#map of thedas

[lavellaned]

veilguard isn't about regret, it's about futility.

morrigan fought through the entire trilogy to escape her mother and not get possessed by mythal. she gets possessed by mythal in veilguard.

the hero of ferelden went through all that in order to keep southern thedas from falling to the blight. southern thedas falls to the blight in veilguard.

davrin's development is grounding in him finding a purpose outside of sacrificing himself. he's one of two options you have to sacrifice in veilguard.

dorian struggled under the pressure of his family wanting a pavus to be archon, and later was dedicated to changing tevinter and helping people. tevinter is the same as it ever was and dorian can end up archon in veilguard.

solas sacrificed everything to free his people from oppression and corruption. the veil is still up, elves are still in the same social tier as they've been since the beginning of the series, the dalish are straight up annihilated, the blight is still around, and spirits continue to be corrupted by the living in veilguard.

and then add in the godawful executor mess and it really is just the final kick in the teeth.

nothing anyone has ever done in thedas has ever mattered, veilguard made sure of that.

[dragonagegallery]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard - Prologue #2

[crisurdiales]

I don't think I've posted this one here before, so maybe now it's the right time ...

[notyourmamasdeerbat]

A Word With Friends!

I was tagged by @seaglassmelody and @davrinsleftpectoral ! 🧡 Thank you, my dears!

This week's word is Sanguine (I LOVE THIS WORD)

Definition (Adjective): optimistic or positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation OR (noun): a blood-red color

Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends. Happy writing! 

I have some Coadi Aldwir backstory lore under the cut... and a sneak peak at a POSSIBLE (no idea if I'm gonna include it in Carry the Dagger for real) self indulgent little fancy formal wear espionage and deceit job in Minrathous with Neve! HOWEVER CW: Pre-transition/Nonbinary identifiers and terminology due to pre-game timeline, mentions of death, unhappy marriages and Orlesian nonsense. Just pure opulent nonsense. Enjoy! 👺🦚

Alois Cousteau was a man of principle. 

A creature of habit, every year his chateau was host to a myriad of opulent celebrations and lavish parties. Most planned and organized by himself on daddy’s sovereign– Comte Denis-André Cousteau rarely left his study enough to even notice his bookkeeping when his head servant was not handling it himself. (Adelard had always been very discreet) The Comtesse was hardly ever in Orlais at all these days, much preferring to rub elbows (and other things) with the neighbors in the North. 

This year, Alois was reaching his thirtieth winter. Young, bold and oh so very fashionable, his parties were widely popular, scandalous and crowded by the young and hopeful– praying to glimpse even an ounce of his generous hospitality or pick up an inkling of his infamous charm. 

Presently, the son of the Comte was standing in the archway of the opulent parlor that led further into the chateau, all blue crown moulding and golden filigree, richly upholstered velvet and expensive diamond studded wall sconces. Within the cozy parlor and the ballroom beyond, every surface was draped in gauzy white ribbons. Live swans wandered the scene to come and go as they pleased from the lily pond in the overflowing garden at the height of summer bloom. A thousand monarch butterflies had been caught, gathered and released around the space, both within the house and without, to alight on every surface as welcome pops of warmth and color. They beat their wings in mellow time with the string orchestra in the west annex. 

Guests had swarmed the place since noon, with more still arriving from around the city and beyond. Val Royeaux was so vastly popular in summer, and this year, the trending theme was birds. Feathers, rather. 

True to form, Alois wore a peacock green coat with matching feathers at the collar, tall enough to tickle his cheeks when he moved. His wrists and throat dripped silver and emeralds. A startlingly red enamel mask swept up to cover most of his brow, the only contrast in the jewel toned ensemble that sparkled in the afternoon light.

Coadi stood on the other side of the archway of the main foyer, watching the line of arrivals swell and thin, fans fluttering, laughter trickling in and out of the chamber as their mentor cheerfully greeted his guests and ushered them inside. Always sanguine in attitude (and in cheek), the man was an electrical storm of good will. A startled gasp here, a friendly grin there, shaking hands and gently pulling arms. 

A lull in the arrivals brought only the swell of the music into the space as the lordling caught his breath, still beaming. “I do hope Adelard’s kept the swans out of the kitchens.” 

“Why?” Coadi mused, not smiling as they watched the doors. “They’d pair well with the roast pheasant.” 

Cousteau laughed softly, throwing them a sidelong glance. “Maybe so. I do wonder if Lady Russe has maintained her aversion to fowl.” 

“I imagine you don’t care for Lady Russe.” 

“No, and she has no love for me either.” 

“But she’s here.” 

“Mhmm.” Cousteau beamed and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he crossed the room to stand beside Coadi, looking down at them fondly before training his gaze on the doors once more. “She was always jealous of my choice of footwear. Been trying to wring the name of my cobbler out of me for years.” 

Coadi’s lips quirked bitterly. 

“You are not laughing.” Cousteau’s smile fell instantly. “Oh, Coadi, are you ill?” 

“No,” they sighed. 

“Usually you find me delightful, no?” 

“Of course,” they murmured, near fondly, gaze dropping to their polished boots and ruffled green coat. 

“You’ve already wished me a pleasant name day. Are you displeased with the outfit?” 

Coadi smiled wryly, eyes still on the gold veined marble floor. “No, Cousteau. It’s lovely. Thank you again.” They shifted, their waistcoat rustling and delicate silver lapel chains glittering over their shoulders and biceps in a mockery of military epaulettes. “You look wonderful, as usual.” 

“I know, petite. Believe me.” The man preened, as if to make a point, turning in a slow circle. “A joke, really, the peacock feathers. But I find the beasts so charming.” 

“They suit you,” Coadi said with a crooked smile. 

“You think me pretentious.” 

“Just the opposite.” 

“Authentic in my flaunting. Perfect. From you, petite, a mighty compliment indeed.” Cousteau winked. “Actually, there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” 

Coadi sighed. “I did get you a gift.” 

“No! Not that. Oh– You did?” Cousteau laughed and slung an arm around their shoulders. “Lovely little student of mine. You shouldn’t have.” 

“Every year,” Coadi groaned, rolling their eyes. 

“And every year I love it. You have a generous heart, ma petite.” He frowned and shifted his weight, leaning against the wall more casually beside them. “But every year, you grow taller.” 

“Mmm? Is that unusual?” 

Cousteau barked another tittering laugh. “No, not at all. Our name days are not so far apart, you know. You will be twenty soon. Two decades alive. That is a large step! An honor, really, to see you reach such an age– and with such beauty. I must say, I pray you learnt it from me. A pity we share no blood.” 

Coadi eyed him warily. 

“Do not look so alarmed!” he chuckled. “It’s a compliment. Nothing more. Your father blessed you with excellent eyes. Sapphires are very in right now.” 

“Mmm.” Coadi swallowed their scowl. Cousteau pressed on like it was of no consequence. 

“Change often comes quickly at such an age. You’ll be entering your second year of University. You will hone your path, your future. I will of course continue to fund you as generously as I have, and our own lessons in etiquette and the arts will go on as usual. But, as my sole benefactee, some requirements must be… upheld.” 

“Oh, Maker, spare me this.” Coadi resisted the urge to rub their temples. 

“You could think about getting married,” he hummed innocently. For the millionth time this summer. 

“No.” The silver half mask was heavy. The curve of the ridged silver filigree and a single teardrop diamond on a chain bumping unpleasantly against the bridge of their nose with every twitch of their head. 

“And, that is what you said… last year.” He threw up his hands, as if there were just no helping them. “What about that girl… what is her name… Agnes?” 

Coadi grimaced. “Cousteau,” they warned as the doors of the chateau swung open once more one the arms of filigreed guards. 

He shushed them, smiling broadly as he reached out to shake someone’s hand as they swept into the ornately furnished salon behind them. He turned back to Coadi with a soft, tittering laugh. “Oh, come now. You think I don’t know what happens in my museum?” 

“Comte Coustaeu’s museum,” Coadi corrected sourly, dipping into a curtsy as another lord and lady drifted past. 

Alois sighed. “And there you go. Putting your clever tongue to just the wrong uses. Again. You could be making someone very happy. Laughing, of course. Forgive me, I know how that sounded.” He shot them a wicked grin, the salacious undertone hardly unusual. 

Coadi scoffed and rolled their eyes, quickly throwing on a simpering smile as a baron from Perenvale cast them a small, patronizing wave. Evidently he remembered them. Coadi did not. 

“Ma petite, I take care of my own. Your studies are progressing beautifully, you have made me very proud. I am only suggesting that you begin looking… forward.” 

“You mean up,” Coadi observed, folding their hands behind them as their gaze followed the crowd. 

“It is the only way.” Cousteau beamed and waved merrily at the duke and duchess of some lovely little city in the countryside as they rushed to meet with him, exchanging laughs and kisses on either cheek before disappearing further into the salon for tea. “You are in an incredibly foul mood tonight, petite. What has you in knots? It concerns me. Where is my charming, smiling Coadi?” 

They shifted on gangly legs. The high neck of their jacket collar itched. “...I need to tell you something.” 

“You do?” Cousteau beamed at them sidelong. “Keeping secrets now, then? That's good.” 

“Cousteau, I–” 

“Shh.” He turned to embrace a portly man in a maroon waistcoat. “Baron Le Gris, welcome! It is so good to see you. How is your wife?” 

“As cold in the ground as I left her, I hope.” 

The two men guffawed and squeezed each others’ hands. “A treat to see you again, ma ami. You are most welcome in my house.” 

“Thank you, Alois. Lovely to see you as well.” The baron's eyes flicked to Coadi behind his silver mask. “And your…ward? You have no children. Unless of course I have missed something– you old dog.” 

Cousteau tittered. “Baron,” he began cheerily, laying his hands on Coadi's shoulders. “May I present Coadi Aldwir, my protégé. She is performing with most incredible prowess.” Coadi winced, a nauseous feeling turning in their stomach. But they curtsied anyway. 

“An honor, my lord.” 

“Ah, still taking in strays. Even after the last one? You surprise me, as usual, Alois. She's lovely. Catching on quick then? Good, good.” 

Again, Coadi winced. Twice over, actually. The last one. That was a story Alois had told them only once. They outright refused to carry red wine now, as a precaution. 

“And the happiest of name days to you, my friend. I will see you inside.” Baron Le Gris clapped Cousteau on the shoulder and shuffled through the archway. 

Alois dusted off his hands and allowed himself the slightest sneer after the man’s turned back. “Pompous pig.” 

Coadi felt their lips quirk, against their better judgement, as they leaned close to their mentor, their voice a low whisper. “Did he murder his wife?” 

“Not officially.” Coustaeu’s eyes sparkled with mirth behind his mask. “Truthfully, I don't know. He did not do it himself. Fat hands are only good for strangling thin necks. She was not a thin woman.”

Morbidly amused, Coadi started to laugh, smothering it as Cousteau ushered the last of the guests and a woman in an outrageously wide hat inside. “Come, ma cherie.  I would have you mingle before the night is out. Make at least one friend, no? Better yet, some trouble?” 

“My father would have my head.” 

“I will tell him nothing. Go.” Cousteau beamed, making a shooing motion. “Enjoy. My treat.” 

“Hmm.” 

“There are plenty of young men– and ladies– all eligible, I assure you, who would die to dance with you.” Cousteau fanned himself theatrically. 

“Cousteau,” Coadi groaned, feeling their face heat. 

“One waltz. I insist. No, I demand.” 

“...I will see.” 

“You will know. No student of mine will linger in the shadows like a skulking phoenix. Go! Be charming.” He swept them along under his arm and into the parlor, into the masses of skirts and shed white feathers on the marble.

Immediately, he was pulled into the throng by grasping gloves and manicured hands– eager smiles and wagging tongues, all masked. It was eerie, the unchanging halves and angles of passionless faces and the living flesh beneath. Coadi wasn’t sure they’d ever grow used to Orlesian nobility, despite the years and years they’d spent lingering on its fringe. Like a moth on well worn curtains. 

Left to fend for themself, Coadi kept to the walls, exchanging polite nods and carefully dodging any attempt at overly familiar conversation. Their stomach turned a little as they caught sight of an expensive porcelain vase, not unlike those housing the myriad of blooms in Comte Cousteau’s personal art (and history) collection. 

They brushed their apprehension aside, hoping to seek out a drink and maybe find a study to duck into and hide amongst the bookcases. Lost in that subtle hope, they nearly slammed headfirst into the duchess of Montfort. 

“Coadi!” she squeaked, beaming as she snapped open her golden fan to cover her all too genuine delight. Fanning herself, and the sparkling feathers of her metallic finch mask, she reached for their hand. 

Coadi forced themself to relax and sighed softly, smiling as they took her delicate gloved hand. “My lady. Very nice to see you.” The duchess was not much older than they were, newly married to the duke– a severe man with a fondness for the color black, near as dark as his sense of humor and as bland as his palate. Unfortunate, really, as in this marriage Duchess Sabrine had given up her love of sweets. Coadi sympathized. 

“You look lovely, my friend!” she chirped, leading them away from a group of milling men. 

“As do you.” Coadi followed clumsily after, somewhat startled by the sudden and authoritative movement. “Is everything alright?” 

“Why, yes!” Sabrine covered her mouth with her fan, eyes crinkled in a smile behind her mask, before she released Coadi’s wrist when they reached the far wall, reasonably out of ear shot. “I am so glad to see you. What was it, last Wintersend? My Maker it’s been torture. Absolute torture.” 

Coadi started to laugh, but Sabrine shushed them violently. “I’m serious! Viktor is insufferable. But I met someone!” 

“Oh no,” Coadi groaned, hiding a grin. “Not the gardener.” 

“You remember!” Ecstatic, Sabrine seized their hand once more with a reassuring squeeze. “He’s asked me to elope!” 

Coadi put their head in their other hand. “Sabrine.” 

“I think he really likes me, Coadi. And I like him.” 

“Better to just have the affair, no? Viktor is insanely wealthy.” 

“Oh!” Sabrine scowled and playfully whacked across Coadi’s chest with her fan. They only laughed. “You have no sense of romance!” 

“None whatsoever,” Coadi agreed, rolling their eyes. 

“Really. How is Jeaneau?” 

Coadi winced. 

Sabrine frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she gushed, holding Coadi’s hand over her heart. “Did he find someone else?” 

Coadi scoffed. “No! He was lovely. But it was… not meant to be.” 

“Hmmm.” Sabrine pouted, studying their face. Coadi’s gaze wandered over the duchess’ shoulder, glimpsing a head of tawny red curls and pointed ears. Revas looked up from where he was pouring tea for a group of lounging lords and ladies in a circle of armchairs. Clothed in softest grey, he was nearly invisible in the riot of color and noise. He caught their eye and winked, miming strangling himself with his cravat.

Coadi smiled in earnest, even as Sabrine launched into another tirade about how lucky Coadi was to have been born common so that no arrangements had been made or hands promised since the day they could walk, and that they shouldn’t be so ungrateful as to dismiss the opportunity of finding real chemistry at the University as they ‘weren’t getting any younger’ and ‘they would be lucky to find maybe a minor earl– not that she thought they couldn’t do better!’” 

“You’re right,” Coadi agreed solemnly in the middle of her breathless rant, patting her hand. “You’re absolutely right. I wish you and your beau all the luck in the world. Let me know what you decide sometime. Write me, perhaps, if you can find the time outside your embroidery and pearl stringing. Lovely to see you. Goodbye, my lady.” 

They slipped away before she shut her mouth on her own startled farewell. They weren’t halfway across the parlor before someone caught their arm. A young man with golden blond hair, in a red mask and a bright scarlet tailcoat resembling the plumage of a cardinal. In fact, near everything he wore was the most intense shade of crimson, down to his handkerchief and cufflinks, Coadi had ever seen. 

“Hello! Watch yourself.” 

Indeed, he’d just caught them before they could tumble headfirst into a meandering swan. The bird honked indignantly and continued its waddling path, parting an amused crowd in twos and threes as it made for the outer archway and the gardens beyond. 

Coadi caught their breath with a startled huff, near laughing. “Thank you!” 

“You’re quite welcome.” The young man beamed. “Do you have a moment, Mademoiselle Aldwir?” 

“Rook?” They were running their thumb anxiously against the center of their palm, their gaze far away. Neve snapped her fingers, voice tight with urgency as she paused in the doorway of the main hall. “Rook!” 

They were pulled from their reverie, eyes wide. “Hmm?”

Music spilled from the room beyond. A controlled string quartet. Light and laughter spilled down the grey marble halls, the geometry of Tevinter architecture unforgiving. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” 

“Yes.” Rook scowled and straightened their spine, the thin golden velvet of their borrowed gown swaying around their inked leg, a delicate gold chain jingling softly down their chest in its plunging neckline, a match for the loops dangling from their coppery Orlesian mask. 

“My contact spooks easily.” Neve laid her hands on her hips, expression severe. Her white coat was spotless, a jeweled turquoise broach at her throat circled by golden serpents. “You need to sell this.” 

“Oh,” Rook began with the smallest of bitter smiles. “I can sell this.” 

“Good. Try to keep it together.” The mage cast them a long suffering look, equal parts concern and irritation. Then she pushed through the curtain drapery into the hazy lounge full of red Venatori cloaks. 

Heheheheheeh I'M A LITTLE INSANE ABOUT DESCRIBING FASHION/FORMAL WEAR IN MEDIA I TRY REALLY HARD NOT TO WRITE SIX PARAGRAPHS ABOUT SOMEBODY'S SHOES YKNOW. HOWEVER. IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE ROOK IN A DRESS (don't tell Lucanis) AND I WILL KEEP WRITING THIS FOOLISHNESS. Because I can. Probably. Idk. Thank you again for the tags and this lovely lovely game. If you made it this far- mwah! I kiss you on the forehead! Woe! Tags be upon ye! (no pressure of course, and only if you're interested <3 ) @hedwigoprah @fenrelmercar @sunny374940 @draco-illius-noctis @nevarrantorte @jenn2d2 @caughtnyact @redheadsramblings @starfleetteddybear @fireheartedpup @strugglinggranola @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @spinfins @thesummerstorms and YOU 👁️👁️

[galedekarios]

i finished lucanis's ep in vows&vengeance

[vaguely-concerned]

we do not talk enough about rook matter-of-factly stabbing a wedge of cheese to use as a representation of the juggernaut during the endgame tactics meeting

[exhausted-archivist]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by the lovely @shivunin and @chanafehs (from last week I just saw it sorry! ;A;)

Lemme tell you, this has been a very motivating thing for me and I really appreciate it. Makes me carve out time from commissions to work on personal stuff to share. Its nice.

I've been building out the city map for the location my dnd group is going to next session.

Another wip to make up for the one I missed lol is a blurb for my Thedas Cookery project since someone sponsored a post so I got to dedicate time to it guilt free. A WIP of the current blurb I'm working on!

While we have all come to know Nevarra as the culture with a primarily vegetarian diet — some for reasons of belief stemming from their unique views on death and others for tradition or personal reasons — it is a country with a large influx of travelers, scholars, merchants, and immigrants of many kinds. Not everyone in Nevarra constricts to the plant based diet the country is known for, in fact historically there were Nevarran dragon hunters that were known to use dragon blood as seasoning for their meals. Another, more modern, example is the varied food in Cumberland. A wonderful location on the sea but also placed near the Planasene Forest, Cumberland sports a variety of seafood dishes. The most common street fare you will see is skewers. Various seafood ranging from squid, fish, shrimp, eel, tentacles, and the like. It is also not just the meat that varies, but also the flavours and preparations as well. Some are spicy, smoky, salty, or covered in a sticky and almost sweet sauce that pairs well with the warm and savory taste. Some vendors will butterfly the meat, chop it into bite sized pieces, include vegetables, fruits, or other pairings, while other will leave the fish whole.

Tagging @whoisnotmyname, @pinayelf, @circtheeunbroken, and @haunteddollco (no pressure as always)

[abyssal-ilk]

sometimes i think about the fact that vivienne must have been taken from wycome to ostwick as a tiny little kid by the templars and i (head in hands)

[thedragonagelesbian]

sorry this is so funny they made val royeaux soooooooooooo small.

[lilac-sweet]

Was anyone gonna tell me that Solas’ elven artifacts were globuses of Thedas, or was I just supposed to assume that? Because I have played inquisition a stupid amount of times and I JUST caught that

[erin-unknown]

Thanks for the tag @hyperions-light. I've been working on one of the (fantastic) Rook Story Time Prompts that you messaged me and because I can never keep anything simple, it's becoming a whole thing that is still in its early stages.

@awardenandacrow and @arookacrow, if you want to share anything in progress that you haven't shared already, go for it 💕

22. GW!Rook encountering their first Darkspawn.

Dalgar heads off into the Wandering Hills with Senior Warden Olivier and two other Warden recruits to bring down their first darkspawn and prepare to take the Joining upon their return to Kasselwatch. The two other recruits—a young human named Conrad and Sybil, an elven graverobber—have different plans.

Here's the opening so far:

A misting of rain hung over the soggy yard, catching the pale yellow light of early morning and holding it like a breath. Dalgar lurked below, in the stark shadow of Kasselwatch, his numb fingers adjusting the strap that anchored his right pauldron to his boiled-leather vest for the tenth time in as many minutes. A stocky, red-faced human boy and a wiry elven woman with storm gray eyes and a pinched face lingered nearby.

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Dalgar said. His smile was a little tight from standing out in the pre-dawn chill for so long. “I’m Dalgar, by the way.” He extended a hand to the boy.

“I-I’m C-Conrad,” he replied, voice shaking, and clasped the offered hand. If Conrad’s hand was cold, Dalgar certainly couldn’t tell. Callouses rasped against his own as they parted. “From down by way of Nordbotten. Did a few months of training there, too, but they sent me up here for the Joining.”

“I was wondering from your accent before.” He nodded amicably and turned to the woman, who glowered silently from under her knit cap. She kept her hands shoved firmly under her armpits. Dalgar’s arm fell back to his side.

Conrad’s mouse brown hair was plastered to his forehead from the rain and he pulled his heavy cloak around him tighter for better protection from the cold. It was slightly too long for him and had trailed a little in the mud. He’d left his pack sitting in the mud, too, Dalgar couldn’t help but notice.

“Do you have everything?” he asked. “Best to make sure you’ve got everything and your gear fits well.” Conrad shrugged.

“Thanks, I’ve probably looked everything over a hundred times already. Don’t think I could stomach the hundred-and-first. Anyway. You a Kassel elf? You sound it.”

“More or less,” Dalgar replied. If you counted the Warden fort, he added mentally. “Been here since I was about yea high.” He held his hand just above navel height, then tugged his wool cap down tighter over his short, black hair and adjusted his hood to better insulate his ears. Didn’t want to get bitten by the early Anders winter.

The woman was almost unnaturally still, but her breath still came in clouds before her face, so she hadn’t frozen to death on her feet, at least. Dalgar stomped his feet in the muddy slush and wondered if Dunhammer had been telling him stories again, or if he’d actually seen that happen. The state of her boots was concerning, he observed. He made a mental note to check that she had good socks on underneath. Dalgar had a couple spare pairs in the pack leaning against the wall nearby.

“Not your size, kid—you can stop eyeing them,” she croaked.

Conrad practically jumped out of his skin and Dalgar choked out a laugh around his surprise. “Yeah, I’ve got feet like shovels. No way those’d fit.”

She graced him with a grim little smirk, bringing out the fine lines around her eyes and mouth.

-

Writing today has been like pulling teeth!!

[morrithal]

And the worst part is, Kirkwall is about to have another power vacuum. Will it ever end

[emberfcrged]

ok i think elliott has a bunch of tattoos, most or all of which hold significant meaning to him. but will he tell anyone what those meanings are?

maybe if u catch him in the throes of post coital bliss...which is perhaps the best time to ask him personal questions in general.

use that knowledge however u please.

[l3irdl3rain]

Your house looks like a grandma’s house and I love it

The best compliment I could ever hope for for my home!!! I’m going for grandma with a subtle touch of gamer. Im very much a maximalist and want to have so so many prints of video game art. Mixed in with a lot of pet pictures

[tuxedo-rabbit]

Back before I played DAI, I had never seen a map of Thedas.

Instead, I had a mental map of what I thought the world might look like based on what made sense to me, given what we knew of the relationship between the different countries.

Surprise, surprise, my mental map was not at all accurate, and I get jumpscared every time I see the real map.

[vigilskept]

was that last addition necessary? maybe not. but i wanted the full post at the top of the notes bc it’s reaching people’s for you pages now 😰 also i should’ve made that meme a long time ago.