the distance under a beautifully clear night sky. My hound had nuzzled his face into my arm whimpering, and a hand laid on my shoulder. Nothing was said between Duncan and I. No words of comfort or any hurried motions.

Just silent grief shared between us.

Part 1/Part ??? Of My Grey Warden Caius Cousland’s Story.

[furys-burn]

Astra Heights DAI Companion Quests and details; 

Astra tldr; Mage, Apostate, and child of Orlesian nobility who was cut off by her templar father once she showed signs of magic. She grew up in the Montsimmard Circle in Orlais and generally kept to herself but became an apostate once whispers of an uprising were traced back to her. This was 3 years before the events of DAI. 

Ideals; Despises the Chantry and believes they should become different entities with Mage leaders overtaking them instead. She cares very little for the Chantry and believes that the Inquisition being under the banner of the Maker harms it more than anything. She had no belief in the tall tales and during her time under the Circle, saw it as a necessary evil to hear and learn about the religion. She will stay out of Circle discussions but offer input regarding the court and the next Justine. 

Quest 1: Loose Lips; 

Quest given by investigating rumors a la Josephine; An escaped apostate is thought to be leaking information about the Montsimmard Circle in Oralis and the contents of its library. Chantry members of the inquisition are growing tense thinking this could worsen the growing relationship between the Inquisition and the Orlesian nobility. 

Notes; Astra can be added in this mission as she is suspect number one as an Apostate who had in the past “tried to stage an uprising” in her circle (Astra will scoff at the idea of it if it is mentioned.) She will admit to bartering some information for survival but does not regret what she did. She is honest but promises she knows The Game better than anyone and will then ask to join the inquisition. 

Quest 2: Blood Relations; 

Astra will approach the inquisitor with possible leads for who turned her name into the Circle as the leader of the rebellion. She will be clear that she was debating on leaving the Chantry but it was because of what she saw during her Harrowing. If pressed, she will admit to a demon in the form of her father Lionel (A templar to the chantry) taunting her over her birth and isolation. If allowed, Leliana’s spies will search through their network for the truth. 

What will be revealed is that Astra’s own father was the root of the rumor in an effort to have her killed. He saw the writing on the wall of what it meant to be a Templar with a child in the Circle and knew Astra was pulling away. It will also reveal Lionel abusing his position of being married to someone high in the court and holding power in the Circles. 

But the final detail is that Astra herself has secrets. A marriage to a runaway Bloodmage named Sandrine. When told, Astra will admit to the marriage but say she has no intention of dissolving it or leaving her beloved. Sandrine only uses her own blood in her rituals and prefers to live by herself and Astra will return to her once her name is cleared. Simple enough. As for her father, she will ask for moment alone to think about her actions going forward. 

Optional; Busy Hands;

During Wicked Hearts and Wicked Eyes if you bring Astra you will find her in a tense discussion with her mother.

Lady Celeste: Ah, Inquisitor, I was wondering if you had a moment. I believe Astra required your ear. 

Astra: Oh no mother, I have more to tell you. Carry on my lord, I will only be a moment. 

If the inquisitor wishes and while her mother is busy putting up with her daughter, they can find a back entrance to the private room where Lady Celeste is staying. You can find a diary with hidden letters revealing Astra’s birth was between Celeste and her personal guard who was then banished to become a Grey Warden. Lionel took claim to increase his rank in society and save Celeste the shame but their marriage has been a deeply unhappy one. 

Note; this is needed for an option in her final quest. 

Final Quest; Hollow Hearts; 

A plan is made and Astra visits the Chantry in Oralis. She will ask to speak to her father and after some back and forth which can be aided by the Inquisitor, will be allowed. He will try to say Astra is lying and she truly broke his heart when she made plans to ruin all he worked for. Due to the Inquisitors input, this can end in various ways. 

Death: Astra will ask if the Inquisitor really needs his fancy chair ot make a sentence. She will turn her magic on him and end Lionel. She will only say afterwards, “I had hoped this would feel like a redemption for many hurt but unfortunately I am too selfish to only feel the pleasure of him dying for myself. What will I do now.” 

Live: If told no, she will not kill him and instead tell him that she will work to destroy all he worked for. That even if she doesn’t give a damn about the Maker, she will see him as a put up as a demon in the lore. An example to every Templar if the damned order must remain of what happens to fools who grow power hungry and cruel. Then will turn to the inquisitor and; 

“What will I do now?” 

Find your father; If “Busy Hands” is completed, she can be offered the chance to find what happened to her father. In trespasser, she will admit to traveling with Sandrine to find her father and that the travel has been good for them. She knows he is still alive but has taken the vow so only Maker knows how long he has left. 

Return to your Wife; She will grow quiet and admit that she misses her more than anything. In trespasser, she will be excited to share news that her wife has made great advancements in her magic. That she is happy living remote and her days in the Inquisitor feel almost like an odd dream she had.

Return to your Mother: If pressed, she will go back to Orlesian Court and re enter as a member of the high society.  In Trespasser, she will wear a mask of nobility and speaks in more clouded tones and whispers. She will also be there to represent the Emperor/Empress and their interest in what the Inquisition wishes to do going further. She will whisper about hidden letters and finding time to return to the countryside implying her and Sandrine are fine. 

There is also a shitty option to arrest her but c’mon man, don’t be an asshole.

[asirencalled]

on  elena’s  combat  skills   [  ...  ]   in  her  canon  fantasy  verse,  elena  was  trained  by  her  aunt  to  be  a  bard,  proficient  in  the  lute  and  a  talented  singer  and  storyteller  ——  not  a  fighter.   ©   

and  so  combat  training  was  not  high  on  the  priority  list.   but  there  was  a  period  of  time  that  elena  did  not  have  aurelia  looking  out  for  her,  it  was  up  to  her  to  watch  her  own  back.   during  that  time,  elena  perfected  less  than  savory  skills  like  pick  pocketing,  lying,  camouflaging  into  crowds,  and  using  knives  and  daggers.   she  always  carried  a  stolen  dagger  with  her  for  the  sake  of  protection,  along  the  way  learning  how  to  actually  use  it.   elena  prefers  to  talk  her  way  out  of  situations  before  resorting  to  fighting  mostly  because  she  knows  she’s  not  the  best  fighter,  why  risk  her  neck  when  she  knows  she  can  get  out  of  trouble  with  just  a  few  clever  words?   with  that  said,  elena  knows  how  to  use  a  dagger  in  close  combat  and  throw  knives  when  it’s  necessary.   in  verses  like  dragon  age  and  skyrim,  elena  is  much  more  skilled  in  combat  having  been  trained  up  as  an  orlesian  bard  and  just  ,,  living  in  skyrim  during  a  particularly  violent  period  of  time  alkfdj  her  skills  are  all  geared  towards  rogue  and  thief  archetypes,  big  focuses  in  deception,  pickpocketing,  and  ranged  attacks  (  throwing  knives  +  archery  ). 

her  canon  verse  does  call  for  a  plain  ol’  elena  the  bard  though.   things  are  very  different  when  she’s  a  professional  spy  /  informant.   elena  knows  she  needs  to  have  combat  skills  to  protect  herself  ——  which  most  of  her  motivation  is  rooted  in  this  need  to  survive.   she’s  not  going  to  leave  her  safety  up  to  fate  or  her  supposed  handlers  (  she  knows  they  would  sell  her  out  so  fucking  fast  ).  

at  some  point  i’m  gonna  make  stat  /  skills  /  proficiencies  sheets  for  len,  but  that’s  for  laterrrrrrrr  because  it’s  getting  late  🙃     

[jawsandbones]

I found you prompts: In a pool of your own blood for Cassandra Pentaghast and Female Warrior or Rouge Inquisitor

Sitting slumped against the rock, her chin at her chest, and the dagger is still in her hand. Dust and ash sweep through the grass, over rubble and the charred remains of the demons that once were. Her other dagger is discarded, lost among dead things. Things that were once held together by strange magic, bone and old leather. No longer. Cassandra crouches down very near her, putting her own sword aside. The arrows have pierced through her armor. Fletching made of forgotten feathers, shaft of the same bone and leather, strung by the same magic. Her hand briefly passes over them as she raises fingers to her chin, tips her face upwards.

Eyes slowly open, wavering as they long to remain closed. Vision blurry, taking time to come into focus. There’s a stain on Cassandra’s cheek, sweat on her brow. Such worry in the way she holds herself, concern in the frown of her mouth. Something sweeter, in her gaze, when Lavellan smiles at the sight of her. Relief in the drop of her shoulders, sudden slack given to stiff limb and straight back. Cassandra sighs softly but the worry still beats as sure as her heart. Wrapping her arm around Lavellan’s waist, the other pressed against her chest, around that arrow.

She helps her to her feet, Lavellan’s arm practically limp over her shoulders. “I knew you’d find me,” she says. Her steps are unsteady, and Cassandra dips for a moment, carrying her completely in her arms. Lavellan lets her head rest against the crook of her neck.

“You should not have gone off on your own,” Cassandra scolds. Another smile, as Lavellan closes her eyes once again. She can tell how carefully Cassandra is walking, how she plans her steps, her every move. Doing the utmost not to jostle her, not to cause her any further discomfort.

“Sorry Cass. Won’t happen again,” she says. Her only reply is a muffled, muted, noise, made of sheer disbelief. Vivienne’s hands are cooler than Cassandra’s, however softer. Cupping her face, and she knows she’s being scolded again, but this voice isn’t as clear to her. The cot is somehow less comfortable than Cassandra’s arms. She knows something is removing her armor, cutting around the arrow. All she really knows is that Cassandra is still beside her, brushing back the stray hair stuck to her forehead.

Her hands are calloused with the practice of weapons. Her touch isn’t as delicate, not quite so gentle, but Lavellan wouldn’t have it any other way. Vivienne’s magic is much the same as her hands. Icy and cool, frost in the ribs of her. Cassandra wraps a hand around the shaft of the arrow, pulls it free when she’s told. Lavellan cries out, reaches upwards, and Cassandra is there to catch her.

“Easy,” she says, in a voice meant for only her, “it is almost done. Easy. Lie still, liebling.” Her hand brushes back hair yet again. This time, it lingers. Fingers curling at her cheeks, palm warm and sure. Lavellan isn’t sure if she dreams it, but what a sweet dream it is, to have Cassandra’s lips pressed against hers.

[moss-flesh]

i NEEED to know more about dragon age food!!!!

i wanna know about dalish dishes of hunted meats n gathered herbs and roots!!

i wanna know about the simple harty stews of ferelden! whats a typical breakfast like!!!

besides bread and cheese what do people snack on!!

have city elves cultivated their own cuisine due to lack of money and resources? do they have occasional nights where they pull together their resources and feast joyfullly?

we know orlesian food has weird quirks like “tasting of despair” ! first of all why? second of all how? third of all what other emotions are conveyed through their meals??

ANTIVAN CUISINE!!!! QUNARI CUISINE!!!! DWARVEN CUISINE!!!! (nug preparations????)

WHAT ARE THEYRE BAKED GOODS LIKE????

MEADS, ALES, WINES!!!!

I HAVE TO KNOW !!

[kemvee]

14 days

Part 1, Part 2 - Companion

For the @14daysdalovers event / Follow the story on ao3

Cullen realised it was the first time he and Amie had ever been alone together. He was grateful that the Lady had made no allusions to their, his, misunderstanding during the all hands meeting. Maker knew it had taken days for the twisting knot of embarrassment to fully abate. She was a valued friend and so he had committed to root out whatever threads of foolish infatuation had threatened that companionship. They were professionals and he would do well to remember that next time he made imagined flirtations.

And so, sat side by side in one of the smaller meeting rooms they poured over the documents from their different stakeholders. He thought there may be some awkwardness, on his side at least, but they worked in a largely comfortable silence. Amie was diligent, sharp and he was grateful for her expertise in these matters. Any other time this sort of work may have fallen to Josephine who would traditionally broker deals and NDA quarreling parties into peace and harmony. Unfortunately threats had been made and his review was a last ditch effort to avoid escalation.

Cullen tilted his head back, his eyes slid shut from the combined glare of strip lights and mental strain.

“Shall we take a break?” She asked, the rustle of papers the only indication of her own frustration at the apparent impasse.

Cullen hummed noncommittally. He was focusing very much on the nonsensical Orlesians, the ache in his neck-

“What we really need is to get them all in a room together.” Amie said, barely interrupting his warring thoughts.

- how to avoid any kind of militia reprisals and why the office designer had picked such truly awful lighting.

Then he felt her leg brush against his beneath the desk..

Cullen’s eyes snapped open.

Amie’s face was still drawn in serene concentration, her full lips slightly parted. No hint of intention or even of noticing the minute action which seemed to be as a result of a shift in her posture. He silently berated himself.

Clearing his throat he valiantly returned to her ignored statement.

“It is not going to be possible, they have rejected all offers of private mediation.”

Amie’s lilac curls bounced at the gentle shrug of her shoulders, “They want to save face, it’s understandable.”

His response was blunt, Fereldan. “What it is, is a bunch of over-stuffed peacocks fretting about who has the brightest feathers.”

He heard her answering chuckle and felt pleased that his coarseness had actually brought some levity. Their PR team would usually scorn his colourful descriptions of their clients.

“You know,” she said leadingly “we catch more flies with honey.”

Perhaps he was being scolded after all. Yet he remained unmoved and undeterred.

“Are you suggesting we invite them over for a nice cup of tea?” He asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her eyes flashed with victory. Oh no, What had he done?

Amie clapped once in mock excitement and seized on his ‘idea.’

“That sounds delightful!. Josie will be thrilled you thought it up and it will give us the perfect opportunity to show the world our new headquarters”

“No.” His refusal was flat.

This time her lean into his space was deliberate..

“Commander-” she said in a tone that was equal part alluring and righteous.Cullen mentally chastised himself for ever feeling anything like attraction towards the smirking woman by his shoulder

“No!” 

“You know it’s the right decision!”

“I will not entertain the idea of an Inquisition Ball!”

[baejax-the-great]

Very much a WIP, but it's Wednesday so why not.

Here's Hawke stumbling into the easiest kidnapping of her life.

~

“Excuse me,” Hawke said to a woman in a robe that looked suspiciously mage-y. Weird, heavy belt about the middle, check, unseasonably warm velvet everywhere, check, more laces than seemed strictly necessary, check. “Are you from the Montsimmard Circle?”

The woman—an elf—gave her a cool look before answering, “I am.”

Orlesian accent, so Hawke could forget this stranger helping out of the goodness of her heart—they didn’t do that here. Trickery and deceit it would have to be.

Hawke flashed her most winning and guileless smile at the woman, who looked to be middle aged, maybe a bit younger, but hard to say with someone who spent all her time indoors. Course hands, though, hard worker. Pretty eyes.

“I didn’t know that Circle mages were allowed out and about. Or do you have a templar somewhere watching you? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’ve known a templar or two, rubbish card players, the both of them, but decent sorts, when they weren’t losing at cards. You could have worse company than a templar or two. First time meeting a mage, though.”

The mage had turned back to her task while Hawke babbled, which appeared to be picking elfroot. Somewhere behind her, Fenris and Isabela had stopped their squabbling. If she had to hazard a guess, Fenris was twenty steps behind her with his back against a tree, and Isabela would be on the other side entirely, possibly in the branches above.

“Enrique is behind me somewhere, I’m sure.” The mage waved behind her shoulder without looking up. “He gets hot in his armor on these trips. He’s not useful at herbalism. I don’t know if he’s any good at cards. You’re welcome to ask him.”

“That’s a shame. Are cards forbidden in the Circle? Maybe that’s why templars are no good Wicked Grace. No time to practice. Here, let me help you.” Hawke handed the mage a random stem from a plant that was not elfroot and would not go down nicely in any potion. It was an odd for someone in robes as lush as these to be picking roots from the dirt, and they were lush compared to what Hawke had seen at the Gallows. It could be an Orlesian affectation—tassels and embellishments for all mages that graced their Circles—but Hawke suspected it wasn’t. The frilly bits about the collar looked important. Symbolic, possibly. And there was a pin just there, in her lapel area.

The woman sighed at the sad little leaf Hawke offered her, but bit out a terse “thank you.”

Hawke ducked in front of her again. “By any chance, are you familiar with the Grand Enchanter?”

She watched her reaction closely—friend or foe of Fiona, she could use that—but the woman stayed cool and bored as she responded, “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve never met a Grand Enchanter before. I’ve heard that some mages have so much magic that you can see it pouring out of them. Like hair that’s always a little bit on fire, or eyes that are as green as the Fade. Flowers bloom behind them as they walk. Or die, also, if they are that sort.”

“You listen to too many stories, child.”

“I expect a Grand Enchanter would be fearsome to behold. If Iwere Grand Enchanter, I would give myself dragon’s wings all the time.”

The woman snorted at her foolishness.

“So tell me. Does the Grand Enchanter have fiery hair or wings?”

“No, she doesn’t. She’s perfectly ordinary.”

“Ordinary? That can’t be true. Why would anyone call her ‘grand’ then?”

“It is a title only. A position in the College of Magi.”

Hawke sighed. “I bet you don’t know. I bet you’ve never even seen her. She’s probably in some lofty room up top looking down on everyone while you are out here, picking flowers.”

The woman put her elfroot laden hand on her hip. “I know very well what she looks like.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I am she. Grand Enchanter Fiona, who likes to pick her own herbs in peace.”

Hawke sighed in relief. Easiest heist to date. “I was so hoping you would say that. Fenris?”

The mage didn’t even have time to protest before the silence hit her.

[sirensfeast]

oc interview meme I found and stole from @icy-warden lmao 

art by @tropicoola​ 

name ➔ Sahren of Clan Lavellan.

are you single ➔ No.

are you happy ➔ Content, for now.

are you angry ➔ Not yet.

are your parents still married ➔ Unfortunately so. They really ought to separate. 

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ Free Marches, Lavellan Clan.

hair color ➔ Black

eye color ➔ Purple

birthday ➔ I do not remember nor do I care.

mood ➔ Bored.

gender ➔ Male

summer or winter ➔ Summer. I despise the cold. 

morning or afternoon ➔ Morning.

 EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ Absurd.. He coughs and completely avoids looking at Bull. It is nothing but a ‘bit of fun’ as The Iron Bull puts it.

do you believe in love at first sight ➔ I suppose it depends on the person. 

who ended your last relationship ➔ What last relationship? 

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ I did reject a nobleman’s daughter last week. She did look rather put out, and she threatened to throw me into a lake. Does that count?

are you afraid of commitments ➔ I would be a rather terrible Inquisitor if I were.

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ No. Why would I?

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ I don’t think so. 

have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ That sounds ridiculous. How can I break my own heart? 

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ Lust.

lemonade or iced tea ➔ Lemonade. I have a sweet tooth, I admit.

cats or dogs ➔ Neither. Dragons are quite superior. 

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ I detest most people, so I suppose a few close friends.

wild night out or romantic night in ➔ I suppose it depends on my mood. A night of hunting a dragon sounds rather exhilarating, but there are times I am simply too tired to do much but relax in a bath.

day or night ➔ Day.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ Do I look like a child? ... He coughs and looks away. I may have tried to sneak out of Haven the first night I spent after waking up. In my defense, the Lady Seeker is rather terrifying.

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ Of course not. I a far too graceful for such a shameful display. 

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ Not particularly. 

wanted to disappear ➔ Only my enemies. 

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ Eyes.

shorter or taller ➔ Taller. 

intelligence or attraction ➔ Both.

hook-up or relationship ➔ Hook-up, crude as the wording is. I simply have no time for a relationship. 

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ My mother and I get along quite well. My father, not so much, but no one cares about his opinion. 

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ My, you do ask inane questions. Let me think. I am proclaimed as the Herald of a woman I do not worship. I have a glowing hand that closes rifts in the Beyond. I fight demons on a daily basis. I have a feeling a certain Sera is hiding my boots from me. An annoying, bald elf keeps lecturing me on the Beyond, as if I am not an accomplished mage. I am sleeping with a Qunari who admitted to being a spy for the Qun. I lead an organization that has roots in the Chantry as an elven mage, traditionally a combination the Chantry hates the most. I am meant to go to an Orlesian ball in a month and stop an empress I simply loath from dying.

Indeed, as you can see, my life is quite normal.

have you ever ran away from home ➔ Of course not. I happened to like my clan.

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ Of what? 

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ If I hate someone, they most certainly are not my friend, and they very much know.

do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ I would hardly be friends with them if they were not.

who is your best friend ➔ I suppose Madam Vivienne. I do so enjoy our chats, and her wit is quite refreshing amongst all these idiots. 

who knows everything about you ➔ Myself.

[queenaeducan-writes]

Common Ground

My gift for shellepink on AO3 ( @lavalampelfchild ) from @the-platonic-ideal-exchange! Thank you for the opportunity to write Vivienne, 

Pairing: Vivienne & Orlesian Warden Characters: Vivienne, Orlesian Warden OC, Sigrun (minor), Nathaniel (minor) Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Awakening Rating: General

Summary: In the wake of Marquise Bouffon's defeat Vivienne reunites with a friend she didn't expect to see again.

Link to read on AO3!

The battle had been brutal, or so she’d heard. Soldiers, Vivienne found, told taller tales than Varric. To hear them tell it, there had been more ogres than in the Fifth Blight, each the height of two qunari and possessing the strength of six. Enough for each to claim their own, so they felt powerful even as they lay in the healing tents without the strength to grip a sword.

The mountains themselves bore the marks of war, whole slopes crumbled where the Wardens had collapsed the mines to crush the Darkspawn that lay beneath. When the dust had cleared the Inquisition’s soldiers retreated east to Skyhold, but a Warden’s work was never done.

From the valley Vivienne watched them, wondering at how the people who months ago almost ended the world had now been tasked with defending it. Such was the Inquisitor’s generous spirit. This time, it had worked in their favour. Marquise Bouffon was a memory and the Darkspawn threat was vanquished, and the Wardens could again grasp the title of ‘hero.’

But she feared the day their luck ran out.

The blood from her last patient was still baked into the folds of her hands, and she worked idly at the stains with a clean rag until the sluggish red colour had bled onto the cloth. It wasn’t often that she was sent to play the Inquisition’s nursemaid, but recent circumstances forced them all into peculiar situations. It mattered not, whatever role she was given she endeavoured to excel at.

The camp swarmed with strangers, so the approach of one was hardly cause for alarm until his hand capped her shoulder, touch light but urgent. “Are you Enchanter Vivienne?” the man asked. He didn’t wait long for an answer before determining he’d chosen correctly, pale eyes measuring her from atop a severe nose. “I’ve been ordered to summon you.”

She balled the rag up in the palm of her hand and dropped it in an unlaundered pile of dressing, taking the time to inspect her palms and knuckles for any stubborn flecks of blood. “For what reason?”

“There’s someone who needs your attention.”

No more need be said, for here it could only mean one thing. A grim shadow fell over her expression as she nodded toward him. “Lead the way.”

As she tailed the man, her heels stuck in the mud, the suction smacking in her ears like a toothless old man devouring his dinner. It had not rained in days, but the ground had been churned by a hundred ironclad feet, grinding the roots from the soil and letting water lie in shallow pools. All the tents were uniform to her eyes, but her guide seemed to know where he was headed, weaving between little alleys as though he were born in this makeshift town.

“Do you know their condition?” she asked.

“No, I know only that she didn’t trust herself to try first.”

Then the injured party was a mage, or else a surgeon of middling talent. There weren’t many mages among the Wardens, at least not of late, though few would say why aloud. The ghost of Adamant bore down upon the shoulders of every soldier here.

Eventually their little march came to an abrupt halt before their presumed destination: a Warden tent, indistinguishable from the countless others they’d passed, but the man she accompanied showed no hesitation in entering. He pushed open the tent flap and waited, leaving space for her to duck inside before he followed. A puff of air blew at her heels as her eyes adjusted to the light.

“Here she is, Warden-Commander, as you requested.”

He addressed two women, one, an elf, lay flat upon a bedroll, attended to by a dwarf with tattoos inked into every angle of her face. The elf was conscious, but with every second breath her chest fluttered. At first Vivienne thought little of either, already removing her tools from her bag when the ill woman craned her neck to lay eyes upon her. A cat-like smile that Vivienne would recognise anywhere crawled across her face.

“Sidona.” She fought to keep her name from sounding like an accusation.

“Thank you, Nathaniel, you may rejoin the others” she said to the man in a thick, accented voice. An Orlesian rose amongst Fereldan thorns, but she looked at home. More than she ever had in the Circle. “Madame Vivienne, you have not aged a day since we last met.”

She could not say the same and speak in earnest. Every year Sidona had lived was brought to the surface by her grin, which pressed deep lines into her expression. Silver lanced through her dark hair like the fingers of a pale comb. “Neither has your talent for appearing where I least expect,” she said in lieu of praise.

Once, she’d hoped the day Sidona joined the Wardens would be the last day they would ever meet, but like the Blight itself their acquaintance had proven stubbornly resilient.

The remark only deepened her former colleague’s amusement, crows feet clawing deeper into the corners of her eyes. “I believe you are the outlier among us fellow Wardens.”

“Uh, excuse me?” the dwarf at Sidona’s side piped up. “If the two of you are done saying hello.”

A withheld retort flowed from between Vivienne’s pinched lips. It was the closest Sidona would receive to a concession. She knelt opposite the dwarven Warden, tucking her robes against the back of her thighs so they did not fan out behind her. From this distance it was easy to see how Sidona’s easy mood belied an ailing state. Her skin was sallow and drained of all colour but ashen grey, a thin sheen of sweat shone across her brow and was quickly dabbed away by her dwarven attendant.

Yet there were no open, bleeding wounds and all her fingers were accounted for. Vivienne peeled back the blanket that had been laid over Sidona and the source immediately presented itself. From beneath a white bandage she could see the impression of a u-shaped wound, teeth marks hewn into the flesh where it had been torn from her shoulder. She could feel the heat from where her hands hovered inches away, a sickly sweet smell seeped through the linen.

“An infection, then.”

“A Hurlock got her,” muttered the dwarf. Hot shame coloured her cheeks, a shade of guilt Vivienne recognised from Blackwall and Cassandra when their shields failed her. “Took two of us just to wrestle it away.”

“An ignoble end to a storied career,” Sidona said, stretching with her good arm to brush her companion’s knee, “or so it would have been, had Sigrun not been there.”

“Touching,” Vivienne intoned, “but you are not out of the woods yet, my dear. This may sting.”

She locked eyes with Sidona, her warning acknowledged with a sober nod before she continued. With clean hands she began to peel back the bandage that dressed the wound, meeting resistance where wet blood had congealed with the cottony fibres. The sharp hiss of air that rushed between Sidona’s teeth signified her caution was warranted, but in moments the injury was stripped bare.

The bite itself, while not superficial, was not nearly as dire as the other injuries she had treated in these last few days. If left untreated it could kill, but she had witnessed grown men succumb to ant bites. Sidona’s, at least, was beginning to heal. Hard scabs caked to where the molars had simply grazed her, even the places where the teeth tore the deepest had begun to crust around the corners. It was the centre that still burned black, save for a white, raised spot that ballooned from her shoulder as though trying to draw out the infection.

“I will need to numb it before I proceed,” Vivienne said, pausing for her words to settle before she cast the spell. With a gesture a pauldron of ice coated Sidona’s shoulder. A steady breath whistled through her nose.

While they waited for the ice to drain the feeling from her, Vivienne eyed the infection, curious. “I thought Wardens were immune to the Taint.”

“Ah, but Darkspawn are so much more than the Taint. They are all the evil in the world, reborn.” 

“That,” Sigrun chimed in, “and they wouldn't know a bath even if you drowned them in one.”

“Yes,” Sidona said with a chuckle, “that is also true.” She twisted her shoulders gingerly, chest swelling with an anticipatory breath. As she sighed it out, she fixed her gaze upon Vivienne, brown eyes no less bright than when they were young. The tips of her ears bent against the bedroll as her attention turned. “But I have heard enough talk of Darkspawn, it is all some Wardens ever talk about. Tell me of Orlais, Vivienne. Of Val Royeaux. Or perhaps the Inquisition? I have heard so little of them, and yet now they are all that stand between home and exile.”

The audacity cracked the facade that is Vivienne’s face, a smile working its way across her features despite her best efforts to combat it. “You’re asking me for gossip?”

“You were always the best for it when we were girls. The Templars shared with you what they kept from me out of spite.”

“Because you had a dozen cruel names for each of them.” Though some rang with enough truth that Vivienne remembered them before their real names occurred to her. Once it had even been aloud, much to the open-mouthed horror or Ser Evrart, better known to some as tête d'oignon for his impressively round head. “Why give you more fuel to stoke your fire?”

“It doesn’t matter either way,” Sidona said, pulling another laboured breath through her lungs. “I had the last laugh in the end.”

She allowed Sidona her pride, no matter her personal feelings on the matter, if only because her laughter sounded brittle on her lips. Sigrun reached for a flask and raised it for her to drink, rivulets of water dripping down the corner of her mouth. She coughed, and thanked her when Sigrun took a cloth to wipe away the trail.

“You should try talking less,” Vivienne urged her, “you will need your strength to heal.”

“Then talk,” she said, “you know I cannot abide silence. It reminds me too much of home.”

She knew the silence Sidona spoke of, but remembered it more fondly. The quiet of the library, or her first night spent in her own quarters. What she had hated most about the Circle was the noise, the creak of bedframes protesting as a new apprentice turned in a fitful sleep, or the whispers that haunted every hall after a botched Harrowing. No, she would take silent study any day.

“You will have your gossip,” Vivienne said. “I will tell you everything and more, until you regret asking in the first place. But before that— I must concentrate.”

With delicate fingers she pinned back her sleeves, corners tucked around her elbows and safe from skimming sensitive skin. Magic pooled in the palms of her hands, silver lights running adjacent to her lifeline like parallel streams that meet in the sea. It twirled around her index finger, guided toward the infection by willpower alone, releasing as a fine mist that drew the rot from Sidona’s shoulder. The spell encouraged the healing that had already begun, stitching together skin with invisible thread, leaving nothing but pink tracts of skin that would fade into stories and scars.

Where the teeth sank furthest the wound was still raw, drained of infection but prone to tearing. Vivienne picked out a fresh towel, clean as the day the linen was cut from the cloth, and dropped it into Sigrun’s outstretched hand. “Boil this, if you would, we will need it sterile if we are going to redress the wound.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The Warden was gone in a flash, disappearing from the tent as if carried by the wind. Vivienne’s attention was not torn for long, looking back to her charge with an air of approval. “She seems like quite the loyal one.”

“We have saved each other’s lives more often than we can count. All of us have.”

“I know the loyalty that inspires.”

A flash of doubt knitted Sidona’s brow before she thought better. “I suppose now you would.”

They did not name the people they meant, but they did not need to. The Inquisition’s heraldry was stitched into the collar of her robe, marking her allegiance. She never felt the blows that would have killed her, only the ring of steel in her ear as the Herald turned aside her would-be killer’s blade. She’d seen hails of arrows that would have turned her allies to pincushions fall like flowers thrown at a bride’s feet, and knew it was her hand that wrought the spell. Battle bred loyalty, it was a lesson every fresh-faced soldier learned after they knew how to grip a sword.

Which made what happened at Adamant all the grimmer.

“Were you there that day? At Adamant?” She had told her not to talk, but she had to know. Vivienne saw Warden mages draw a red rope across their fellows’ necks, bodies hanging limp in the air before the demon could crawl in. Sidona always had a talent for the grislier spells, she remembered her learning how to steal a thought from a grown man’s mind, leaving him turning in circles, wondering why he had walked in the room, and that was when they were girls. In Celene’s court while Vivienne wove magic that dazzled, Sidona commanded their attention through the macabre, turning bright days into waking nightmares for her target. Orlesians loved blood as much as pageantry, and Sidona could give them both.

“No. Vigil’s Keep did not march with Clarel.” Her heart dropped with relief, the fear that suspended it went suddenly slack. “But I understood her heart, better than I care to admit.”

“Yet surely you knew the Wardens sacrificed—”

“I knew them. Their names, the families they left behind, if they had any to speak of, their-” Something clogged her throat, and she coughed, angling towards her good arm to dislodge the lump of emotion that choked her. Vivienne set her fingers below her ribcage, a pulse of magic soothing her fit, but Sidona could not hold her silence long. Not when she had something to say. “Some had convinced themselves that combatting the Blight was all they could offer the world, and when that began to slip away…” 

Irrelevance. She had seen it on her tombstone in the Fade, nestled alongside her companions. Bull had pulled her aside after and asked what it meant, his one eye searching hers for answers. Was it a prediction, a lie? It was a trick, she told him, as all things from the Fade were. Yet the fear she felt was real, and in the days after she had asked herself if her star was fading, what she might do to retain the respect her name commanded.

And what she wouldn’t do.

“It was foolish.”

“It was human,” Sidona said, then winced with laughter. “For lack of a better word.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, chilled at the thought of how one moment of weakness could put the end of the world into motion. And not for the first time this age.

“Thank you for coming, Vivienne.” Sidona’s gaze was fixed upon her again, eyes coloured with gratitude. “You have always had better luck with healing than I.”

To Vivienne’s surprise, she laughed. “Now I know we’ve grown old,” she said. “When we were young you’d have sooner perished than admit I was better than you at anything.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Only because I am.”

They both laughed. For a moment it seemed like they were young again, and this tent they sat in were the covers of their bunk beds hung around the top, until Sidona winced. Her laughter quickly faded behind clenched teeth. “It’s beginning to hurt again.”

Another layer of frost was cast over Sidona’s arm, her scars coated in white like winter grass. Her whole chest swelled, but this time it was not a weary, stubborn breath of a woman who should have died a dozen times over. She breathed it in like Vivienne breathed in the orchards in Ghislain, smiling when she could taste the scent of sun-baked apples on her tongue. “It smells like home,” she said with a sigh. “It smells like…”

She was asleep before she could finish the thought, and Vivienne would never know which home she spoke of: the halls of Montsimmard’s Circle or the windswept coasts of Amaranthine.

Maybe in her heart it would always be both, and maybe that was why, no matter the state of the world around them, they always seemed to find each other.