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rosykims · 3 months

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um hiiiii hehe... for elspeth..... 💯🎮🚫🐷🍝

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

she loves horses! or maybe i should say mounts in general (gotta keep it vague for when she gets a griffon. bc she will <3 or else <3) and she finds a lot of comfort in the routine of care/grooming/bonding . a real certified horse girl despite me myself not having any clue how horses work. she also just has an aura that horses find very agreeable i guess lol. she's great at calming them and post dao when she's acting as warden-commander she sort of becomes a bit of legend - outside of the whole killing the archdemon thing - due to her unmatched ability to calm spooked horses and adjust them to the day-to-day reality of darkspawn/taint etc. her own mount is the fastest in the vigil's keep stables, and her name is mistral, named after her mother's warship during the orlesian occupation <3

big cartography fan !! which is a hobby she developed from loghain, who was sort of like a godfather figure to her growing up. she used to sit around his war room in the months where she'd stay with anora in gwaren and watch him pour over maps with his advisors. she's naturally grown up enamored with the land of ferelden and the history behind it so of course she'd want to know all about it's geography too. the skill came in handy in her later years because it translated to great situational awareness and survival skills. she can navigate her way out of almost every terrain and u rarely ever have to worry about getting lost when ur with her.

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

cartography as stated above, but also embroidery and tourneys! the embroidery one stemmed as a natural result of her mother insisting its a skill noble women should all know, but she loves it for it's practical applications. her childhood and adulthood were very rough and tumble so her being able to mend her clothes quickly while on the road was paramount. also just being a bit of a hyperactive kid she really enjoyed the creative outlet it provided. she spent a LOT of time sewing mabaris into her shirt sleeves when she should have been paying attention to orlesian history lmao

and then there's the tourney thing. the vast chunk of elspeths former combat experience was from bandits on cousland territory, OR from tourneys. ferelden acknowledged pretty quickly that she was proving to be one of the most talented swordsmen in the country before she had even turned 18, although it had never been really tested considering she'd never fought an actual war. she fought and won in every major ferelden tourney since she was 16 up until she turned 21 when she was finally beaten in a match by teyrn loghain himself <3 was she a little hurt that he didnt let her win ? no she was a Lot hurt that he didnt let her win lol.

🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

she doesnt smoke but she does drink socially! especially with her gray warden charges, though she doesnt like to imbibe too much bc she'd rather someone keep vigilant lol. she can hold her liquor pretty well, but on the odd occasions where she goes overboard she becomes a lot more lighthearted and chatty than her usual stoic/moody self. a lot more smiles, and lot more sharing stories she wouldnt normally share, and just overall a good vibe until she wakes up in the morning miserable bc shes Revealed Too Much

🐷 PIG FACE — what is your oc's favorite animal?

griffon, next question

if she lives long enough to learn that the griffons are back, definitely griffons. but until then, like i said she loves horses and has a special affinity for them. dogs too, but that's more just an extension of her being ferelden. she also likes cats ! really, shes an animal person through and through and there's very few of the makers creatures she doesnt like. centipedes, maybe.

🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)?

oooooo good question. so there are a bunch of ferelden dishes i could point to which she definitely enjoys despite them definitely being an acquired taste for hardened ferelden pallets lol... but i WILL say, her greatest shame is that she secretly loves orlesian pastries. the first time she ever went to orlais (very much against her will) was on a diplomatic journey to meet with stroud, the orlesian warden-commander. she hated the entire experience and was uncooperative for the whole duration she was there, UNTIL like the 2nd night before she was supposed to leave, when he ended up sharing some sweet treats he had sitting at his desk. she loved them so much she sort of inadvertently thawed out and stroud managed to bribe her to the point where they meet up like twice a year and consider each other good friends. lmao.

#oc: elspeth #LOVE U MAIA MWAH

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morganaseren · 7 months

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((I'm finally back with part 2 of this post for @illusivesoul! Sorry that this took so long again, friend! 😅))

Pairing: Morrigan/Niamh Cousland/Bethany Hawke

AU: The Poets Must Be Out for Blood

---

Kieran was a blessed boy.

Curiosity had originally surrounded him during his initial appearance in court. He'd been a mere babe then, balanced on his mother's hip as he idly gummed on the wing of a stuffed griffon toy while he stared with wide-eyed wonder at Orlais' marble and gilded halls.

Morrigan drew no end of suspicion and fear with her presence. She was an extension of the Empress' power and so was capable of sowing fear into enemies and the occasional unruly ally alike. Her son, however, was quite the opposite in demeanor. Even with his youth, he had somehow drawn several prominent members within and without the empire into his orbit.

Knight-Enchanter Bethany had been a fixture within the Imperial Court for the better part of a decade, serving less an advisory position to Celene as her mentor Madame de Fer did but was no less a protector. She also seemed to have some familiarity with Morrigan--one that hadn't been denied but neither woman seemed willing to elaborate further upon. Her protection had also extended to Kieran, for she often watched the boy when business required the Arcane Advisor's--admittedly exceptional--expertise elsewhere on the Empress' behalf.

It wasn't odd to find the two wandering about the Royal Gardens in the early afternoon, either strolling through the sprawling landscape, his small hand clasped excitedly in hers, or gathering herbs within it as he focused on the task with child-like determination.

At the end of the day, Kieran was always delivered safely back to his mother's side by the ever gentle and watchful Knight-Enchanter. The process was repeated on enough of a regular basis that those within the Imperial Court began speculating upon the relationship between the two women, especially when the boy had grown old enough to form words. It was perhaps no surprise at all when he had eventually taken to calling the Knight-Enchanter Maman--the Orlesian name for one's mother.

That, of course, had set a number of tongues wagging among the nobility. Speculation began anew with fervent intensity, especially as they turned their attention to Kieran's physical features. His eyes were the perfect mirror to his mother's--a distinct and piercing gold--but while his hair was the same dark shade, it was... different in texture. While it wasn't quite a match to Bethany's tighter curls either, it was at least closer to hers in appearance than Morrigan's own.

As both women were powerful mages, it didn't seem so farfetched an idea they might have conceived him together using magic. Thus, the mystery of Kieran's absent "father" seemed to have been solved.

...at least until another two seasons had passed.

---

"Sire!"

The word rang across the promenade with barely-contained enthusiasm as the toddler took off from his mother's side and that of his Knight-Enchanter guardian to run toward the figure standing in the midst of the curious crowd.

The woman in question wore the familiar blue and silvers of the Grey Wardens. The intricately-crafted steel pauldron that sat atop her right shoulder--depicting a griffon with its wings extending upward--indicated her prestigious rank among the Order while the fur mantle of the cloak upon her opposite shoulder designated her Fereldan heritage. Even beneath the light of the mid-autumn day, however, there was a specter-like quality to her eyes with how pale they were--a paleness that was further enhanced by... familiar feathery tresses framing her face. Granted, one eye was half-obscured by an ink-black fringe.

...Not unlike Kieran's own forelock in appearance, some realized, utterly mystified.

"Hello, my Little Lord," she said, scooping the boy up into her arms when he was within reach, their kinship all too apparent now beneath the many watching eyes. "Have you been behaving for your mother and Bethany while I've been away?"

A tittering giggle met her inquiry as he wrapped his arms around her neck, tucking his face against it as if to hide the sound of his mirth. A dark brow arched at the gesture, but there was little denying her indulgent smile as she languidly strolled toward the women in question.

"Your laughter tells me 'no,' which means I'll hear no end of your activities from them both soon enough..."

Although seldom a seen presence in Orlais, those who knew anything of the Fifth Blight were familiar with Niamh Cousland--younger sister to the Hero of Ferelden and was also the country's own Constable of the Grey.

Like both Bethany and Morrigan, she was another powerful mage--one who was very capable of tearing the heavens asunder if rumors were to be believed. The watching nobility couldn't help but think them to be true as they felt the aura radiating from her--less the respective spring breeze and burning heat of summer of the Knight-Enchanter and Arcane Advisor and more akin to rolling thunder enrobed in a winter's kiss.

The theory they'd had regarding Kieran's parentage was then further turned on its head as they regarded the three women--clearly comfortable and content in one another's presence.

Had his actual conception been borne of the Arcane Advisor and the Warden-Constable, or was he perhaps an... intriguing combination of the three?

Either theory filled them with discomfort, for there had admittedly been discrete talk within the upper echelons of Orlais to use the boy against the Arcane Advisor, especially when the woman so easily foiled any subtle plots against Empress Celene. However, with the new evidence presented before them, it now seemed... an ill-advised idea at best. For the Warden-Constable whom had struck the killing blow against the Archdemon and the two women who held back the tides of darkspawn threatening to overwhelm them all... Well, what threat could a mere mortal soul hold in comparison?

So, yes, perhaps it was better that the boy was left alone when it came to any matters concerning The Game.

#dragon age #bethany hawke #morrigan #female cousland/bethany hawke #female cousland/morrigan #OT3: Paper Boats Floating on a Stream #AU: The Poets Must Be Out for Blood

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laurelsofhighever · 2 years

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Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 2/? Rating: T Warnings: None Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.

Read it on AO3

The encampment at Ostagar reeked of smoke, from the pyres for the dead and from the balls of pitch-soaked rubble the catapult crews had stored on-hand to keep the line of the horde back from the trees. Faint curls of it rose into a blank, grey sky, an expanse of cloud that muted the sounds of an army at war, turned the hulking southern mountains into smudges of washed charcoal on the horizon, and sealed the crown of the old Tevinter fortress into a bubble of still, humid air heavy with the threat of snow. No birds sang. Even the lay sisters’ recitation of the Chant of Light warbled only reed-thin through the ranks of oilcloth tents, the usual comfort of the words diminished in the face of the horror that was the darkspawn taint and its slow, inexorable transformation of living tissue.

Alistair disregarded all of it as he strode through the lines, heartbeat pounding in his ears. His brother’s words, not those of a king but a man struck by sudden, wearying grief, burned through him. Someone unexpected turned up this morning with Warden-Commander Duncan, brother. You… you should go and see her. A watch-soldier saluted him as he passed the gate from the main camp into a smaller cluster of tents girded by banners of fluttering grey and blue silk. Most of the warriors here – humans, dwarves, elves, and even some mages scattered through their number – paid him no deference. They attended to their weapons instead, or sat joking around their small fires.

The joking stopped when he approached. Some evidently knew his face and bowed their heads in acknowledgement, but the motion lacked the true humility most of the other soldiers would have shown. He did not care.

“The new recruits?” he asked.

A dwarf with a dark beard and a thick tattoo over one of his cheeks pointed the way before going back to his meal. Throat thick, Alistair nodded thanks to the rest of them and continued on.

He found who he was looking for around the next corner. A much larger fire, edged with stacks of whole logs to direct the flames skyward, stood on a small rise within an archway of crumbled marble, with the full Griffon banner of the Grey Wardens stabbed into the earth over a small group sorting through a pile of mismatched armour. Rosslyn’s back was to him, closing the last straps of a leather vambrace around her arm, her woollen tunic travel-stained and her black hair ordered in a simple braid down between her shoulder blades. Even so dishevelled, she was unmistakeable, though as he watched her scrounge for parts like a stray dog in a midden, unease drew a deep furrow between his brows. Aside from the fact that she was here at all – in the camp, in the wrong shade of blue – she ought to have had access to much grander garniture, the full set of plate that had been bestowed on her last name-day.

“– Anyway, name’s Daveth,” prattled one of her fellow recruits, a man with a thin face and close-cropped brown hair. “Since we’ll be fighting together. We should have each other’s backs out there, don’t you think? And if you don’t mind me saying, that’s hardly going to be a chore, with as lovely a figure as you’ve got.”

Alistair bristled, but she got there first.

“Do I look like someone offering favours in the marketplace?” she snarled. “Speak to me like that again, and your back will be the least of your concerns.”

“Alright, alright.” Daveth held up his hands. “Can’t blame a man for being friendly.”

She stalked past him to pick up a cloak and did not respond. Deep shadows haunted her eyes, and as he edged closer Alistair noticed the frayed strands of her braid where her hair was coming loose, as if she had slept in it and lacked either time or the inclination to brush out the knots. It was the snap of her voice, however, that struck like a lance in his chest. He had never heard it so cold, so like winter.

As he watched, another recruit, broader and balding, stepped up to the man named Daveth.

“Fool,” he chided. “Don’t you know who that is? That’s Lady Rosslyn Cousland, daughter of Teyrn Bryce himself. Even if you didn’t recognise her, a churl like you should still be able to notice nobility when you see it.”

Daveth looked her over, unimpressed. “Whatever she was before, she’s a Warden now. Anyway – how would you know who she is? Ain’t you from Redcliffe?”

“I was recruited in Highever. And my Helena would skin me if I failed to recognise the daughter of her liege lord.”

Frowning, Rosslyn turned. “You’re from Highever?”

“Ser Jory is my name, my lady.” He bowed. “I won the grand melee in the Satinalia tourney.”

“Yes…” she replied after a moment, voice hollow. “I remember presenting the prize to you. But you’re not one of my father’s knights.”

“No, my lady. As I was saying to this dullwit, I originally hail from Redcliffe, but Arl Eamon gave me leave to serve in Highever when I married my Helena. Duncan recruited me after my victory, though I heard he stayed behind to recruit at the castle as well. Isn’t it lucky we’re both to be given the chance to join the Grey Wardens?” He offered her a bright smile, but it dimmed in the face of her silence, turning brittle, and in his retreat his eyes locked on Alistair, eavesdropping just a short distance away.

“Your Highness!”

She stiffened. Two years, and she had barely changed, except that her features had maybe lost the final roundness of childhood; he recognised the storm-grey eyes, the straight nose, the thin mouth… His throat crowded sharply with all the things he wanted to say – an apology first of all, then all the thoughts that had risen to fill the hole of her absence – but his lungs would not work. She was not well. Her pale skin stood out sickly, like marble in twilight; there were bruises, a scabbed cut over her brow, and a lock of hair at the front of her head that had been singed almost to the scalp. Some more turbulent emotion ran beneath her shock at seeing him, but before he could work out what it was, she dropped into a low bow with the others.

“Your Highness.”

He had always hated that from her.

“At ease, recruits,” he commanded, waving his hand in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner as he came forward. The words he wanted stuck in his throat. “My lady…”

She interrupted. “His Majesty told you.”

“He told me you were here,” he replied.

“Then you don’t…?” A jagged breath tore through her chest and she reeled away from him, hunched over as if in pain. “Please –” she turned to the other recruits “– give me a moment.”

Daveth exchanged a glance with Ser Jory, then shrugged. “Hurry back, we’re all eager to head off into the Wilds, I’m sure.”

As he followed her in search of somewhere quiet to talk, Alistair’s concern grew with every step. Nobody paid them any mind beyond the occasional salute, but people were scurrying everywhere to prepare for the next battle, leaving no empty corners for a private conversation. Eventually, he caught up to her enough to touch her arm and point up the hill to a secluded level of the ruins that looked over the cleared gauntlet the king’s army had cut into the mountainside to channel the darkspawn. It was being used as a store for pitch barrels, and the guard on watch only needed a glimpse of Alistair’s expression to duck into some more populated part of the camp. He watched long enough to make sure the woman was gone, then turned back to Rosslyn, who was looking at the cracked flagstones, one arm crossed in front of her as she tried to shrink away.

“I… didn’t expect to find you here,” she admitted finally, after the silence became painful. “I thought you were in Starkhaven.”

“Well, I’m not. I guess one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” The joke fell flat even before it left his lips, drowning in the hurt of her eyes. He swallowed. “Cailan recalled me. But… you shouldn’t be here. Rosslyn, what’s going on? Your father would never have let you be sent to the Wardens.”

She snorted, not quite laughter. “Father’s the one who sent me.”

“What?”

“He’s… he’s dead.” A deep breath swelled beneath her Warden’s cuirass. “They’re all dead – Mother, Oriana. Oren. I’m sorry to bring the news.”

There was more to it – there had to be – but his mind refused to work, to parse the sullen bite of her lip and the way she turned away and would not meet his gaze. Whatever he had hoped of seeing her again shrivelled in his chest as grief roared in like a flame, not just for himself but for everything she had so clearly suffered already. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and carry her away from the battlefield, shield her from the ugliness of the darkspawn horde and the duty of all Grey Wardens to face it. She deserved better. Everything was wrong.

“What happened?” he managed instead. His hands stayed fisted at his sides.

She hunched further inward, as if he might have struck her. “Have you seen Fergus? He travelled ahead – he doesn’t know. He should have arrived by now – maybe yesterday, or the day before. I don’t know the layout of the camp well enough.”

“I’ve been supervising the outer defences for the past two days,” he answered. “But if he arrived, Teyrn Loghain will have settled him – he’s in charge of all deployments.”

“Where is he?”

“I’ll take you.”

“But –”

He turned back with a smile and a nudge of his head to offer encouragement, and tried to bury the separate sting of pain her reluctance caused even as she fell into step. To see her discomfort with him persist even after all this time chided as harshly as if she had shouted, or curled her lip in disgust at the sight of him – and yet the desperate apology, his only chance to beg her forgiveness, would not leave his throat. Glancing back as they wended through the picket lines, the war between horror and fatigue writ itself in every line of her body, in the strange, ill-fitting armour and the lank hair spilling from its braid, and his heart clenched. What benefit would it give her to ease his own conscience, when he had nothing else to offer? As a Grey Warden, if they both survived the campaign, he would likely never see her again.

She made no sound when they passed the infirmary. Wynne, the senior enchanter in charge of the mage healers, flagged him down to complain about the state of the beds and the lack of rest her charges were being allowed, but he barely listened. Rosslyn was staring at the soldiers lying on the narrow pallets set up under the canvas shelter. Some were quiet, still, but others writhed and moaned about monsters, terrible thirst, a song they couldn’t get out of their heads; all were marred by milky, sightless eyes and leathery patches of greying skin that pulled their lips back from their teeth like blooms withered by frost.

“This is the taint?” she asked. “This is what it does?”

“I’m afraid so,” the mage replied. “We do what we can, but it is beyond even magic to heal.”

Alistair touched her arm, fleeting. “This way.”

When they finally reached Teyrn Loghain’s pavilion, they found him poring over a supply list, dressed in a formal black tunic embroidered with gold, which gave his skin a sour cast and deepened the severe set of his mouth. He did not immediately leave off his task as protocol demanded, but straightened slowly, the Antivan leather of his gloves creaking as he turned and made a lazy attempt at deference.

“Ah, Your Highness. What can I do for you?” There was condescension in his smile, but when he glanced behind Alistair and caught sight of Rosslyn, the expression contracted into a scowl, a flash of recognition. “I see you’ve come with Duncan’s newest recruit. The king has been beside himself all morning about you,” he added with a jut of his chin.

“You don’t seem to share his enthusiasm, Your Lordship,” she pointed out, straightening to hide her grief under courtesy.

The teyrn huffed. “The Wardens are impressive but not as relevant as Cailan thinks, and despite your… upbringing, you are untested in the field. Tell me, will you be riding into battle with the rest of your fellows?”

She hesitated. “I’ll follow what orders I’m given.”

“If Cailan has his way, you will,” he told her. “For whatever good one extra Warden recruit will do.”

“The Wardens have been instrumental in our victories so far,” Alistair reminded him, terse.

“Skirmishes. Nothing to what is to come, or so the Wardens are promising Cailan.” Loghain’s mouth twitched. “Duncan only encourages his recklessness with embellished tales and dire warnings.”

“It sounds like you don’t think this is a true Blight.”

He gave Rosslyn a long stare. “We shall see. Now, do you have a specific reason for interrupting me, or may I return to planning how best to save all our lives?”

“His Highness –” she replied, with delicate emphasis “– brought me to ask you whether the contingent from Highever have arrived.”

Loghain frowned.

“I need to speak with my brother.”

“I sent him out at the head of a scouting party into the Wilds to track the position of the enemy.” A shrug. “He has yet to report back to me.”

Alistair took a step forward. “Cailan told you three days ago to pull our forces back from the Wilds after the last patrol was lost.”

“It was a necessary decision – or would you rather be fighting blind to the darkspawn’s numbers?” Loghain managed a sneer. “If you had more experience in these matters, you would see the value of that decision.”

“When did you send him?” Rosslyn asked.

“Yesterday afternoon, when he arrived. If that is all?”

Alistair made an effort not to grind his teeth. Cailan always excused the old teyrn’s informality as a holdover from the days when he had been in the Rebellion with their father, but the casual way he confessed to breaking a direct order rubbed at the years of training that enshrined the chain of command as the basis of necessary trust on the battlefield. A soldier had to believe their actions were part of a larger plan, and the generals needed every part of the whole to work in concert to achieve victory. If not for his worry over Rosslyn’s increasingly glazed expression, he might have gone straight to Cailan about this newest show of arrogance.

“We’ll take up no more of your time, Your Lordship.” He bowed stiffly. “But I’ll hear of it if you send any more scouts into the Wilds.”

He had to touch Rosslyn’s arm again to get her attention; Loghain had already gone back to his list.

She felt like ash, like one strong breeze might scatter her into a thousand insubstantial pieces, and his heart thundered as he guided her unresisting into the lee of one of the equipment tents, where they might at least have a semblance of privacy.

“If he’s in the Wilds…” She faltered, squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m sure he’s alright,” he murmured. “You Couslands are made of strong stuff. Listen, I’ll order the guards on the gate to send a runner for you when he comes back. He’ll be glad to see you.”

“No, he won’t.”

What kind of comfort could he offer? Once, they had shared secrets and confidences, had leaned on each other in times of fear, and if he had ever seen her so close to crying, he would have bled to make her happy again. But he had ruined that closeness, and now even the ten inches of space between them yawned too far for him to cross.

“Rosslyn, I –”

“Recruit!”

They flinched. A giant of a human in the armour of a Grey Warden scout was closing on them, his mouth set in a grim line behind a close-cropped beard. One side of his tanned face was framed by a lock of braided hair, but the rest of his shaggy black mane hung to his shoulders in a style unfamiliar to Alistair. The man nodded to him before fixing his gaze on Rosslyn.

“We’re waiting on you.”

“Yes, ser,” she replied, straightening. When she turned to Alistair with a pale smile, she still could not quite meet his eyes. “That’s Rhodri. I have to go. I… It was good to see you again, Your Highness.”

Another bow, and another needle digging into his heart. Queen Anora’s lessons in propriety and his own awareness of his mistakes kept him from the urge to press his palm against her cheek, but the hesitation it cost him left her smile a receding memory as her weight shifted.

“If I see Fergus, I’ll tell him you’re here,” he blurted.

She nodded, and he watched her retreat, until she had long vanished from sight and his heart had sunk all the way to his boots.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #dragon age fanfiction #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland #alistair x warden #warden x alistair #cousland #warden cousland #rosslyn cousland #grey warden #ostagar #my writing #as the world falls down

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celynsdream · 7 months

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Dragon Age Origins Modlist (Overhauls)

Even though I've never been asked to post this, I have spent months working on complete lists of all the mods I run for my DA metaverse (and corresponding games). All mods are linked in preferred order to work, with required mods clearly marked. Hope y'all enjoy and find use of this! Actual list is below the line.

These first few mods are general mods I highly recommend running any new game of Origins with, as it will save your butt:

The CharGenMorph Complier in particular is a life-saver, working for both DAO and DA2. It effectively removes the hunting-and-pecking of editing character creation features in Origins and 2 and automates it into a simple application! CharGenMorph is also required to run many hairstyle and physical changes for both DAO and DA2, which will be clearly marked below.

Required:

Large Address Aware Fix

CharGenMorph Complier

General:

AddItem_Script

Angel_Console_Fix_Fonts

Awakening Materials in DAO

Upgrade_Items

Overhauls:

Grey Wardens of Ferelden - DAZIP

GWOF Scripts

Glimmering Griffons

Improved Atmosphere - Be sure to only use ONE (recommend Of Ferelden)

Of Ferelden (Improved Atmosphere)

Dragon Age Redesigned

Dragon Age Origins Unofficial Remaster

Replacements:

ALL REPLACEMENTS MUST BE INSTALLED ON A NEW GAME!!!!

A Noble Approach (NPC Armor/Clothing Replacements for Human Noble)

RogueLass' Fashion Bazaar - REQUIRED (RL’s Fashion Bazaar - Medium Armor; Heavy Armor; Massive Armor; AND the Cousland Replacement for Bastard King armor) - DAZIP

RL's Thedas Arsenal - REQUIRED (Warrior PC, Rogue PC, Ser Gilmore) - DAZIP

RL's Witcher Emporium - REQUIRED (Oriana) - DAZIP

Mages of Ferelden (Mage Robe Replacements)

Loincloth Fashion - REQUIRED - DAZIP

RogueLass' Fashion Bazaar - REQUIRED - DAZIP

Bug Fixes:

TerraEx’s Silverite Mines Fix

Dain’s Fixes

Awakening Riot Scene Persuade Fix

Goblet De-Gobbler - A Joining Chalice Fix and More

#origins #dao #dragon age origins #da_mods #da_resources #riley speaks

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flashhwing · 2 years

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❓Unusual OC Associations ❓

I was tagged by @ammoniteflesh (thank you!) and this looks like fun!

I'll tag @transprincecaspian @v-arbellanaris @vrokroa @villainanders @vowofemnity @fjorests-of-wildemount @glossolali @mollymauktealeef @marymauk (yeah i'm hitting the whole netherdeep party lemme snoop on ya pcs)

imma go overboard and do two dragon age ocs and one dnd pc

starting with

Juice

Seasoning: garlic

Weather: overcast

Colour: purple

Sky: when it's like full cloud cover but still somehow as bright as if it were sunny. just a bright white sky

Magic Power: pyrokinesis. or healing. depends on who/when you ask

House Plant: fern

Weapon: fire

Subject: math

Social Media: he's taking a break for his mental health :)

Make-up Product: e y e l i n e r

Candy: baklava

Fear: that his past cannot be justified

Ice cube shape: cube

Method of long distance travel: ideally? teleportation. realistically? walking. in a modern au? motorcycle

Art style:

Mythological creature: ghost

Piece of stationary: mechanical pencil, but like the fancy ones with the twist up eraser and the clicky bit on the side

3 emojis: 👻🔥🧃

Celestial body: moon

Fabian Tabris

Seasoning: lemongrass

Weather: sunny

Colour: green

Sky: the deep sky blue of a cloudless afternoon

Magic Power: poison

House Plant: roses (in a vase)

Weapon: daggers

Subject: science (specifically chemistry)

Social Media: he really should log off of twitter. he really should

Make-up Product: none (old, poorly thought out tattoos)

Candy: sour gummy worms

Fear: stagnating. boredom. loss of personal freedom

Ice cube shape: idk man whatever shape they come in!

Method of long distance travel: walking, unforch

Art style:

Mythological creature: griffon (i know, grey warden association, cheating, shhhhh)

Piece of stationary: classic no2 pencils

3 emojis: 🌹🔪💔

Celestial body: sun

Emmeline "Emmy" Cousland

Seasoning: black pepper

Weather: blizzard

Colour: grey-ish blue

Sky: a clear night sky, where the stars are nonetheless only partially visible due to nearby cities

Magic Power: blood magic

House Plant: i don't know much about house plants but something beautiful and leafy that requires a lot of upkeep

Weapon: magic (with daggers as a backup)

Subject: history

Social Media: she keeps a presence on all major social medias and somehow manages to not make a fool of herself on any of them (except for tumblr, which is made for fools)

Make-up Product: lipstick (dark)

Candy: york mint patties

Fear: being forgotten

Ice cube shape: spherical

Method of long distance travel: horseback

Art style:

Mythological creature: basilisk

Piece of stationary: fountain pen

3 emojis: 🍷🤫🐶

Celestial body: moon

#tag game #my ocs #juice #fabian tabris #emmeline cousland #this has been a post #art styles left blank because idk enough to answer them properly #but I know the people I’m tagging do so #tag meme

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themournwatcher · 1 year

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Does Naoise have any fears??

Such a loaded question. I think if you had asked him before the fall of Highever, he would’ve laughed it off. What would he, second son of the teyrn and teyrna Cousland, have to fear? He might give a half-assed answer, such as spiders or the dark, or something semi-serious, like how he once saw a knight get tossed by his horse and his ribs broken in the aftermath, and ever since he’s been wary about horses.

But all of his worst fears came to fruition the night that Arl Howe infiltrated his home and murdered his family. His lover murdered in his bedroom doorway. His sister-in-law and nephew slain while they slept. His loyal knight and dear friend sacrificing himself to stave off their foes at the gate. The household servants scattered on the floor; the guards beaten bloody; the fire consuming the keep; his father bleeding out on the larder floor. His mother staying behind to buy him time. Being strong-armed into the service of the Grey Wardens. His brother being (presumed) lost in the Korcari Wilds after Ostagar.

In the end, it’s just him, and his dog, and the one loyal eagle who flew to his side rather than take to the sky or be burned alive when the keep fell. (Coinn is the name of the dog, and the eagle he named Griffon the night of their flight, a nod to the Grey Wardens, if an ironic one. They’re all dead and gone, after all).

I don’t know what Naoise fears now. What does he have to lose anymore?

#text post #casposting #askbox #dragon age #dragon age origins #my mutuals my beloveds #Naoise Cousland #Cousland origin #naoise meta #cas meta

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blarrghe · 2 years

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'heavily breathing after a kiss' i want itttt for Vi pls

Hello hello! Violet is kissing Virelan in this garden 2nite.

@dadrunkwriting

The speeches are long and dull. Halfway through, catching the sidelong glances of the human nobles and the not-so-hushed whispers of the elvhen servants, Virelan begins to wonder why she was summoned here.

She knows why. Oh, she knows. She is the great hero of the modern age, saviour of Thedas from its most recent brush with disaster, and the Queen Cousland, up upon her podium with her crown and her long speech, is the last.

This is a commemoration of the bravery of all people, not just of Ferelden, but of Orlais, the Free Marches, of the Dalish and the Dwarves. And so on, says the queen. And on, and on.

“It’s a godsdammned bore is what it is,” Virelan mutters into her drink. Honey ale. It’s nice, but too light. “Can they make me tranquil? Reaving’s a sort of magic, isn’t it?”

Beside her, her friend and confidante and advisor, but in this moment also her worst enemy, since she is the main reason they are here, chuckles.

“Be nice,” Josephine hushes.

“Be nice if they got on with serving some food already,” Virelan counters grumpily.

The Lady Montilyet raises a napkin to her lips to hide her giggle.

The evening draws on and ever on. Eventually there’s food. It’s good, rich, in the Ferelden style. There’s entertainment. It’s bad. Tasteless jokes for the amassed masses and weak tricks with no magic. She swears she catches the queen yawning.

After, they are let loose to mingle and wander the grounds, though some area are, of course, restricted. It is just like that night at the Winter Palace, she thinks, except no one is plotting to have her killed. Which is still a damn shame.

Virelan wanders as far as she can. She has no reason to snoop and spy, no motive and no left arm with which to go clambering up garden trellises, but she still stalks off into corners as shadowed and quiet as she can find. There’s a garden, and it’s admittedly quite lovely; rosebushes and local flora, trimmed up near the castle walls, but unkempt around the edges. She finds an old stone statue within its depths and admires its crumbling grace for a time, trying not to think about other things which have turned to stone, nor other things with crumbling grace.

“Am I disturbing you?”

Virelan’s first instinct, even at a soft voice such as this, is to turn with a hand at her hip. Of course, she’s not armed tonight, so her fist clenches and releases with reluctance as she turns to face the smiling queen.

“Not at all, Your Majesty.”

The Ferelden queen is less pretty, up close. There are crows feet stepping in towards the corners of her eyes, a few licks of grey sweeping through the darkly dyed — and it must be dyed, for it is not quite black, in the moonlight, but tinged in purple — locks of her hair which wind away behind her crown. The circlet itself can hardly be called a crown, it is a dark, brassy gold, roughly hammered and decorated with no gems, only the risen emblems of griffon wings to either side of the woman’s temples.

She’s not tall, either, not as she seemed up in her place in the hall. A little taller than Virelan, but only a little. There are tired circles under her clear blue eyes.

“Violet only, please.” She smiles, and though the rest of her countenance betrays age and experience, the smile is young. “Quieter here, isn’t it?”

A surprising rush of shame fills Virelan’s cheeks. She shakes it off, makes to return it to the queen with a few gruff words. “Apologies, I know I am a guest of some honour, you’d like me seen and spoken about, no doubt.”

The queen’s youthful smile falters. “No,” she says slowly, turning slightly as though to appraise her roses, though the corner of her eye still watches Virelan. “You are indeed a guest of honour, you are entitled to your comfort.”

Virelan’s waiting for the double-edge. She knows who this woman is, after all. A politician, a noble and a queen at that, one who rose from orphaned Teyrn’s daughter to hero, to ruler. And she is a rogue as well, famously a tricky one, if the many songs about her are to be believed.

“These things wear on me, I thought from your look at dinner that I might have found a friend in that. But I’ll leave you to your peace, Inquisitor.”

That’s all she says. A cape, cloak-like but not hooded in any shadows, nor laced with any hidden daggers — Virelan could tell if it were — flows out behind her as she turns.

“Majesty,” Virelan calls, hesitantly.

The queen turns back, her small, youthful smile only slightly rogueish. “Violet, really.”

“Violet,” Virelan allows. “then it is Virelan, please.”

“Virelan.” The rogue Grey Warden queen of storied fame takes a step towards her, still smiling.

The queen pauses, turning to the roses again, and plucks a hidden dagger out from some impossible place inside her thigh. Virelan had not noted that. For a moment, she tenses, fists clenched. The queen takes her knife to a rosebush, and cuts away a flower. Then she comes forward again, holding up both dagger and rose in a show of innocence.

“For my honoured guest.” She offers out the rose.

Virelan takes it between two fingers.

“Careful, thorns.”

“I’m not afraid of a little prick.”

She didn’t mean to make her, but the queen laughs. She laughs, youthful smile full and brassy crown glinting as she throws her head back, and it is a very pretty sound.

“You’re staying a number of days, are you not?”

Virelan only looks at the flower and nods.

“I thought I could invite you — do you still ride?” Violet catches her own speech with a wary glance over Virelan’s lacking left arm, left free of its prosthetic for this evening, wrapped only in a loose, tied sleeve of her equally loose, and rather plain, dress. The occasion was something to dress up for, Josephine insisted, but there had been a compromise achieved as to how much.

“I ride.” Virelan looks into the woman’s pretty blue eyes sharply, and is satisfied to see her wince.

“Of course. Then there are some lovely, quiet spots in the surrounding country. I thought tomorrow, perhaps, we could go riding.”

She smiles again, and Virelan says, “why?”

“Because the country is lovely and quiet,” repeats the queen with a smirk.

“What are you playing at? Be out with it.” Virelan has had enough of this humour.

“Playing?” Yet Virelan’s brusque words have no effect on the playful smile, “as I said, I thought perhaps I could make a friend in my… boredom.” The queen winks.

Virelan rolls her eyes, or she rolls one, the other remains fixed and intimidating as it always does, glowing with its gold and lyrium. Then, she glances down once again at her gifted rose.

Everyone in Ferelden knows roses are the symbol of the king and queen’s union, and Josephine made certain that if nothing else, Virelan at least knew that.

“And are you bored with your husband, as well?” she prods.

Once again, without Virelan’s meaning to make her, the rogue queen laughs.

“No,” she says, and the assurance is honest even if she is still laughing, “not at all. But he is travelling with his own — our own — paramour, and perhaps I am a little jealous at that.”

These are treasonous secrets.

“Why tell me so much?” Virelan regards her, still suspiciously, though she cannot deny that the continued winks and smiles are tempting.

“Do you want to come riding, or not?”

Violet leans in, close. A delicate scent comes with her, blackberries and — and violets. She rests a hand on Virelan’s shoulder, gentle, firm. Her breath ghosts across Virelan’s lips.

The moment is an enchanting one; floral scented, moonlit, backdopped in distant murmurs and music. The romance in the air is something Virelan had thought to accept as faded, and yet…

Why not seize it?

She does. With her own arm, Virelan grips Violet about the waist. She takes her recently smirking lips in a push of her own, and kisses her. Violet returns it, relaxes into it without ulterior motive or the reaching for daggers. Both her hands take Virelan’s broad shoulders, her mouth opens, her lips are petal soft and her tongue is wet. Virelan presses the kiss to continue into another, an unbreaking line of enveloping lips from which she does not desire any release. It ends when she allows it, easing Violet away and releasing her hold around her waist with a slight push.

Violet opens her eyes, hands still at Virelan’s shoulders, and breathes out impressed, eager, heavy breaths.

#aaa I hope I did her ok #kisses :3 #dadwc #my writing #violet cousland #virelan lavellan

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xhatake · 2 years

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alt!

Send me "alt!" and I'll introduce you to a character I've rped in the past, want to play in the future or are currently playing somewhere else! [ ellis cousland @higheverlost ]

It was supposed to be a good day. Ellis had risen with the sun, eager to stretch the light of dawn as far as he could. Fergus was supposed to march with the majority of Highever’s forces that day & Ellis still had a sliver of hope that he may be permitted to go as well. it was a long shot, but there was an ache in his hear that could only be satisfied with acclaim. It had always been a dream of his to become a hero, sheathed in the blinding light of glory & gore. He was a second son, his legacy would be carved by his own hand. Stories of Grey Wardens riding into battle on the backs of griffons had filled his head since he was a boy. Surely the blight was the single thing that could see these fantasies become reality.

Ellis had shared a quick breakfast with his sister, assuming that their older brother, Fergus was spending time with his family before he marched ... it was then, that he & Lily had been summoned to their father’s side. they had gathered in the great hall with lord howe, who implied that his daughter may be looking for a husband. ellis politely declined. though they had not made it official, his heart belonged to another. Astoria had left only weeks before & Ellis already missed her. he wonders if he'll be a hero by the next time they met. she would get a kick out of that, surely.

There was one man who stood out against the others. In the mix of familiar faces, warriors, lords, he was introduced to someone else.a real-life grey warden, Duncan, had stood in their halls. He looked exactly as Ellis had always imagined, a stone wall of a man with two blades that had likely seen more battles than Ellis could count... & Ellis could count pretty high.

Excitement had boiled over in his chest when Duncan said that he & his sister were his first choice of recruits. To Ellis’ dismay, his suggestion was shot down immediately. His father needed them here, to watch over Highever while they battled against the blight. Where Ellis opened his mouth to try & fight his father on the subject, Lily was quick to cut him off. She didn’t seem too keen on laying her life down for Ferelden & was already threatened with the loss of Fergus... She needed at least one of her brothers to see the end of this.

Ellis had nearly missed a passing conversation in all the excitement. Howe had made a point to identify he & Lily as Bryce Cousland’s younger children. He had thought nothing of it, distracted by another pressing matter... But in hindsight, he would wish he had taken note of it.

On his way to say goodbye to their older brother, the duo was stopped by their sweet mother. Her silver hair reflected the sunlight, radiating a certain grace. With her was a lady she was supposed to be going north with, away from the greater part of the conflict. Ellis nearly misses their conversation in the eyes of one of her pretty companions but snaps back to reality at his mother's firm voice. He & his sister's hounds had gotten into the kitchens, seemingly to gorge themselves on lard. but things were not as they seemed, as Backup & Fergie had unveiled a grand plan to stop the rats that threatened their home. nan had carried on & on until she heard the word ‘ rats ‘. after that she had been quick to throw the dogs a treat & rush them on their way. They had likely been coming from an old passage in the pantry, trying to invade the kitchens through.

The rest of the day passes like a dream, filled with more emotions than Ellis knows how to comprehend. He had exchanged a tearful goodbye with Fergus & accepted that he would be left behind. When he marched from highever with the bulk of their forces,a sinking feeling ignnited many racing thoughts of death, fears of loss...He had decided to distract himself with a different sort of company, inviting the woman he had met earlier to join him in his bedchambers for the night. His heart may belong to Astoria, but the sentiment did not yet extend to his body. Sleep takes him, providing temporary relief from an uncertain future.

What he does not expect is when he is woken in the night. It's his hound that wakes him; Fergie whines at the sound of steel clashing in the hall outside of his room. Ellis throws on his clothes, collects his weapons & wakes his companion. She doesn't make it very far, as she is killed when he throws his door open to see what's going on. It's a bitter feeling, but he pushes through regardless. He tears through men in armor that reflects the dim light of the candles that lit their halls. Despair settles in his stomach as he realizes their numbers are too great. Every time he dances out of the reach of one sword, another is ready to meet him. He braces himself as a man threatens to bring down his weapon on Ellis' face, but something stops him.

The swift ' thwip' echoes across the hall Ellis has torn was way into, resolving in an arrow through Ellis' opponent's chest. It was a powerful blow & he raises his gaze to see his mother, at last. It is strange to see her in armor. Usually, she was dressed like a proper lady, in the colors of their family. But there was something legendary about the ferocity in her eyes as she defended her son. They tear through the rest of their opponents with renewed faith, stopping only after the last of them stopped breathing. there were still the sounds of conflict echoing all through Highever, a warning of what awaited them when they left this hall. Ellis kicks over one of the dead men, recognizing the men as one of Howe's soldiers.

One of Howe's men. Betrayal. Ellis tries to contain the rage that begins to grow in his chest, coming to a thousand different conclusions of how this came to pass. All he could think was how lucky the lord was to be elsewhere, or Ellis would ensure he ended up in the same pile of gore as his men. Despite his rage, there is one thought that cuts through every assumption.

" We have to go. " Ellis speaks before his mother can react, his mind already racing in regards to the wellbeing of his sister. His mother nods & they come to the understanding that this will be their last night together. What Ellis does not know, however, is how determined his mother is to insure the survival of her children. Ellis mind is already racing, as are his breaths. For all he dreamed of battle, he had never thought it would find him in the walls of his own home, " We have to find Lily. "

#murasakiirohanafornow #answered.#uhhhh sorry i got a little carried away ellis is so special to me #this is just a drabble of the day he loses everything u see #also in canon dragon age there is only (1) grey warden #but my canon for ellis is deeply entertwined w ocousland's lily #& i also mention softersinned's astoria because ellis would NOT be who he is without her #i love this guy so much #i was going to keep writing but i'll stop it here #because i could write the entirety of his experience during the blight if i didn't control myself #& then KEEP going #i love this guy #thank you for sneding this btw

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