#my dragon age inquisition kick knows no bounds

[bonesofapoet]

have a little Cullen Rutherford snippet <3

I'm still editing it, but!! we're almost there y'all

[felassan]

Thoughts/wonderings on the plot synopsis of Dragon Age: The Missing #4 (spoilers at link), under a cut due to spoilers:

This plot synopsis feels like it further implicates the Venatori as being involved in the kidnappings. What are they up to? probably something involving red lyrium and/or the Blight + power, right? thinking about the 'gardening' of red lyrium, how it grows in Red Templars and of Ambrose Forfex feeding it to people to create red lyrium-infused wigs, perhaps they've been taking people to grow red lyrium in or to create red lyrium soldiers or monsters from or something? to create lots of a power source, and/or an army? perhaps this kinda stuff is the origin of the red lyrium darkspawn we've seen in concept art?

As for a Venatori stalking them.. could that be who the figure at the end of the Missing #1 preview pages was? what's the Venatori's interest in following Varric & Harding - because they know they're potentially investigating their latest nefarious deeds, or because they know they're trying to find Solas and the Venatori also want to find him?

Solas in Minrathous... (°ロ°) 'haha, we in danger' is my main thought about that. he's bold. my second is, since this is the last issue of this comic, and the comic is a direct tie-in to DA:D, perhaps the in-game story in DA:D kicks off in Minrathous. the third is what could he be up to there? something down in the Catacombs (down there he wouldn't be walking about the streets of Minrathous, so he'd be out of sight)? there is that powerful demon still sealed in a prison underneath Minrathous, said to be so powerful that only a god could summon it.. there are also bound to be lots of powerful ancient artifacts and obscure arcane texts in the possession of the Magisters.. maybe something that could help him with his plans.

though, with his network of spies and people, it would probably be a simple thing for a Solas agent to 'share' information of a false Solas sighting or lead to mislead the Inquisition, waste their time and resources, throw them off his trail and spread them thin on goose chases back and forth across Thedas.. from Marnas Pell east to Vyrantium, then east to Arlathan Forest, Varric & Harding are now backtracking all the way back west to Minrathous (which is directly north of Marnas Pell).

Is the trusted informant an old friend of Varric's such as Dorian or Maevaris, or one of the characters in TN who was in Minrathous (following the possible trend of Evka&Antoine in #1, possibly Teia&Viago in #2, etc, if that's a thing), like Neve Gallus from The Streets of Minrathous? the Venatori and their plots also had a presence in that short story, Neve is based in Minrathous and the plot thread of that demon is still there.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #8: DA:I, but make it female!spirit!Inquisitor

If you haven't noticed, I've been on a Dragon Age kick lately. One of my favorite AUs is A Herald Named Desire by ushauz, wherein the male Qunari Inquisitor is really a desire demon in disguise. It's a lovely story - the discussions on slavery and religion and agency make me insanely jealous I didn't write them, and the whole chapter covering why exactly Anders blew up the Chantry is A+++ - if occasionally too cracky for my tastes.

But also made me wonder: what if the Inquisitor was a Spirit of Curiosity?

Just imagine it:

Normally the only thing that exists in the Fade are spirits and demons. A mortal falling out of it makes no sense. So instead of one of the default Inquisitors falling out of the rift we get a Spirit of Curiosity who was, well, curious about the Conclave.

I suppose any spirit would do, but I want a Curiosity spirit because the idea of a happy-go-lucky Inquisitor who is delighted to be chained to Haven's chantry floor, asking a thousand questions a minute of her captors from why am I here? to why is it so cold? to oh, is this what pain feels like? I don't think I like it amuses me greatly.

Cassandra and company aren't inclined to believe the spirit (whom I will call Aisling from here on out) is actually a spirit. Instead she assumes Aisling is exactly what she looks like: a young Dalish elf who has never left her clan before and may be a touch soft in the head. It’s not until they run across Varric, who confirms that Hawke’s apostate informant and paramour from The Tale of the Champion was really cover for the spirit who basically grew up alongside Hawke, whom he is disgustingly in love with.

Which is to say: young!Aisling came across young!mage!Hawke while he was dreaming in the Fade and the two became fast friends and, later, romantic interests. This has the side effect of 1) causing Bethany and Leandra to survive, because Aisling is always poking about and watching while Hawke is awake, and 2) all of their dating has been done in the Fade while Hawke is dreaming, which is difficult to say the least, though he's aware of her to some degree while he's awake.

Also, a Hawke that has a tendency to ask a thousand questions, because he knows Aisling is watching and dying to ask them herself.

Either way, you now have a Spirit of Curiosity as Herald of Andraste. (And, later, as an inquisitive Inquisitor.)

The plot basically proceeds as in canon, but with the side effect of both the mages and the templars being recruited - because if Aisling asks why not? enough times eventually everyone gives in.

Hawke shows up earlier too - probably right after the first trip to the Hinterlands - and makes a scene while doing it. It starts with him demanding they release Aisling (believing her to be bound and forced to work with the Inquisition) and ends with Aisling throwing herself into Hawke's arms like a scene out of a rom-com. It's disgustingly saccharine.

Fenris also tags along, because getting him and Dorian in a room together is something I want desperately in DA4. (Romance or bromance, dealer's choice here.)

There's some tension over whether Corypheus can bind Aisling, as with Cole. Unlike with Cole, it turns out she doesn't need an amulet because she bound herself to Hawke when she was newly formed. Some angst with this, as Hawke worries this means he forced their whole relationship, but quickly resolved as fluff is the goal.

Add in a whole bunch of embarrassing shenanigans regarding what it means for an immaterial spirit to suddenly become flesh, starting with does she need to eat? sleep?, reaching an embarrassing height with will she menstruate and who will explain reproduction to her if she does?, and concluding with Hawke and Aisling stumbling through non-Fade sex for the first time.

But mostly its happy-go-lucky eager-puppy Inquisitor who loves talking and asking questions of almost anyone; a charming Hawke tagalong who loves watching the chaos his oldest friend and lover (not always inadvertently) creates with her questions; and the Inquisition slowly learning that just because Aisling comes across as painfully young and naive doesn't mean she doesn't understand what's going on or is incapable of taking care of herself.

Bonuses include: 1) Dorian and Hawke constantly having to keep an eye on how much time Aisling spends in Skyhold's library, because she'd spend every second reading at the expense of basic self-care if allowed; 2) at least one instance of Aisling asking increasingly personal questions of a disagreeable noble until they stomp off in an embarrassed rage, at which point those watching realize that she was doing it intentionally to get the horrible man to go away; and 3) Aisling conducting what amounts to a lot of cognitive therapy and/or socratic questioning with nearly every troubled, troubled member of the Inquisition, to varying degrees of success.

And, of course, every joke that can possibly be made about a curious, questioning, inquisitive Curiosity Spirit running the Inquisition.

As always, feel free to borrow, just let me know if you do.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Chapter 9 is complete at long last! I scrapped this chapter several times before deciding on something that worked better, but it can be hard shifting POVs, especially when two of your characters are very, very different. 

Anyways! Enjoy some lightness, but also angst because that’s all this story is apparently. It’ll get happy one day, I swear! It’s slow going at first~

Chapter Preview: 

Mhairi offered a tiny, but strained laugh in response to Cyfrin’s usual wording. “It’s nothing, Cy. Everything just kinda..”, she trailed off before letting her gaze flit down to the lock of hair she was playing with. “...wore me out. It was a lot.”, she finished. It wasn’t the complete truth, but it would suffice, even if she knew she was fool to think her brother’s friend wasn’t as keen as a fox.

Cyfrin hummed deeply, the sound making her ears heat up a little. “It was, wasn’t it?”, he said rhetorically before letting out a tiny sigh of his own. “I only hope the Keeper will be...magnanimous with Fane. The words said before his actions should be where the guilt is placed, but, I admit, his actions weren’t any less...condemning.”, a sound like an arm shifting making her ears twitch. “But, I suppose we will just have to wait until she releases him from the court to know the verdict.”, his tone sounded indifferent, but she knew Cyfrin was just as worried as her with the way she could hear his bow constantly shifting, meaning the man was rolling his shoulders which was a sign that he was anxious and tense.

‘I wasn’t his fault, though..”, Mhairi said, flicking one of the charms in her hair nervously. “He was just defending himself..” Exactly! Her brother was doing what anyone would have done if they had heard their mother, themselves, being painted as a monster!

Cyfrin sighed a bit. “I know that, Mhairi, but the one that strikes first with a fist is immediately seen as the guilty party.” Amber eyes turned downwards, the cracks in indifference beginning to show with a frown. “No matter where you are in the world, what race you were born into, what awful words were thrown at you like stones, those who have a bloodsoaked stigma attached to them are always signaled out the moment they react, even if it’s justified, even if there are others, like you and me, that know that that stigma is not truth.” Somber, experience driven words flowed with eloquence before Cyfrin turned his gaze back up to her. “The clan’s stigma about Fane is their greatest weapon against him, and we can only wait and see if the Keeper grasps the hilt in agreement, or sheathes the blade in objection.”

Mhairi hummed with a tiny frown at that. Cyfrin was right. It wouldn’t help to continually think of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what should happen’. Fane’s life, well life with the clan, was now in her teacher’s hands. And there was nothing she or him could do about it. That didn’t really make her feel any better, honestly. It only made her worry more. If that was even physically possible at this point.

“Mm..”, she hummed out with a deep frown, biting into her bottom lip a bit as she could feel tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. She blinked the droplets away quickly. No, no! She shouldn’t cry, but the thought of Fane potentially being kicked from the clan just because he cared was too much for her to handle!

It’s my fault. If I wasn’t so weak, so passive, Brother wouldn’t have to keep defending me and getting upset. Her mind said with guilt, the tears at the corners beginning to fatten as she thought more and more. Now, he’ll be alone, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it! It’s all my fau--!

Suddenly, a soft sensation against her cheek had the faint tears halting and her thoughts stilling, damp eyes blinking away the watery veil.

“Wha--?”, she uttered as she continued to dispel salty droplets. What had touched her? It was really soft and…

...blue?

****

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you so much @zuendwinkel​ for donating! I am SO GLAD to add this lovely Hawke x Fenris to the collection, writing them was a joy! I’m also SO EXCITED to share the artwork you created that goes along with it! Thank you so much for blessing us with something so soft, beautiful, and detailed!! 

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: A Flock of Trouble Pairing: Male Hawke x Fenris Rating: T Content Warnings: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age II, Fluff and Angst, Reunions

Read on AO3

Broody,

Listen. We got into a bit of a situation in the Western Approach. Fell tits over ass right into the Fade. I wish I was shitting you. Do you remember those giant spiders outside Kirkwall? They’ve got nothing on fade demon spiders. I have had enough of the whole thing for the rest of my life. Hawke took off with the Wardens to tell Weisshaupt that their whole fighting force is at risk of being controlled like finger puppets by an ancient magister. I got the worse job of telling you where the fuck he was going (Remember, don’t murder the messenger. Who else would get you that wine you like from Tevinter?)

He said not to follow him. Doesn’t want your Broody arse that close to Tevinter, I expect. I’m fully aware you’ll be going anyway. Take the note attached to my solicitor and get some coin to tide you over. Don’t get captured by slavers. Try to lie low.

When you see Hawke - ask him what happened in the Fade. Somebody needs to kick some sense into his ass. You’re the best person for it.

Sincerely, Varric Tethras

P.S. I’m adding the money Hawke lost to me to your gambling debts. Wicked Grace soon?

Weisshaupt appeared as foreboding and desolate as Fenris had expected. 

Sun-bleached stone soared into a clear, burning sky. Walls meant for defense rather than appeal ringed a fortress that looked as if it could withstand an archdemon itself. If Fenris remembered correctly, it had survived at least two. Perhaps three. 

Of course, if Garrett Hawke were there currently, it may soon fall into the blighted land surrounding it. That did seem to be the man’s luck.  And if Garrett Hawke wasn’t there, Fenris would hunt him down, if only to give the man the tongue lashing he richly deserved. 

In truth, Fenris felt uneasy. The Tevinter border at his back reminded him of the last time he’d been so far north. He’d been running then, as fast as he could go, a desperate chase that led to Kirkwall, an empty box, an abandoned mansion and…

And Garrett Hawke. 

Fenris remembered clearly everything that happened after he met Garrett. He had spent hours examining the path he took with a cynic’s wary gaze, looking for the moment it had all changed, the second he stopped running and made a choice. 

A choice that led him here, to the edge of the world, chasing instead of being chased. 

“What business do you have here?” A rough voice barked. It belonged to a woman, old for a Warden, her long brown hair braided neatly down her back. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword on her hip with a warrior’s preparedness. But her stance was casual. Eyes alert and pleasant. There was no whiff of danger here, not for him at any rate. It did not quite reassure him, but there was no reason to reach for the blade on his back. Yet.

“I am here for the Champion of Kirkwall.” He informed the guard politely, wrapping the reins around his fist while he smoothly dismounted. 

The woman rocked back on her heels, a started, humorless laugh slipping from her lips. “The Champion of Kirkwall?” 

Fenris’s heart sunk, but he kept his face impassive. He could not help the way his gauntlets tightened on the leather bridle. “He is not here.” 

“Oh no! The blighted fool is still here. Are you here to take him back to wherever he came from? Cause I’d be grateful, Serah. May even slip some coin in your pocket.” 

Something broke inside him, a fever finally easing. Fenris had been traveling for longer than he wished to recount, and had not allowed himself to consider the end of the journey or who he wished to find there. 

“Where may I find him?” 

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but whatever response she meant to give was cut off by an unholy clatter and what sounded like a small explosion. Her expression darkened and she jerked her thumb to a thin trail of smoke rising above the walls. 

“Wherever there’s trouble, typically.” She sighed. 

Fenris knew Garrett far too well to disagree with that statement. 

The smoke smelled of herbs Fenris recognized, elfroot chief among them, and it was billowing from within a stable of all things. Soldiers, Fenris assumed they were Grey Wardens, stood with various expressions of shock, dismay, and annoyance. 

The nobles in Kirkwall wore the same looks the day Garrett knocked over six of the merchant’s stalls in Hightown. He’d been chasing a dog, who was chasing a street urchin, who was trying to catch a nug with a kitten in it’s mouth. 

Maker only knew how Garrett had gotten roped into the whole thing. 

Fenris simply remembered the chaos unspooling below him from his perch on the steps and that bubble of emotion that rose up in his chest while he chuckled ruefully and Isabela cheered. He hadn’t known what to call that feeling, not then, not watching Garrett retrieve the kitten and present it to the street urchin while the rich nobility stared in bewilderment. 

But when he saw Garrett in the stable doors, waving his arms like a windmill to disperse the smoke, Fenris felt it again. This time he knew its name.  

Joy. 

Knots loosened in his chest. Only to be replaced by a sharp spike of annoyance more than a match for the cloud of irritation hovering around Garrett. 

Except, of course, Garrett was impervious to the mood. He cast his dark eyes around the courtyard, flitting right over Fenris in his search for something. Then, a half second later, sliding back to where he stood. 

“Fen!” Garrett shouted, a joyful grin splitting his face. “You’re here!” 

Garrett bounded away from the smoking door, arms swinging. He wasn’t in armor, wasn’t armed, and a part of that struck a chord that made Fenris both wary and wistful. When was the last time Garrett had abandoned his armor around strangers? 

Garrett stumbled to a stop in front of him, arms out, waiting while his eyes dragged themselves over every inch of Fenris’s lyrium lined face. 

“You’re really here.” Garrett whispered. 

Almost as if he thought he’d never see him again. 

“Yes.” Fenris snapped instead, jerking his chin at the ancient fortress. “I have, once again, followed you to the edge of civilization.” 

At least Garrett had the good grace to look contrite. “I mean. They do have that wine here you like.” 

“It is more easily obtainable this close to Tevinter.” 

Garrett winced. “I told Varric to tell you-” 

“It was too much trouble to write to me with your own hand?” 

That made his lover recoil. Garrett did not grab for him, although he lifted his arm, fingers outstretched in silent plea. “Fen that… that wasn’t it at all. There was an army of demons. Giant spider. Marching across the blighted desert. Griffon eggs…” 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris repeated, incredulous. 

Garrett’s whole face brightened. “Griffon eggs! I swear on the Maker’s hairy asscheeks, Fen, you won’t believe-” 

Fenris swallowed his anger and shook his head. In one movement, he turned on his heel and stomped away from the human with his beaming smile, warm eyes, and new wrinkles from sorrow on his forehead. 

It was always safest to walk away when he did not know whether to slap Garrett or kiss him, after all. 

Garrett found Fenris on the battlements while the sun was dipping below the western horizon. He stood, awkward and yet endearing, cradling a large white object gently in his arms. On second look, it was indeed the largest egg Fenris had ever seen. 

“I should have written.” Garrett murmured. “I… wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

Fenris did not pull his eyes from the pink and orange sky. “That is hardly unusual.” 

Garrett chuckled to himself, shifting his weight from side to side. “Fair. But… it was bad, Fen.” 

He knew it must have been. Varric would not have mentioned it otherwise. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”

“Yes.” Garrett sighed, placing the egg tenderly on top of a crate. He rested one large hand over it before casting a baleful look at Fenris. “But not tonight. Tonight I’m just… I’m just fucking thrilled to see you. Even if you’re fuming.” 

“I am not fuming.” Fenris stated on instinct. 

Garrett grinned. “Ah. Is this brooding then?” 

Fenris’s lips twitched. “I do not brood.” 

“Not even a little bit.” Garrett stepped closer, holding his arms out with a shy, uncertain tip of his lips. “I missed you.” 

Fenris pushed himself away from the warm stone. For a breathless second, the two men looked at each other. Garrett’s eyes shimmered with emotion, an expression torn between longing and hope. 

Fenris stepped into the man’s embrace and allowed himself to be tugged towards his broad chest. His sword rough fingers yanked on Hawke’s hair immediately, scowling into the grinning face. 

“You are a fool, and I am a worse one for loving you.” 

Garrett laughed, ducking down to press an eager kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris closed his eyes, drifting on the sparking heat between them, the way the world settled back into place. Garrett smelled of home, of warm hay, leather, salt and sun. 

They broke the kiss, but clung to each other as Garrett pressed his forehead to Fenris’s. 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris finally asked.

Garrett smiled. “My newest adventure, Fenris. Much better than the last one, I assure you.” 

Fenris simply sighed and melted into his lover’s embrace under the burning sun. As with most of Garrett’s adventures, it would be nothing but trouble.

Fenris found he did not mind much at all.

[bluerose5]

The Precipice of Change: Chapter 1

Rated: T

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Word Count: 4,268

Tags: Male Mage Hawke, Hawke as Inquisitor, DAI Inner Circle, Purple/Flirty Hawke, Canon-Typical Violence, past Male Hawke/Fenris, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Blood & Injury

Summary: The story of Dragon Age: Inquisition, as told if Garrett Hawke were to become the Inquisitor instead.

There's nothing like being the Chosen One for a god that you don't really believe in, fighting to save a world that wants you dead eight out of the seven days of the week. But Hawke makes do. He always does.

Chapter 1:

When Hawke decided to attend the Conclave, it had been out of his heart’s foolish sense of empathy for what Anders used to call “the mages’ plight.” Don’t get him wrong. Garrett wasn’t completely devoid of all sense and emotion. He actively supported mages’ freedom whenever possible, stood up for them over and over again when —for a while there— it seemed as if Kirkwall had nothing to offer beyond blood mages and abominations. Even if he hadn’t factored that in, it certainly wouldn’t do a long-term apostate any favors to support the templars, of all people, but the last thing he had signed up for was this.

The last thing he remembered, he had been roaming around the Temple of Sacred Ashes, hood drawn close to conceal his face. He had been there under the guise of a Circle mage from one noble family or another. A random stranger had mistaken him for this Trevelyan lad from Ostwick, so Hawke had simply rolled with it, figuring that it was better than being recognized as the former Champion of Kirkwall. Not that his possible appearance was much of a secret, given that the Divine’s Right and Left Hands had specifically extended an invitation to him as one of the apostates’ “leaders” or what-have-you.

Still, one could never be too safe.

Anywho, here he was, roaming around the place, minding his own business…

Okay, maybe that was a lie. Hawke may or may not have heard about there being a cheese platter somewhere, and anyone that knew him would know that the mere possibility of there being one was enough to have him searching it out.

It was during his snooping that he came across… something, and then his memory goes blank from there.

Continue Reading Under the Cut...

And now, here he was, waking up in some dark, dank prison. Hurray! It almost reminded him of all of his worst nightmares. Surely any moment now, some Knight-Lieutenant would come barging in with the brand in hand, all serious and dour and ominous looking. They would probably spit on him, call him a filthy apostate for good measure. Can’t forget a nice kick to the gut with those damn boots of theirs. There’s nothing like instilling a decent dose of fear in their bound and helpless captives before lobotomizing them, right? Might as well go the whole nine yards. After they’d have him all bruised and bloodied, then they’d finally follow through and position the brand, its heat radiating along the surface of his skin—

The door to his prison slammed open then, causing Hawke to jolt in shock. His eyes snapped open, but it was hard to see much without squinting into the darkness, his narrow-eyed gaze accompanied by a scowl.

Just as he was getting to the good part, too!

The first woman that strolled in wasn’t anyone familiar, but the second one had Hawke doing a double take. Mind you, her garb was a bit different from the last time they met, but he could hardly forget meeting such a legendary character from the Fifth Blight. What kind of Ferelden would he be, had he forgotten the Leliana herself?

“Sister Nightingale?” he asked, head cocked to the side as he tried to get a glimpse under her hood. A single flash of torchlight upon her face was enough to confirm his suspicions, Hawke’s brain registering a second too late that the “torchlight” was suddenly green and coming from his hand. “Long time, no see. Lovely weather we’re having. How have you be—”

His ramblings were cut short when a mind-numbing, all-consuming pain lanced through his palm. It managed to do the impossible and shut him up for once, a sharp hiss replacing Hawke’s words as he tried to clutch his hand against his chest, only to have his manacles stop his hands in their tracks. He keeled over instead when he couldn’t find the relief he sought, curling in on himself with a breathless wheeze. Each flash of light was an assault on his nerves. It felt like lightning licking through his veins, brutal and relentless.

Muffled words poured in through his ears, but he couldn’t make out who was speaking nor what they were saying. Almost as if he was listening to them speak from underwater.

Just as the pain was becoming too much, black dots now clouding Hawke’s vision, the agony of the mark slowly started to recede. The green light disappeared, and the fire retreated back to his hand. It no longer engulfed his whole body, but simply radiated in his palm as a slow, aching throb.

Once Hawke was able to piece together some semblance of coherence, he gasped out for air. His entire body trembled and threatened to come apart at the seams, but having a sword suddenly pressed against his throat was like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face. He sputtered indignantly, golden brown eyes darting up to the Seeker’s sneering expression.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she snapped, her patience apparently at its end.

Hawke’s head spun in confusion.

“I—” And because the man seemed to have a death wish, he just had to make a smartass comment, didn’t he? “Uh, because of my charming wit and stunning good looks?”

Might as well try for one of his signature smiles.

The second he grinned at her, though, the Seeker’s frown grew impossibly deeper.

Okay, that’s a ‘no’ to the signature smile then. Understandable. Its effects tend to vary, and this lady Seeker already came off as more sensible and sane than most of his former inner circle. Nice to know.

With a hand on her shoulder, Leliana stepped forward and gave her companion a pointed look, to which the Seeker responded with glare.

It took several moments for her to back down, but she eventually did, not without first scoffing at Hawke in disgust.

After she sheathed her weapon, both of them started to circle Hawke, predators waiting for the ideal moment to strike. It made Hawke tense up ever so slightly, his hackles raised and on edge.

“The Conclave is destroyed,” the Seeker continued, as if Hawke had never interrupted her. “Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.”

Wait, what?

Staring up at her in bewilderment, Hawke gaped.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Could you repeat that back for me? Surely, I must’ve heard wrong.”

“I’m afraid that you heard her correctly, Champion,” Leliana stated, her voice deceptively calm, despite the icy layer to her gaze. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes went up in flames. Conveniently enough for you, you are its sole survivor.”

Hawke pursed his lips at what she was implying, but the Seeker interrupted him before he could defend himself.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that you were involved when a holy sanctuary was destroyed in an explosion.”

Okay, now that was a low blow.

“Now, wait a damn minute,” Hawke spat.

The mark upon his hand decided that now was as good a time as any to make its presence known again, flaring bright green in response to his anger. Thankfully, the pain was slightly more manageable this time around with Hawke expecting it, but its mere appearance was enough to send the Seeker’s temper flaring as well.

Yanking at Hawke’s hand, her nails bit angrily into his palm, adding fuel to the already roaring flames.

“Explain this,” she snarled.

Snatching his hand back, he lifted his chin up in defiance as he stared her down.

“Yes, I’ll get right on that, explaining a mark that I know next to nothing about. If anything at all,” he deadpanned.

She took his shirt in hand and hauled him up to his feet until they were practically nose-to-nose, her brown eyes lit aflame with fury. Her hands were clenched tight into white-knuckled fists, Leliana having to step in once more.

“We need him, Cassandra.”

That was all she said on the matter, though. She didn’t even try to stop her as she did last time, lingering more in the shadows.

With a huff, Cassandra shoved Hawke back onto the ground, turning to Leliana with a scowl in place and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Apparently, that was some sort of signal because Leliana took it upon herself to address Hawke again.

“You know what happened,” she accused. “How this all began…”

She trailed off, giving Hawke ample opportunity to fill in the blanks.

“If only I did,” he sighed, but he knew that such a lackluster answer wouldn’t help his case. “Listen, all I remember was that I was in the temple.” Come on, Hawke. Think. “Then next thing I know, something is, uh—” He wracked his memories for the details, only to fall short. “Something was chasing me? Oh, and there was a woman there too, I think!”

Leliana perked up at that.

“A woman?”

Hey, whatever worked.

Hawke nodded eagerly, scrambling for something —anything— else regarding that fact.

“She reached out to me, but then—”

And just like that, the memory slipped. Damn it. Was this sort of what Fenris felt like all of those years ago?

No wonder why he didn’t want to sleep with Hawke again.

“Ugh,” Hawke grumbled, head falling forward in defeat.

Cassandra must have decided then that she had heard enough.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

After the two exchanged a look, Leliana nodded and left. Cassandra took the opportunity then to drag Hawke back onto his feet, giving him little time to regain his footing before she hauled him off. In her haste, he stumbled over himself, but one sharp glare from her stopped his complaint in its tracks. Instead, he focused on staying in step with her, all while the gears started turning in his mind. He might not have ever met Cassandra before in person, but that doesn’t mean that he had never heard of her either.

After all, Varric had warned him that he had people searching for him, and how many Seekers were out there that went by the same name? Clearly not a coincidence.

Then again, when doesn’t Hawke have people after him?

Cassandra must have noticed his staring, eyeing him cautiously in return.

“What is it?”

Hawke really should start thinking before he speaks.

“Oh, I don’t know. From the way Varric described you, I imagined you would be taller, is all,” he chuckled.

The second her expression darkened, he knew that he had fucked up.

“From the way Varric described me?” she repeated slowly, scrunching her nose up at that. “Which means that he had written to you after I took him in for questioning. What a fool I am. I should have known that the dwarf was still contacting you. He insisted that he had no clue where you were.”

Oh, great.

Varric was so going to kill him for this.

“Ah, yes, well you see—”

Usually, he was much better at bullshitting on the spot, but his mind was unfortunately too muddled and dazed at the moment to come up with anything even remotely believable.

“Ugh.” Cassandra rolled her eyes at him. “Save it, and come on.”

That was all that was said before she led him outside, the light blinding enough that Hawke flinched, staggering backwards before Cassandra righted him. As they strolled forward, the commotion outside fell silent, like the calm before a storm. All eyes in the surrounding area turned on them the moment the doors opened, many filled with sorrow, and many more filled with a burning, deep-seated rage. All of which was now directed at Hawke.

He didn’t care, though. His attention was focused on something else entirely. Namely, the massive tear in the sky.

“What is that?”

The sheer surprise in his voice was impossible for even Cassandra to deny, her lips pursed in consideration as she turned to appraise the green, swirling vortex.

“We call it ‘the Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift. Just the largest.” She took a deep, bracing breath. “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“Seeker, I’ve seen the damage firsthand that an explosion could do to a city, and it wasn’t anywhere near this magnitude,” he stated, wondering what the hell kind of nightmare he stumbled upon in the Fade. “The amount of power that would be needed to tear open the Veil itself…”

As if his words had summoned its wrath, the Breach flared brightly, causing the mark to hiss and sputter angrily. White-hot pain shot through him, his words cut off with a gasp. His knees hit the ground, but he couldn’t even feel it compared to the wildfire consuming him from the inside-out.

His ears rang, and his vision blurred.

All sounds were drowned out like before, and it was only when the mark started to calm again that he was able to focus on what Cassandra was saying, kneeling in front of him with a hand upon his shoulder.

“—ch time the Breach expands, the mark spreads, and it is killing you.”

Great, so not a dream then.

“It may be the key to stopping this,” Cassandra continued, “but there isn’t much time.”

Yeah, of course not. When is there ever?

“So that’s it, huh? The infamous Champion of Kirkwall, cleaning up everyone’s messes again?” Or causing a few more than they started out with. Cassandra’s expression remained unimpressed to say the least, causing Garrett to sigh. “Okay, yeah.”

The way hope lit up her face nauseated him, his hand suddenly feeling like a dead weight.

“You will help us then?” she asked, wary and hesitant.

“I’ll do what I can, Seeker. Whatever it takes.” Hawke nodded at her with a bleak smirk. “Although, I don’t share your confidence that this mark will do anything other than more harm.”

“And here I thought that the Champion would be more lively in person. Varric never told me you were so pessimistic,” she joked, helping him to his feet to guide him along.

“You’re only figuring out now that Varric is an unreliable source?” Hawke asked. “If anything, though, the people who usually hurl insults at me would label me a hedonist, or perhaps they call me a heathen. It’s so hard to tell sometimes.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would view your presence as anything less than charming,” Cassandra deadpanned, to which Hawke nodded eagerly in agreement.

“That’s what I keep saying! It’ll forever be a mystery to me.” It was then that he noticed the cold reception he was getting, surrounded on all sides by silent stares. “So… wonderful welcome party you have here.”

Cassandra was quick to jump to their defense on the matter, not that Hawke expected anything different.

“They have decided your guilt,” she explained. “They need it. The people mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars.”

“Perhaps the last chance,” Hawke said, his voice little more than a grave whisper. Cassandra nodded.

“She brought their leaders together, and now—” Her voice broke ever so slightly, but Hawke kindly kept quiet about it. If anyone could understand grief and loss, it was him. “—now they are dead.”

She swallowed thickly, standing taller as she schooled her expression back into its cool, calm, and collected mask. The time to mourn would come later, hopefully when the world was in less peril.

“We lash out like the sky,” she said, “but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

“And after that?” Hawke asked.

Cassandra paused, considering. “We shall see.”

Well, that was promising.

Once Hawke’s hands were unbound, Cassandra explained that they should test his mark out on something smaller than the Breach, which was fine by him considering that he was the one whose life was at risk. They were interrupted more than once on their trek forward by the mark’s sudden flare-ups, and Hawke could swear that he lost consciousness at one point, forcing Cassandra to practically drag him along at her side. He quickly came back to, but the mark was relentless, the pain worsening by the second.

The next time that Cassandra had to pick him up, he smiled apologetically in her direction.

“You know, I always admire a woman who can pull her own weight. And mine, in this case.”

Maker, he was rusty, but he tried to at least recover from his idiotic blunder by winking at her for good measure. She simply scoffed and shook her head in exasperation, rolling her eyes at his antics.

“If that was supposed to be flirtatious, then you failed. Horribly,” she stated, her expression giving nothing away beyond mere annoyance. “I would give you points for the effort, but even that was lacking.”

“My wounded pride,” Hawke sighed. “Perhaps I could—”

He was interrupted when debris from the Breach came crashing down in front of them, blasting right through the bridge they stood upon. Its foundation gave a loud groan of protest, stones crumbling one by one beneath their feet as they both fell to the icy path below them. The guards that were atop the bridge were sent down along with them. When the dust cleared, several were injured, and one of them had even died on impact, weapons scattered all along the ground as they yelled and tried to regroup.

Of course, fate just had a funny sense of humor because it was at that exact moment that demons started sprouting from the ground like daisies in the spring. The Breach was all but spewing them out without a care in the world, so Cassandra had definitely lost her marbles if she thought for a second that Garrett would follow her order to stay back.

Unfortunately, he didn’t really have a staff on hand, nor were there any spare lyrium potions lying around. Use of his magic would have to be scarce then, but he could make do.

Carver wasn’t the only one among the Hawke siblings that had learned how to use a sword. He was simply the only one that had perfected the skill. Malcolm’s knowledge might have consisted of mostly the basics, but it was still better than nothing, both Garrett and Bethany having learned out of necessity. Not only was it a handy defense for when their magic needed to be hidden, but it was also useful to know when faced with enemies who could dispel their abilities. In the end, though, Garrett guessed that it mattered little in Bethany’s case, but he refused to linger on that.

Right. Need to focus.

Scrambling across the ice, Hawke let his adrenaline flow freely, scooping up one of the swords and shields that had fallen in the soldiers’ wake. Right then, a shade manifested behind Cassandra, who was already busy battling with two others. Letting out a roar, Hawke rushed forward and knocked it down while it was distracted. It gave an indignant screech, which instantly grew louder when Hawke slashed at it with his blade. Blackened blood sprayed out from where he cut, but Hawke didn’t have time to consider it as he attacked the demon once again. Now and then, he would use some spells as needed for backup, but he stayed mindful of his pool of mana.

Soon enough, the demons all fell, one by one. The soldiers that could join them in the fray did so at the first opportunity, but many more still needed tending to.

Before Hawke could approach them, Cassandra was already in front of him, fire blazing in her eyes.

“Drop your weapon,” she snapped. “Now.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at her, but he complied nonetheless, the sword and shield clattering to the ground as he waved his fingers at her.

“You know I’m a mage, right? Don’t really need a weapon to be dangerous, so far as everyone else is concerned.”

She sneered at him.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

He shrugged. “Well, no, but I haven’t used my magic on you yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated.

“Listen, are we really going to stand here and argue my horrible word choice all day, or are you going to let me heal your people so that we can continue on?”

“Heal them?” She blinked owlishly at that, as if trying to root out some ulterior motive hidden beneath his words.

“Well, yeah, not all of them took to the fall as gracefully as we did, Seeker.”

Which was saying something, considering how winded and disheveled they both were at the moment.

Eventually, after much appraisal on Cassandra’s end, she stepped aside. What mana Hawke did store was soon directed towards healing those around him. He was no Anders, by any means —thank the Maker for small miracles— but he knew enough healing spells to do some good.

Unfortunately, only a few actually accepted his help, so he didn’t have much to occupy him for long before he and Cassandra needed to head out.

By a surprising turn of events, she approached him after he was finished with the sword and shield that he had used earlier. When she offered it up to him, he hesitantly took it, wondering if this was some kind of trap.

Picking up on his suspicion, she huffed, arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“There were no mages among this lot, so we will be unable to procure you a staff for the rest of the journey. However, I cannot —in good conscience— leave you defenseless against demons, especially since you agreed to do this voluntarily.”

“Yeah, voluntarily. After you had me bound and gagged. Oh, and threatened me with death! Don’t forget that part.”

Cassandra sputtered, then paused, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Hold on a second. We did not have you gagged,” she protested, because obviously that was the worst accusation out of the three.

“Of course you did, and it was only when I broke free of my chains and escaped my dark, creepy, spider-infested prison that I looked upon all of this chaos around me—” Hawke swept his arms out around himself in a grandiose gesture. “—and decided to save you poor, unfortunate souls from mortal peril. Fighting through an entire demon army along the way, with the occasional dragon and ogre thrown in there for good measure, to reach the Breach!”

Cassandra gave a disgruntled sigh.

“I can see why you are friends with Varric, Champion.”

“Yeah, we are pretty amazing, aren’t we?”

Shaking her head at him, even she couldn’t deny how the corner of her lips quirked up the slightest bit in amusement.

“Not the word that I would use.”

They continued on the path from there, their banter occasionally interrupted when demons popped up or the mark flared. It wasn’t too long until they finally arrived at one of the smaller rifts that Cassandra had described, Hawke perking up quite noticeably when he noticed a specific dwarf there. He had no idea who the bald elven mage was, but he figured he would find out soon enough, he and Cassandra joining the fight against some shades and wraiths.

“Hawke?!” Varric yelled out in shock, releasing a bolt into a nearby enemy. “That you, you bloody bastard?!”

“Ha!” Hawke laughed as he covered a shade in ice, only to break it into a million tiny pieces with a slice of his sword. “Do you know any other Champion that’s this devilishly handsome?”

“More fighting,” Cassandra huffed. “Less talking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hawke teased, focusing in on the battle at hand.

Once the final demon was downed, the unnamed mage took ahold of Hawke’s hand without explanation, magic coursing through where their skin touched. It was… strange. Not unwelcome, but almost as if the elf’s magic was guiding that from the mark.

Garrett really didn’t have time to consider it, his palm being thrust towards the rift before he could get a word out.

“Quickly! Before more come through!”

The resulting pain swelled inside him. It grew and grew, large and gluttonous, threatening to rip him apart at the seams. When Hawke prodded at the rift, it felt as if it prodded back, but something in that magic eventually gave way. It pulled and tugged at the edges of the rift, requiring Hawke’s full attention to get the edges to budge. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and his breaths soon escaped in labored gasps. But Hawke knew that, this time, failure wasn’t an option.

He didn’t know exactly how it happened. He didn’t know whether he pulled from the elf’s magic somehow or if the elf intentionally fed his magic into his, but something they did made the damn thing work. Like the last piece of a puzzle finally slipping into place.

With one final burst of energy, the mark snatched the edges together and sealed the rift closed. It was a patchy mess, but it got the job done nonetheless, the Veil scarred where the rift once was.

Tired and exhausted, Hawke didn’t even care how he dragged Mr. Elven-No-Name with him, his legs giving out as they both collapsed back into the snow.

The first one to break the newfound silence was Varric, as eloquent and timely as always.

“Well,” he panted, trying to catch his breath, “shit.”

And on that, Garrett thought as his eyes slipped closed, we can agree.

[yandere-sins]

I seen that you said you was okay with writing for yandere Dragon Age. I’m sorry if I miss understood, but could you write some head cannons for yandere Iron Bull? If not I understand. But I love your writing ❤️

No, you got it right! Just note I am not too familiar with the first two games as I haven’t played them yet, just watched and listened to my friend! But DA:I is alright!

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-«« 

His favorite sight of his darling is you squirming from his touch in his lap. The way you are trapped there because his thighs are way too big for you to easily jump off - and if you try to, he’ll just pull you back on that silken cloth he uses to bind you, which he specifically robbed off someone just to give it to you and will be very angry if it rips in the process - and how you try to shake off his hands when he runs his fingers down your spine, it’s simply delicious for him. If he could, he’d put you into an even more skimpy outfit and put you on show in the tavern, but he doesn’t want to stir a commotion, especially if you react so badly to seeing other people. So he simply enjoys your company alone in a room he specifically asked for since he got you, far away from the hustle and bustle in Skyhold. Luckily, you look so good bound and gagged, though he sometimes misses your voice. All the more he’s happy to hear it later on when he gives you a reason to scream

Overall, The Iron Bull is a rather chill yandere. He laughs it off when you swear at him and spit into his face - it’s nothing he isn’t used to and yours is rather pleasant anyway - though he is not delusional all the way. Surely, he knows you don’t love him but he can sweet-talk almost everything. The spit? A display of affection in your culture. The kicks and struggles? You’re trying to tease him into some bed-action, aren’t you. You could have just said you needed him, but he’s fine either way. Bull doesn’t want to see you as someone trapped in his room, coming close to a slave, but he knows you might not agree with his doings and he’s fine with it. There are no regular punishments and he won’t make a fuss if you don’t like the thing he brought you from a mission - though he will be upset if you destroy it, making him very, very sad. But you will have to get on his good side if you want to get food throughout him being away with the Inquisition, or if you want to stay in that room and not in a cold cellar in the back parts of the dungeons, wind and snow blowing around you without a blanket to hold on, while everyone believes you are a rotten criminal and treats you as such. At least, you have a bit of a choice

Not going to lie, there will be a lot of sex. You behaved badly? Sex. You behaved very good? Sex. Angry sex, frustrated sex, passionate sex, bored sex. You practically are his sex toy to some degree. If you are wise, you spend the few minutes alone and unbound you have to get ready for him and lube yourself up because Maker forbid, he will not. No safeword is going to save you from this and you will learn from the unpleasant experiences. The bit of time and gold he has to spare he likes to pamper you with lace and tie you up, ready for him once he gets back from a drinking spree with the Chargers. You might also double as an emotional outtake depending on his mood, being crushed by his arms as he whines about something or put over his knee if he’s dissatisfied. Sometime he will let you beat him with a stick, and while this is ironical, it also shows you how little you can do against him when you can’t even knock him out with this. Instead, you will only rile you up, Bull being ready to take you for another round of fun once his emotions are back under control

[mllemaenad]

Wizards in Harry Potter aren't liable to be possessed by literal demons from Hell regardless of their good intentions. Furthermore, non-magical people in Harry Potter also have guns, sniper rifles combat planes, tanks, heat seeking missiles, NUCLEAR BOMBS to equalize the fight if a dark wizard starts thinking that he should rule them. The two settings are completely different. Give these advantages to non-magical people in Thedas and I will agree that the Circles aren't necessary.

Hi Anonymous person!

Look. I’m a little perturbed by what you’ve got there, because you seem awfully willing to cause harm to helpless people on the basis of what they might do. But I’ll do this in chunks.

Wizards in Harry Potter aren’t liable to be possessed by literal demons from Hell regardless of their good intentions.

Well. Neither are mages in Dragon Age, largely because ‘hell’ doesn’t exist. I know that sounds flippant, but it’s important. Andrastianism isn’t Christianity, of course, but it does have a Christian aesthetic – more specifically a Catholic one – and the Chantry operates in a world reminiscent of a time when a pope could dominate kings and start holy wars.

That Christian aesthetic is also applied to spirits. Instead of the ‘Seven Deadly Sins’ we have Enchanter Brahm’s five demons: rage, hunger, sloth, desire and pride. It’s a useful game mechanic, absolutely; you can’t have infinite monster designs in a game, and it helps the player figure out what kind of weapons to employ in any given fight. However, as the story goes on it becomes increasingly clear that the Chantry’s view of spirits and demons is simplistic at best and outright wrong at worst.

Spirits embody something that has become important to them. There are many, many more kinds than the Chantry’s sins and virtues lists would acknowledge. There’s a spirit of Command hanging out in Crestwood in Inquisition who just really wants someone to obey its orders for a while. Solas will talk to you about a spirit who embodies an ideal people have forgotten.

Demons seem to be largely spirits who have suffered in some way. We usually don’t know why. Solas’s friend is an obvious example – a spirit who was inexpertly summoned and trapped by frightened mages. It’s also noteworthy that Merrill talks about her ‘demon’ being bound and left over from war. While of course we can’t know exactly what happened there, we can fucking guess, right?

These are all just beings – people. And they’re all from the same place. Not hell, heaven, purgatory or anything like that. They’re from The Fade, which is their home, the source of magic, and was apparently much closer to the rest of the world before Solas and the Veil.

I’ve noted repeatedly that spirit possession is an important part of several cultures, and is often a positive thing. Possessed mages serve as companion characters (Wynne, Anders) and kick some serious arse in battle, and Justice just wanders around in Awakening wearing a corpse and it’s fine.

Of course, no one is saying that possession can’t go wrong. I’ve played the games, and of course my characters have killed both ‘demons’ and ‘abominations’. But. When you say something like ‘demons from hell’ you’re imposing a particular religious view on the story – one that allows you to simply declare that these people are evil and that it’s fine to kill them. We know that it is possible to liberate a possessed mage, and to heal a spirit who has been corrupted. We have seen both those things. But why bother if they’re evil, right? Just lock them up and kill them if things get tricky.

That view is wholly wrong for the setting of Dragon Age. But it is … pretty well on par with the view the Chantry actually expresses. So when you say ‘demons from hell’ I actually think that’s an excellent reason why the Circles should be abolished, because it’s imposing ideas on this situation that are wrong, unhelpful and cruel.

Also. I mean. Also. Yes, I have fought possessed mages in Dragon Age. I have also fought possessed templars. Possessed trees. Possessed bones. Possessed rocks.

If you feel we need to lock up everything that can get possessed, you’re going to have to start with all the people and then move on to all the plants and inanimate objects. If all things can be possessed, then all things need to be locked up. And if all things are inside the prison, couldn’t we just … not have one?

Furthermore, non-magical people in Harry Potter also have guns, sniper rifles combat planes, tanks, heat seeking missiles, NUCLEAR BOMBS to equalize the fight if a dark wizard starts thinking that he should rule them.

Um. Sorry Anonymous person but … what? Have you … read those books? Now, granted I haven’t read them in a while but I have read them. And … I have no idea what you’re talking about.

‘Muggles’ in Harry Potter are usually comic relief, and even the ones that aren’t simple buffoons are depicted as largely helpless against magical attacks of any kind. The British government shows up just long enough to express a heartfelt ‘What the actual fuck?’ at the war with Voldemort before promptly vanishing from the plot again.

All of this … stuff about conventional weapons you’ve introduced has come from your imagination. It’s not how the relationship between Muggles and wizards is portrayed in the novels at all.

In fact, conceptually, I would say that the wizards of Harry Potter are much scarier than the mages of Dragon Age. Tevinter had an empire in Dragon Age, and because they value magic the magisters undoubtedly used it in the fight to obtain that empire. But they were taken down by famine and Blight, and finished off by war. In the series’ ‘present day’ Orlais has achieved the exact same thing as Tevinter with significantly less magic (not no magic, of course, since they will drag their imprisoned mages into battle), and there’s no sense that Tevinter can just zap its way back into power. They are constrained by economics, geography and politics just like everyone else. Magic is useful, but only up to a point.

Now … in Harry Potter, there’s a pretty strong sense that wizards could just take over the planet any time they felt like it. In fact, the back story contains one Grindelwald, who actually did want to take over the world and enslave Muggles. This was not a war between Muggles (who are not supposed to have been able to prevent this) and wizards, but rather an internal schism in the wizarding community. Gindelwald was not defeated by NUCLEAR BOMBS (And seriously – what the hell, is your plan to defeat wizards ‘flatten Scotland’? because that’s what would happen if you tried to bomb Hogwarts. You want to take out Diagon Alley? Congratulations, you just blew up London.), but rather in an old style man-to-man duel with another wizard. In a castle. They were ex-lovers. I’m assuming it was on the ramparts, it was raining and everyone was screaming like Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith.

I haven’t kept up with it, but I am peripherally aware that J K Rowling has said … increasingly weird things over the years, and I’m not attempting to defend any of that. But there was a general … theme in the novels that … most people probably aren’t fascists, and when the fascists come from within it is the community that must take them down. So Muggles are not given much power or agency at all.

This had nothing to do with heat-seeking missiles. Just … what?

Meanwhile, over in Dragon Age the Chantry talks a lot about mages having advantages in battle, but in practice that’s not what we actually see. For a start, non-mages have plenty of weapons that work just fine against magical enemies - swords, spears, arrows, axes. Nobody in Thedas has NUCLEAR BOMBS, mage or not. It’s not setting appropriate. Anders may have been a mage, but he had to rely on explosive material (likely gunpowder) to actually get a significant bang.

Non-mages may also wield enchanted weapons, meaning that they can literally take magic into battle with them. The mage over there is shooting lightning from her fingers? Your sword shoots fireballs. What the hell are you complaining about?

Nor does simply having a weapon in your hand mean that you know how to use it. I don’t know how to use a gun. Someone could give me one, in a crisis, I suppose. But it would only be luck that allowed me to incapacitate an assailant, and I certainly couldn’t fight several. Most ‘ordinary’ people in Thedas won’t have much in the way of weaponry. But likewise, neither will mages. They have magic, but that isn’t the same thing.

How many dead bodies do you need to prove this? The mage who was apparently murdered by villagers in Crestwood, when she went in to try to help them. The mages cut down by the Qunari swords in The Demands of the Qun. The villagers who were going to fucking lynch Rhys and his friends in Asunder.

It feels like you’ve made up a story about how magic works in both of these series that isn’t true to either of them.

Give these advantages to non-magical people in Thedas and I will agree that the Circles aren’t necessary.

So … to be clear, you’re arguing for:

the abduction of and permanent separation of children from their parents

forced conversion to a religion and the suppression of alternative religious beliefs

deprivation of citizenship and the basic rights that come with that

reducing people to a permanent infantile status as wards of a religious institution

permanent surveillance of affected individuals (phylacteries)

execution without trial where deemed appropriate by religious authorities

… because people might get possessed and can sometimes make fire come out of their hands? Well. Okay then. Good to know.

[authorellenmint]

A tug rattled me out of my stupor, my eyes snapping up the translucent line leading out of the reel. I bored into the black tip of the pole, aching for it to pull downward in an arc, but the damn thing remained obstinately straight. Whatever nibbled on my lure must have moved on.

Sniffling, I rubbed under my nose. My entire face bore a sheen of dew from the humidity angling to tip to rain. It felt as if we were swimming in the lake along with the fish thanks to the water clinging to every inch of the boat inside and out. Trying to squeege it away was pointless as more would simply bead up in five or so minutes.

Adjusting the sleeves on my jacket to cover over my freezing fingers, I gazed out across the lake. Only a soft breeze blew through the surrounding forests, a gentle glug-glug bounding into the aluminum sides of the boat. The slow rise and fall with the waves nearly pulled me into a waking dream state, leaving me to not notice how cold the lake became.

“Hey…” the man with one hand at the motor, the other holding his rod steady called out. I twisted on the damp, wooden seat to catch his eye. Drops of water beaded up in his bramble of a black beard creating the effect of decorating him in diamond pearls. The rest of his face was hidden under a trusty fishing cap studded with jigs and hooks.

Blackwall pointed at my fingers nearly hidden below the hems of my sleeves. “You cold?”

“Nah,” I shook my head, rolling my shoulders back, “I’m fine.”

The stringer was light this trip. Apparently, even the fish decided to stay in by the fire on this drizzly autumn day. And I had a shore lunch all planned out too. Well, even if I couldn’t use the six-pack to batter the fish, it’d still be good for warming me up once we got back. Got inside, kicked off the waterlogged boots, nestled our feet by the old wood stove, and rested away the cold.

In the distance, I spied a small log cabin with smoke curling up through the birch trees. Stretching my shoulders, I thought of the warmth wafting off a pile of burning logs. The scent of crackling wood, mulled cider sitting by the hearth, and a hunter’s stew bubbling on the stove filled my nostrils.

“Here,” Blackwall staggered up from the ‘driver’s seat.’ He kept his back hunched over, his body rolling with the lapping waves as he yanked off his coat. Before I could argue, he draped it around my shoulders. His body heat entwined with mine, quickly warming me to the core. Nuzzling tighter to the collar, I reveled in the scent of pine, of motor oil worked into the pores of his hands, of wood ash on the air. Of him.

As Blackwall sat beside me, he cast his lure on the other side of the boat. It kerplunked loudly in the soggy air of the silent lake. The ripples coalesced towards us, expanding with each lap until they washed on past.

“You didn’t have to,” I insisted, rising up higher. Be nice to catch something today so it wasn’t a complete wash.

A soft chuckle rolled in Blackwall’s chest. His bearded features shifted as those weary and cautious eyes softened. “I know. You’re harder than steel.”

“Damn straight,” I nodded, gently laughing at the thought. We worked side by side, both of us bringing in the fish, or game, to fill the supper table. Neither more important than the other. Neither a wilting flower that needed rescuing.

I worried my fingers, Blackwall’s larger coat easily hiding them away inside a sheathe of protective wool. In a soft voice, I admitted, “Thanks.”

He didn’t answer, but I felt his back slide against mine. I stared haphazardly at my bobber, wishing for it to tug under, as Blackwall reeled in and tried casting once more. After his hand circled out to guide the lure to the fish, the palm patted against my knee. Three times it knocked before worrying higher up my thigh.

“This cold already, gonna be a harsh winter. And soon,” was all Blackwall said.

“Yup,” I answered.

Waves lapped against the boat wall. Lunk lunk lunk. I flexed my toes inside my water-resistant boots, the pair of wool socks struggling to keep up.

“Can only mean one thing,” Blackwall said leaning forward to try and catch my eye. But I was too busy reeling in and preparing to cast to look.

As the white and red bobber sailed through the air to land with a plop, I finally gazed over at the man. A smile burned on my face, and I exuberantly proclaimed to the world, “Lots of ice fishing.”

The smile made it through the beard, Blackwall’s free hand locking around mine. He swung the pair together, eyes burning into mine as he answered, “Yup.”

[sassquisition]

Ok so since DA2 is now on the Xbox one, I am finally playing through it again on here so I can actually have a playthrough of inquisition that has my timeline (the keep never works).

!!spoilers for trespasser ahead!!

So I just got the the part where you are first getting Merrill and have to place the amulet on the alter. After doing this Flemeth says “You might have just saved my life.” Well the first time I played this I had already played through inquisition but this line didn’t really ring as significant since it had been a while. This time around, having completed an inquisitor not too long ago and another nearing the end of the game it hit me: could flemeth have know what was going to happen at the end of trespasser?

We all know that Solas basically betrays us and the final scene after the credits goes as basically like this: Solas confronts Flemeth, the have a little chat, Solas says, “I’m sorry,” Flemeth follows it with “I’m sorry too, old friend,” and then we see Solas stabbing her, essentially killing her. Now I’m sure that was a shock to many of us at the time, but what if she’s not really dead? What if Solas didn’t absorb her soul and his own was just awakening?

Since in DA2 Hawke brings the amulet to the alter, Flemeth appears, gives a talk about how the world will fall into the abyss, they both have a destiny, and to not be afraid to take a chance. Then she turns into a dragon and leaves. Relatively normal Flemeth conversation. The destiny she could be referring to for herself could be the eventual awaking of the dread wolf and her death.

Now bringing it back to DAI, unless Solas either knew about the amulet from the fade and destroyed it, odds are it is still sitting on top of the mountain. If it can in fact “save her life” then essentially she could have “died” at the end of trespasser and been respawned through the amulet.

At this point, Flemeth has been in every dragon age game so far and I don’t think the all powerful witch would go down as easily as she did. Knowing her she most likely knew what was going to happen from the start. If she really didn’t die, she could play a very important role in the next game since Solas is trying to “help the elves.” Depending on who you chose, either Morrigan or the Inquisitor drank from the well of sorrows, becoming bound to Mythal (Flemeth’s) will. Could that be the excuse to bring back our beloved inquisitor or morrigan to kick an egg’s ass? Or does Flemeth have an endgame that we still do not yet know about? I guess we will find out in the next game whenever bioware decides to actually work on it.

*Also this is just a theory! I just thought it was strange how they seemed to overlap*

[lesbiankoby]

i have a lot of fucking....dragon age trollhunters au thoughts but im trying to get the mental rpg party in order 

kanjigar was duncan and now he’s dead lmao

jim lake jr:

player character, elf (dalish origin), warden

he’s a rogue with the duelist specialization but im fond of the idea that he’s like, a spirit warrior? spirit rogue? because then he can name his duel spirit daggers (like the inquisition knight enchanter sword) sunlight and eclipse and have this weird....duel class thing going for him 

jim and toby find the mirror but only jim got tainted 

barb is the keeper ? i dunno if jim was the first, though. its an interesting angle but......i dunno....probably just a hunter (and the best chef in the clan, a position he appreciated). 

sylaise vallaslin

toby

warrior, city elf that joined the arcadian clan when his parents died (his grandmother is the halla keeper), ...not a warden? probably not. hm. 

joined jim’s journey to get “cured” of the taint at ostagar, wrapped up in Blight(tm) shit 

WARR HAMMER motherfuckers toby is buff as hell 

did not have his vallaslin yet at the point of leaving. prefers not to discuss this. 

his companion gifts are cool rocks and pulp novels

blinky

dwarf lmao. he’s a lover not a fighter

(he and aaarrrgghh are the bodahn and sandle of the party except aaarrrgghh is also a party member and blinky stays back at the camp and enchants items/ peddles shit maybe?)

he and dictatious both used to be ex merchant class shapers of the stone until dictatious took advantage of blinky’s “theft” of aaarrrgghh (aaarrrgghh is a golem and fully capable of making his own decisions lmao) and political maneuvering to get him kicked out of orzammar

the casteless brand still stings but he’s made a life up here 

blinky and aaarrrgghh got themselves picked up by kanjigar (dwarven, warrior caste, grey warden) and spent many years at his side as his companion.

adopted all these young adult losers 

he’s got a set of like...steampunky magnification goggles with multiple lenses that he switches between, creating the profile of “multiple eyes”. 

companion gifts are history books and things that remind him of orzammar

AAARRRGGHH!!!

the “shale” of the party 

golem who’s been traveling with blinky for a very long time 

they’re married bc blinky isnt a coward 

i think his control rod got picked up by a particularly clever darkspawn in the deep roads for a while (to the point its the only life aaarrrgghh could really remember) until aaarrrgghh broke it? or was hit hard enough as to become self aware again? something 

the ultimate point is he walked himself down into orzammar eventually which kicked off the series of events that left blinky casteless and exiled and running off with aaarrrgghh

eventually he unlocks his own tragic backstory and remembers he was a dwarf named Aarghaumont, once (a casteless criminal that was apprehended and turned against his will into a golem). 

one of his companion gifts is an uncrushable cat 

claire

human blood mage, probably a noble. possibly another warden. 

she’s got some unholy combination of the player character mage origin and morrigan’s plotline going for her i think? mostly bc i suspect the pale lady is flemeth. 

which would make NotEnrique the jowan of the dynamic and, i think? enrique the conner. yikes. 

she.......................................dabbles. but totally knows what she’s doing, guys. 

she’s one of the most promising mages in the tower but whomstever the head enchanter is he doesn’t know what she was up too on the side. 

she likes evil looking magical trinkets and flowers 

angor rot 

i think he’s a spirit of.....something that morrigan keeps bound to the mortal plane lmao

i cant tell if he fills a rogue spot in the group or another mage...?

i dunno im thinking this isnt nearly all of my Thoughts(tm)

might be a qunari 

he likes worry stones and things to whittle with

he was ordered along by morrigan and spends a lot of his time not quietly watching talking to claire, for some reason. 

draal

dwarf! warrior! probably an axe guy tbh. he is a warden eventually.

orzammar dwarf specifically, warrior caste 

has been trying to enlist with the wardens for YEARS but nobody in their right mind would actually do it 

kanjigar would have killed them 

draal blames jim for kanjigar’s death and his recruitment quest is in several parts

he challenges jim to fight him at the proving grounds 

ends up joining the legion of the dead 

ends up ultimately recruited into the wardens FROM the legion of the dead, at the end, reluctantly

not even close to all of it i just like throwing ideas out 

darcy is probably a party member (another rogue? bard?)

[eggoreviews]

My Top 25 Games Advent Day 11 - Dragon Age: Origins (#15)

​​“Let’s show them our hearts, and then show them theirs.”​​

Origins, the first in the incredible tactical RPG series Dragon Age, represents a time in Bioware’s life when they were at the top of their game. Origins is also a brilliantly weird example of how a game can age like cheese in some areas, but other aspects are still masterclasses in video game developing. In a way, Origins shaped my interest in gaming when I was younger and gave me a truly unforgettable experience. So below the cut, I’ll be reviewing this game ten years on, with the least amount of bias I can manage. No promises though.

My first experience with what I feel is one of the best fantasy RPG series ever made was watching my dad play it when it first released, which I probably definitely shouldn’t have been doing (I have an oddly overriding memory of my dad forcing me to put a cushion in front of my eyes when Morrigan got a lil nakey). But the reason I watched everytime he played was because of how easily invested I became in the story, the characters, the setting. And that only amplified once I got to play it myself.  Everything was so well thought out and executed, for a game in 2009, this is literal perfection. But it’s not 2009 anymore. So how much of that still holds out?​​

​​As I just mentioned, the story, characters and overall world-building in this game is phenomenal. From start to end, Origins weaves an excellent story of the disgraced order of the Grey Wardens, who are tasked with besting the Darkspawn uprising, despite the world’s hatred of them due to the wrongful blame of the king’s death. Your own customisable character also has an interchangeable race and background, giving you a multitude of options for kicking off your adventure in plenty of unique ways, which all converge in you joining the fabled Grey Wardens before everything goes to shit. On your journey to unite a divided world in fighting with you and eventually taking on the Archdemon, you encounter a band of lovable, subtly developed and most importantly real characters that enhance the experience far beyond what I expected. I know everyone stans Dorian and Iron Bull these days, but honestly, nothing surpasses this original cast for me. Alistair, your fellow Grey Warden trainee (and in the end, rightful king of Ferelden) is an absolute blast of a character, seamlessly blending scathing humour that never fails to get a laugh whilst also being a deeply emotional and damaged character. Morrigan, the cynical, sarcastic witch who can turn into a bear, while a series mainstay at this point, I absolutely love her in this game in particular. Later on, Leliana, the Orlesian bard with a wicked sense of humour and a good heart, is still one of my absolute favourite video game characters, as well as the stoic Qunari Sten, the motherly mage Wynne, the golem who’s fed up of everyone’s shit: Shale, the heavily drunk/emotional dwarf Oghren and my favourite big ol gay cheeky rogue Zevran. There’s a cast here to rival the Fellowship of the Ring, and they really do come alive in their random conversations with each other and each of their growing individual relationships with your character. On top of this, each character and each race you convince to join your cause all have a genuine impact on how your final battle plays out, making your climactic encounter with the Archdemon all the more unforgettable. And the world of Ferelden itself from the Dwarven city of Orzammar to the forests of the Dalish Elves, are all vibrant, well-established settings and everything feels unique. The amazing thing about the world of Ferelden is that the developers acknowleged they didn’t have enough to fill an entire open world, so they didn’t make one. They didn’t waste the player’s time with pointless, empty space just to pretend that they’ve given you an open world, which is a lesson some developers today still need to learn: just because you’ve given your player an open space, your game can still be empty if you don’t fill it with life.​​

​​However, now I have to put my heavily tinted nostalgia goggles aside and acknowledge that one of my favourite fantasy games has, in fact, not aged brilliantly in some aspects. I still maintain that the characters, narrative content and world you explore are absolutely incredible, but coming back to this game ten years on didn’t yield great results in other areas. While the world itself doesn’t waste your time, random encounters with Darkspawn between areas become a little bit of a ballache after a while and were clearly intended as repetitive padding. And while I love the sheer scale of the amount of spells and abilities you can equip each character with, the combat as a whole feels properly, properly stunted these days. For a tactical RPG, it all just feels so janky and slow, but I maintain that this was great for the time it released. And because combat is one of the main gameplay elements, it makes playing through the game today a lot more wobbly than I remember.​​

​​So there you go, it’s clear that the series, as well as gaming as a whole, has come along leaps and bounds since Dragon Age’s first entry. In the years following, Inquisition has swept the series up from its drop in quality in Dragon Age II, yet again creating a memorable cast of characters and a great fantasy adventure, now updated with much better graphics and combat mechanics. But here’s the thing, I still high-key prefer Origins. No disrespect to Inquistion, I think it was great, but there’s just something about this fresh, original adventure that blew me away when I first played it and I never quite felt the same way about Inquisition or the characters it created. For every Dorian and Sera, there was also a Blackwall and a Solas, giving an unfortunate mix of great characters and not so great ones. Put on top of this a villain I literally gave zero shits about and the fact that they absolutely butchered my favourite character Leliana by making her lose all her charm and character in favour of yet another grumpy, stoic warrior person, Inquisition did not reach the same heights as the first entry, at least in my eyes. And I get the feeling that the impact this game left on me still informs a lot of my game choices today, as well as inadvertently some of my own creations. I really don’t think it’s a stretch to call this gaming’s Lord of the Rings.​​

​​Standout Moment Award: Predictably, the finale. The culmination of every party member, every army you’ve recruited along the way makes an ending that’s epic, satisfying and terrifying in equal measure.​​

Standout Character Award: Leliana. The strong yet playful, cheeky yet unwaveringly just bard quickly became my favourite character and this incarnation of her is still one of my faves to date.

​​Tomorrow: No. 14; A heartfelt coming-of-age story, with the minor addition of a murderous legion of elves.

[ass-sass-sin-archived-blog]

11

Codex Prompts

11.  Your OC’s description of their game’s events

Several sheets of parchment are found stuffed in Talon’s old desk, folded and starting to yellow with age.  The writing is hurried, as though the author were trying to get the words down on the page before they could escape, even more so as it went on.  Spelling mistakes litter the pages, dated 9:65 Dragon.  (Under cut for length.)

Look.  I ain’t no story teller.  That’s Varric’s job.  But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this shit, is that history gets rewritten to suit whoever damn well wants to be in charge.  Or just conveniently forgotten entirely.  I ain’t stupid, and everyone knew from the beginning that if that damn dwarf ever wrote a book on this shit, no one’s gonna believe it.  I don’t care if no one reads this, or if you use it for fire kindling, but at least it’s out and written down.  That is what matters.  Maybe then I can process it.  It feels like a lifetime ago and I guess in a way it is.

I woke up a prisoner, swords pointed at me, and with a killer headache.  Kinda figured I got wasted and fucked up big time, which really wouldn’t have surprised me none.  Nah, that ain’t it though.  There were peace talks going on at the Conclave, Temple of Sacred Ashes.  Mages and Templars trying to sort out their differences and stop the fucking war between them that caught up the rest of Southern Thedas in it.  Turns out the entire thing went up in flames (figuratively I think, literally, it was an explosion) and that caused this giant hole in the sky that shat out demons everywhere.  Tore a hole in the Veil.  I wound up with this fucking glowing green mark on my hand (later we called it the Mark or the Anchor, why the Anchor, fuck if I know) and turns out that (surprise) this weird magicky shit can fix things.

Didn’t know that off the bat though.  First day I was awake Cassandra took me to show me what happened, ended up meeting Solas and Varric along the way.  Solas “had a feeling” the Mark could close the rift we were dealing with (Oh yeah, there were OTHER smaller holes in the sky that were also shitting demons everywhere, real fun time let me tell you- not) which surprise, it could.  (Explanation later.)  Also important note the Mark was trying to kill me because ~magic~.

Decide “oh, let’s use that to seal the Maker’s asshole (the Breach) that’s currently shitting demons everywhere even though you just woke up” which amazingly worked.  Woke up, apparently in three days I went from being blamed for the Divine’s death (ok so just because I’ve killed a lot of people even prior to this doesn’t mean she was on my hit list, rude fucks) to being named the fucking Herald of Andraste.  My name’s not Harold, it’s Talon.  Which was bullshit and I knew it even then, but nooooo religious fanatics have decided that THAT was who pulled my dumb ass out of the Fade.  Alrighty.

Cassandra Pentaghast and Leliana (later Divine Victoria) start the Inquisition again.  I think they’re both insane, because they kept asking my help to run shit.

Anyways, there’s this issue with the mages rebelling against the Circles and the Templars basically had gone rogue.  We needed help properly sealing the Maker’s asshole (because apparently the first time was only a temporary fix?) and oh yeah we were declared heretics by the Chantry.  Apparently they only do that to organizations and not individuals, because I’m surprised they took so long declaring me one.  Whatever. 

Asked the mages for help.  Decided to power up the Mark and see what happened.  Little catch though, turns out that Venatori (Vint cultists) “took in” the rebel mages.  Long story short there, head Venatori dude threw me and Dorian Pavus (really awesome guy) a year forward into time, we got back to regular time, and kicked his ass and sealed the Breach.  Don’t ask details, I don’t fucking know.  I’m no mage.

Apparently that pissed off the darkspawn wanna be god named Corypheus who was the mastermind behind the Conclave explosion (if you could call him a mastermind).  He and the Templars and Venatori attacked Haven and caught us by surprise, the others got out while I dumped a mountain of snow on them, apparently everyone thought I died.  Surprise motherfuckers, I didn’t.

Find Skyhold because Solas used his super elfy senses to find the place (for real though, Skyhold’s a pretty great place, well defendable and it’s a fucking castle), set up base camp there and get ourselves situated.  Save Crestwood from undead (almost as bad as darkspawn I’m telling you), meet more awesome people, blah blah blah, Inquisitor to the rescue again.  Oh yeah, I got named Inquisitor, that was not fun.  You’d have thought we talked about that before, but nah man.  Guess not.  “Surprise, you have two titles and no last name, congrats” ok then.

Met Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.  Awesome guy, great drinking buddy.  Wardens are disappearing, followed that trail to Adamant Fortress.  Turns out Corypheus was manipulating the Calling and freaking them all out and somehow that translated into “let’s make a demon army with blood magic”.  And I thought I made bad decisions.  Kicked ass, stopped the ritual, fell into the Fade.  Again.

Going into the Fade isn’t fun, don’t do it.  0/10, would not recommend.  Find out the old Divine, Divine Justinia saved me not Andraste (surprise everyone, I was right it wasn’t Andraste) and the Wardens were using her as a sacrifice or something so Corypheus could enter the Black City and claim godhood.  Dude’s seriously delusional.  Warden Stroud stayed behind to hold off the demons letting us escape at the end of it all.  

Other note, formalities suck ass, parties more, and Orlesians the most.  Usually Josephine Montilyet is the one who dealt with that shit (especially after I told someone apparently important to go fuck a nug) but no, gotta have the Inquisitor at the parties.  Oh yeah, Orlais was also in a civil war because Gaspard wanted Celene’s throne.  Slimy bastard.  Anyways turns out there was an assassin in the group ready to dispose of Celene, turned out that assassin was Florienne her cousin.  Fun shit, seriously.  Assassins, that I can do.

Blah blah blah, sealing rifts, going dragon hunting, helping the little people and flipping off nobles, same shit different day.  Good times, kinda.

Elfy things.  Always with the fucking elfy things.  I like elves more than the next guy probably, but damn.  So much elf shit to sort through.  Turns out Fuckface Mcgee (that’s Corypheus, keep up) is wanting some shit at an old elfy place.  Alright, cool.  Wind up in the Arbor Wilds, searching for the Temple of Mythal.  Also something something red lyrium is bad shit, don’t do it.  Anyways, wind up there, run into some old ass elves.  Kick ass together, had to drink the Well of Sorrows or Corypheus gets his hands on it.  Apparently this holds a shit ton of old elven knowledge collected over the years and drinking binds you to their god Mythal who’s seen as a protector.  I wasn’t touching that shit thanks, pushed Morrigan in since she was so eager.

Not entirely sure what all Morrigan learned, not sure I wanna know honestly.  Anyways she learned how to turn into a dragon and is now bound to her mother (Who’s kinda Mythal?  Don’t ask I don’t really know.).  I want to be a dragon damnit.  

Get dragged back down south to the Frostback Basin.  Apparently the last Inquisitor’s last known location was there and we get to go searching for him.  It seemed like it could be useful and fun.  It wasn’t fun.  Meet friendly Avvar who were really nice, allied with them, turns out there’s this fortress with a gate encased in impenetrable ice.  Still wondering how they got supplies in and out of there really, never did sort that out.  Took care of that with some really awesome ancient Tevene tech that I wanna poke at more, and apparently Inquisitor Ameridan is 

1.  An elf2.  Had set out to slay Hakkon.

Guess what Hakkon is.  A god.  Specifically, a dragon-god.  Got the whole “by the way, I barely was able to contain him with my magic you can do the honors because I was too weak have fun” speech before Ameridan died.  Did that.  Went to the Deep Roads.

The Deep Roads fucking SUCK.  I am from Ferelden, I lived there through the Blight, my hometown was destroyed during it, I’ve seen more than my share of fucking darkspawn by the time I was 10.  No thanks.  Met Shaper Valta who’s really smart and the Legion of the Dead, we kept going deeper and deeper into the Deep Roads dealing with darkspawn.  Yuck.  Turns out the earthquakes jeopardizing the lyrium mines (which is why we were called, to secure this) was being caused by a Titan.  Who woke up or whatever it is they do.  Surprise, lyirum is Titan blood and this thing’s attacking us and shit and gotta kill it.  Alrighty.  Did that.

Kicked Corypheus’s ass.  Soundly.  We’ve defeated an actual god and not a raving lunatic, a Titan, and a shit ton of dragons.  This shit was in a bag.  Problem solved.  Except not.

Fast forward 2 years, no one’s happy with us.  Ferelden wants us disbanded, Orlais wants us to be “honor guard of the Divine” who ended up being our old spymaster Leliana.  Told them to go fuck themselves.  Uncover a Qunari plot to blow up the whole Winter Palace, deal with that and another dragon.  Run into Solas who disappeared after the battle with Corypheus.  Turns out he gave the orb to him because ~reasons~, elven gods are all assholes, and oh yeah got to go into the Crossroads (which is like a really weird world between worlds?) and yeah.  Solas is also apparently the elven god Fen’harel.  Surprise.  Lost my arm because the mark was trying to murder my ass again, and from what I’ve been told I stormed into the Exalted Council, threw the book at the Orlesian rep’s face (with surprising accuracy considering how wasted I was) and told them I’m disbanding the Inquisition and they can all go fuck themselves.

Best drunk decision ever.

And that’s the jist of what happened with the Inquisition.

[ageofdragon]

Author: @vanhelsing019 Game: Dragon Age Inquisition Couple: Romance, Male Adaar/The Iron Bull Warning: Violence and slight Torture Notes: So posting this with permission. Vanhelsing019 did an awesome fic for my Adaar a while back before Inquisition even came out and is basically his take on the background for my Adaar (though Kaas has had a few changes, like for one being a Dorian and Bull romance). I decided to post this, since I want to write that family fic for Adaar and in order to do so, needed a public reference of his background. I might do my own take on it later, but for now this works perfectly. And I want to thank Vanhelsing019 just for being awesome, as a person and a writer, and allowing me to share this!

Askaas struggled against his bounds, the rope cutting into his skin and the bark from the tree he was tied to, leaving burning scratches on his back.

“You can struggle all you want, Saar Vashedan, you will not escape those bonds.” jeered the Arvaarad, “Saarebas, make sure to drain away all magic from this bas!”

Askaas had decided to take a stroll along the river his mercenary group had been camping next to. He did not, however, expect to run into a Karataam of his people who followed the Qun.

Askaas’s staff was a dead giveaway as the Arvaarad yelled “Bas Saarebas!!” and the void broke loose. He was able to encase one of his attackers in a pillar of ice, impaling another on a collection of stalagmites and finally set another aflame, before he felt his strength drain from him.

He looked to his sides, seeing two Qunari mages casting their spells at him. The one had a miasma of black and neon blue swirling around his palms as he drained away Askaas’s mana, while the other had a purple entropic cloud around him, siphoning away his strength.

They overpowered him easily after that and Askaas now found himself tied tightly to a tree. “Vashedan, you thought you could defeat those who follow the Qun?” said the Arvaarad, punching Askaas in the face.

“At least I have free will! I do not follow a tyrannical religion, and what I’m told like some Imekari-raas!” Askaas spat, earning him another blow to the face.

“You will watch your tongue, Dathrasi, or I will cut it from your mouth!” yelled the Arvaraad as he drew his blade and held its tip near Askaas’s cheek. The young mage recoiled, turning his face away from the blade. He acted fearless and defiant, but in truth he was terrified. The Qunari Arvaraad was an abnormally large being and the large blade he wielded made him seem even more intimidating.

 Askaas’s breathing became rushed and heavy as he felt the blade press against his cheek with an increased pressure. “What’s the matter, Vashedan?” taunted the Arvaraad as he bent down, bringing his face level with his, “No more remarks from that treacherous mouth of yours?” he smiled, the other Qunari laughing at his taunting.

Askaas called upon his power, channeling it to his mouth and spat in the Arvaraad’s face, hitting him in the eye. The large Qunari stepped back, yelling and holding his hand over his eye while the sound and smell of flesh sizzling moved through the air.

Askaas smiled, the acid spit spell having worked, but his small triumph was short lived as another of the Qunari kicked him full force in the stomach. He doubled over as far as his restraints allowed, fighting the feeling of nausea that wanted to overwhelm him.

“Ashkost kata, Dathrasi!” yelled the Arvaarad, a searing burn across his right eye and cheek. “Saarebas-raas, I told you to make sure all magic was drained from this beast!” he yelled, whipping out a control rod and pointing it to the Qunari mage. The Saarebas grunted in pain, forced to his knees as a lyrium blue light encased his body.

As soon as the glow ceased, he got back to his feet and its hands flared with spirit magic once more. Askaas felt the fatigue move through his body, all vestiges his magic being drained for a third time. The young mage caught sight of the angered Arvaarad withdrawing a small dagger from his belt along with a vial of pink liquid.

“No! No please!” Askaas pleaded, trying to back up against the tree behind him. He utterly feared magebane. He had the unpleasant experience of being injected with it once and suffered an excruciatingly bad reaction to the poison. It was not fatal, but his veins felt like they were on fire for days afterwards.

“Begging will bring you no mercy, Dathrasi!” growled the Arvaarad, while pouring the contents of the vial over the dagger’s blade, “If the Saarebas cannot perform his duties then I will rectify the problem.” Arvaarad grinned cruelly, before plunging the entire blade into Askaas’s leg.

“Aaaargghh!!!!” Askaas yelled as searing pain spread from his leg and all the way through his veins and arteries, his breathing becoming heavy and erratic when the poison reached his heart. He chanced a glance towards the Saarebas who was no longer maintaining his draining spell. Askaas gave him a pleading look only to receive another fist to his cheek.

“A true Saarebas’ loyalty lies only with the Qun. Unmoved by the demonic whispering of a Bas Saarebas” boomed the Arvaarad’s voice.

“Hm, Saar Vashedan like you, are not worthy of such remarkable horns.” said the large Qunari, grabbing hold of Askaas’s left horn. Askaas’s eyes widened as he felt the Arvaarad starting to pull on it, “Restrain his head.” said the Arvaarad, causing his burning heart to beat faster within his chest.

Two Qunari came forward, grabbing hold of his jaw and the back of his head. “Cutting these from you is far too merciful for one who has rejected the ways of the Qun,” said the Qunari while giving his horn another tug, “And they would only soil and blunt my blade,” he began pulling harder “Try not to move too much, this might sting a bit.”

Askaas bit on his lip trying to stifle the screams he felt building inside his chest, as the Arvaraad increased his pulling on his left horn. Blinding pain coursed through his head and face as the cracking of what sounded like wood and bones breaking started echoing through the air. Askaas’s mouth filled with the familiar taste of copper as he drew blood from biting his lip.

There was a final crack, before the warm feeling of blood flowing down his face accompanied the searing, throbbing pain around where his left horn used to be. Tears streamed down his face, his whole body tense from the onslaught of pain coursing through every nerve.

Askaas watched helplessly as the giant Qunari lifted his massive blade overhead, before swinging it down towards him…

Askaas shot up from his bedroll with a loud gasp, his skin cold and covered in sweat, while his heartbeat was erratic and his chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths. He slowly felt over the ragged end where his left horn once was whole, while the other hand felt the scar in his right thigh.

All too sudden, the memories of his nightmare and past experience flooded his mind, releasing tears which flowed down the existing trails that already stained his cheeks. Askaas pulled his knees against his chest and buried his face between them, letting his silent sobs wrack his slender body.

He hoped none of the others were able to hear him. What would they think of him if they knew their leader could be brought to tears by a mere dream?

Outside, though, a very large Qunari felt his heart clench with worry when his ears picked up the distressed sniffles and whimpers coming from the Inquisitor’s tent. This has not been the first time he has heard these sounds coming from Askaas’s tent. He once heard the silent sobs coming from his room back at Skyhold, when he was patrolling the halls.

“What you waiting for? Go see if he’s alright.” Sera’s voice sounded beside Iron Bull.

“I don’t want to distress him any further, Sera, you know how he… how I affect him.” Bull replied.

“I told you it’s nothing personal, you daft tit.” said Sera, placing her small hand gently on his large muscular arm.

He clenched his fist as he recalled the series of events Sera had told him happened to his… their Inquisitor. After that it had all made sense, why Askaas, despite being a powerful and skilled mage, had always seemed to cower into a corner or look as bewildered as a frightened halla whenever he approached him.

“You care for him, yeah?” said Sera, snapping him out of his reverie. “he fancies you too, you know.”

A faint blush spread across the giant’s face, “How is it possible to fancy someone who frightens you?” he asked solemnly.

“I don’t have to fancy men to know you are one fine looking piece of ass, and Askaas knows this as well, if the conversations between him and Dorian are anything to go by,” she smiled reassuringly. “He needs someone who will be there for him, especially now.” she informed after they heard a soft sob coming from his direction. “He needs YOU.”

“What if he shies away?”

“Show him he has no need to.”

Bull gave a contemplative look in the direction of the Inquisitor’s tent. “Go make sure he’s alright, you big lug.” she smiled reassuringly, causing Bull to smile and turn around, making his way towards Askaas. “You old softy.” she chuckled to herself.

Iron Bull paused for a moment outside the tent, doubt creeping into his mind which was quickly expelled when he heard another sob behind the cloth. He silently entered the tent, finding the young Qunari mage huddled in a sitting fetal position, whilst his slender body shook with his silent sobs.

“Askaas?” said Bull, his voice barely above a whisper. Askaas’s shaking ceased and he slowly looked up, his distraught eyes locking with Bull’s concerned gaze. “Everything alright, big guy?” Bull asked, mentally kicking himself. Of course it wasn’t. One does not simply cry if nothing’s wrong.

Askaas shook his head, his lower lip trembling slightly before he buried his face and his silent sobs shook his frame again. “Shhhhh… It’s alright, precious one,” Bull said trying to sound as reassuring as possible, placing his hand on the young mage’s shoulder, causing him to tense briefly before relaxing and leaning into the touch. “I am here for you, always.”

Bull was slightly caught off guard when Askaas lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the giant Qunari, his fingers digging uncomfortably into Bull’s back, but Bull didn’t care. His Inquisitor needed him and there for him he would be.

He gently wrapped his strong arms around Askaas’s slender body, softly rubbing his back and soothingly stroking the back of his head, where the mage’s face lay buried in the crook of his neck. Bull felt hot tears wetting and running down his collarbone as, “I-I’m s-sorry” Askaas’s muffled words sounded against Bull’s neck while he shook with sobs.

“What on earth for, precious one?” Bull asked, while rubbing his large, calloused hands gently over Askaas’s back.

“F-for being s-so w-w-weak”

“Listen to me, precious one,” Bull pulled him closer, “tears are not a sign of weakness, you hear me? Do not let any arsehole tell you otherwise.” said Bull, placing a soft kiss against Askaas’s temple. “I promise you that as long as I breathe, my strength will be yours to draw upon when you feel yours waver. My shoulder there for you when you need one to cry on. My ears here whenever you need someone to talk to…” he placed another kiss on his temple, “… And if you’ll have me, my heart is yours to keep, now and forever,”

Askaas looked him in the eye as his lips formed a happy smile amidst his tear stained cheeks, and leaned his head up to give Bull a soft kiss on the lips as reply. “Will you stay with me tonight? I-I don’t wish to be alone.”

“But of course, precious one, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bull smiled, holding Askaas tightly against him as they lay down and pulled the numerous furs over them. It was not long before Bull found the young mage sound asleep in his strong arms, his breathing deep and peaceful, and its hypnotic rhythm soon sent bull to sleep as well.

[scottishvix]

Dream World Part 1: Arrivals

I’ll admit it - I can’t write one offs. This was never likely to be a one shot. It’s the first part of (hopefully only) four parts of my fictionalised, fleshed out dream I posted earlier in the week. It features (in no particular order) @thesecondsealwrites, @slothquisitor, @littlesnowarrow, @sarcasmfish, @trulycertain and me!

Thank you so much to all my lovely fellow writers who let me pester them for details about their routines and potential reactions. They were all brilliant, hilarious and so different. Thank you for helping me have the best fun I’ve had writing since I started my degree. You guys are the best.

1. Saibrarutherford

As usual, at 5pm Saibra was startled out of her focus by the Dark Solas theme blasting an alarm out of her phone – a tone chosen precisely for the for its attention-grabbing power. She pushed back her desk chair, rolling the kink out of her neck. She’d spent all afternoon typing up her handwritten client notes and catching up with her accounts, and her brain felt fried.

A quick whistle drew Mischief out from her hiding spot under the footstool and Bear followed more in hope than expectation as they made their way down to the kitchen. She was lucky, and today was one of the afternoons Mischief chose to swallow her pills without a fuss rather than poke them back out and attempt to hide them in her beard.

With another half hour before she needed to start on dinner she had time to set up a backup of her files and a have a quick check of Tumblr. By this time the American contingent would be up, having lunch, and might have posted some interesting things. Just as she was reaching the top of the stairs she was almost blinded by a brilliant flash of green light. Blinking her vision clear, she bounded up the last two steps to swing into the doorway of the study and stopped dead.

Standing looking stunned and dishevelled was Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition.

“Mhac na galla,” she whispered slumping hard against the doorframe. She could feel Bear quivering behind her, but Mischief pushed past to sniff curiously at the stiff leather boot of the man who had somehow appeared in the middle of her office. He glanced briefly down at the small dog snuffling around his foot, before looking back up to Sai.

“Please don’t tell me he sent me somewhere they don’t speak Common?” he begged, eyes wide and worried.

“I speak English,” she answered quietly, “it just isn’t expressive enough for finding my favourite video game character in my study.” She crouched to give Bear a reassuring scratch behind the ears. “I’ve finally cracked, haven’t I? I was sure it would happen eventually. I’m crap at managing my stress levels. Am I going to find Garrus in the lounge? Or is the TARDIS going to appear in the garden?”

Cullen gave a half hearted little smile. “I don’t know what most of that meant, but I really am here. Wherever here is.” He glanced around the room in bewilderment, taking in the laptop, printer, shredder, even the desk lamp.

Mischief, with her unerring sense for dog people, was tired of being ignored and bounced up to plant her paws firmly on his calf. Sai watched warily as he bent to scratch under her chin. The little Schnauzer wouldn’t be able to interact with a figment of her mistress’s imagination, would she? Sai stood, and took a few faltering steps towards him. Cullen straightened and simply watched silently as she approached. She raised trembling fingers and traced them along the cold metal of his breastplate, up across the thick fur of his collar and then, ever so slowly, raised them to the solid, warm flesh of his cheek.

“How?”

2. Littlesnowarrow

It had been a good walk, Snow decided, as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. The sun had been out, Fionna had been relaxed. She always enjoyed their late afternoon walks when she had finished work for the day.

Just as she put her key in the lock, there was a flash of bright green light from under the apartment door. Snow froze for an instant until her mother began screaming. She wrenched her key round and burst through the door.

Snow barely took in her mother’s shrieking form, or that her stepfather was tumbling (still half asleep) from the bedroom. All her focus was on the wary-looking red-headed woman standing in her hallway.

“Leliana!” she shrieked, overlaying her mother’s terrified tone with her own delighted one. Dropping Fionna’s lead she leapt forward to embrace the confused bard. Then she pulled back, still holding Leliana’s arms. “Wait, you’re really here? Creators, you’re here! Wait, but you shouldn’t be here, you’re fictional. But you’re here. How? But this is amazing!”

“Snow, who is this?” her mama asked, still clearly nervous.

“Please,” Leliana, interrupted. “I don’t understand you. Do any of you speak Common?”

Snow took a deep breath. She hadn’t realised she’d been babbling away in Catalan, and her mother’s screaming had been in Spanish. Of course, Lily wouldn’t understand either of them. “Mama, Papa,” she replied to her mother in Spanish, “this is Leliana, from Dragon Age. She’s really nice, I promise.” Switching to English, she turned back to Leliana. “I speak… Common. I’m Snow, welcome to our home. Creators, how are you here?”

Leliana smiled her warm smile. “It’s a long story…”

3. Slothquisitor

Sloth ran a hand through her long blonde hair before reaching into her backseat for her bag. It had been a long week and there was still one more day before the weekend. And she really should try and do some grading this evening.

Still, it was nice to be coming back to her new house. That novelty wasn’t wearing off anytime soon. Mark would be home in a while and maybe they could snuggle on the couch with a movie while she worked.

As she closed the front door behind her, there was a sound. What the hell? Mark wouldn’t be home for over an hour yet and his car hadn’t been in the driveway. Glancing towards the source of the noise, she saw someone getting off her couch.

She screamed and whirled to run, smacking face first into the closed door. Lying stunned on the floor, she had to blink the stars from her eyes. As her vision cleared, a familiar figure bent over her. “Well, shit, Banshee, you okay?”

Sloth scrambled upright. Sitting with her back pressed against her front door, she stared at the short man standing in front of her clutching her copy of The Great Gatsby. Slowly, she took in the ponytail, the chunky silver jewellery and lingered for a moment on the copious chest hair. “Varric?”

The dwarf smiled. “Good, you have heard of me. Have I got a story for you…”

4. Thesecondsealwrites

Seal grinned at the dogs grudging her every bite of her lunch as she listened to the BH tell her about his morning. She felt good about the amount of writing she had done on her novel before lunch. After editing the second of the two old novels she was planning on self-publishing it was good to get back to actual writing. This time she wasn’t even experiencing the worry that she had forgotten how to write that she’d had when she had finished her edit of the first.

Practical as ever, when a flash of green light exploded in her kitchen, her first reaction was to check on the two frantically barking dogs. Looking up, she barely raised an eyebrow to see the rumpled and gawping Sera standing in her kitchen, plaidweave leggings clashing horribly with her kitchen walls.

“I’ll call you back,” she told her husband before hanging up on him. “Hello, Sera,” she told the elf. “Give me a minute and I’ll be right with you.” She dragged the dogs to their kennels and took a moment to calm them before returning to her kitchen.

It was the work of a moment to put the kettle on to boil and while she was waiting for the water to heat, she laid some cookies on a plate and took it over to the table. “Sit down and help yourself,” she ordered the uncharacteristically quiet rogue pulling mugs out the cupboard. “They’re chocolate chip.” Tea made, she sat herself down opposite Sera.

“I just have to call my husband back,” Seal told her guest, picking her cellphone back up. “He’ll be worried.”

The BH answered on her first ring. “Seal, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“We’re fine. Can you pick up some extra food on your way home tonight, Sera’s here.”

“Sera?” He sounded adorably confused. “The only Sera I can think of is the one from Dragon Age.”

“Yes, that Sera.” Seal was matter-of-fact.

“Seal, you know she’s not real, right?”

“Yes, I know she’s not real but she’s sitting at the kitchen table. I love you.” She turned to Sera. “Right, why don’t you tell me all about it?”

5. Sarcasmfish

Fish was looking forward to a stress relieving walk with Dog as she pulled up at home. Her students had been awful today. She’d slip onto Tumblr after that. Her phone had buzzed to tell her she had a chat message from Saibra just as she was leaving work, but Tumblr mobile was such garbage, she’d rather check it on her computer. The Scot always made allowances for the time difference anyway.

She dropped her bag in the hall, confused by the lack of welcome from Dog. He always brought her a toy when she came home, a comforting gesture after a long day. Meandering into the kitchen, her first instinct when she saw the man with his back to her splitting a Babybel with Dog was that Husband had come home early. Then she remembered that Husband had dark, not sandy, hair.

She shrieked and threw the only thing she had in her hand at him, her house keys. The man, whirled round as the keys hit him on one shoulder, a hurt look in his eyes.

“Ouch,” he complained mildly, rubbing at the shoulder. “That stings.”

Fish felt all the blood draining from her face as she took in Alistair Therin, standing in her kitchen, looking at her with his best kicked puppy expression. “Am I dying? Is this dying?”

Darkness encroached on her vision as she felt her legs buckle out from under her. Right before the darkness completely stole her awareness she heard a rather concerned and incredibly familiar, “Oh, dear.”

6. Trulycertain

Tru ducked in her front door and out of the rain as quickly as possible. Damned weather. It had been cautiously sunny when she had left for work that morning. Good thing she had worn a coat or she would have been soaked.

She had just shed the wet anorak and was hanging it up when there was a flash of green light behind her. Whirling, she yelped in surprise, “Oh, shit!”

Dorian Pavus simply looked down his nose at her undignified shout. His fine clothes were battered, and in no way suitable for the inclement British weather, but his hair and moustache were in impeccable condition. “Not quite the greeting I was expecting but I suppose it’s not usual to have a man as handsome as myself appear in your home unexpectedly.”

Tru approached warily, reaching out to give one muscled bicep and gentle poke. “Unexpected, yes. Are you really here or have I finally written to much fic?”

“Of course, I’m really here,” Dorian sniffed, then smiled. “I suppose an explanation is in order.”

“Yes, please,” Tru replied. The initial fright had worn off, and was gradually being replaced by amusement. Tumblr would never believe this. And she couldn’t wait to see her mum’s reaction.

“Very well. I don’t suppose you have any wine? Travelling between worlds is thirsty work.” This was going to be fun.

[breadwolfbakeyoutoo]

Demon possession in Dragon Age

Particularly Imshael, to be frank.

I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around Imshael’s existence and the way he looks in Inquisition.

According to the Dragon Age wiki page:

As with most spirits, demons crave to join the living. Some spirits cross the Veil because they desire to experience life, either to indulge in an aspect of psyche or to fulfill a purpose they embody. Usually spirits or demons can only cross over the Fade by attaching themselves to something in the mortal world. Demons in particular, cannot make sense of the physical world. They are unable to tell the living from the dead or the very static nature of the physical universe. As such, it becomes very confusing for such creatures who are normally accustomed to a physicality defined entirely by emotion and memory. Thus, demons unable to reconcile with their new reality would look monstrous and wrong in the physical world.

This clearly states that most demons are unable to keep their original form in the real world, and the wiki page later states that those who do actually keep their natural state, are shades. Note that this was said earlier in the article:

Demons do not have genders. Within the Fade, they are able to shapeshift and take a form of their choosing. As creatures of an alternate and malleable reality, a demon's natural mindset can appear insane to a mortal.

However, the article mentions nothing about demons being able to shapeshift beyond the veil, so the only way for them to look human would be possession. Let’s move to Imshael now. Note that I have not actually read the book and I’m going at this with only the knowledge of the wiki article behind me. If someone has contradicting information that comes from the book itself, I sincerely apologise for my ignorance.

In The Masked Empire Imshael is summoned by the Keeper of clan Virnehn to help unlocking the Eluvians. In essence, before the arrival of Michel and Empress Celene, Imshael remains bound to a binding circle, presumably in his true, demonic form. 

When Michel and Celene arrive, Imshael tries to chat with Michel.

The demon then tries to make a deal, suggesting that Michel sacrifice a mortal to serve as a host for it in exchange for influencing the dreams of men

So, to gain a human form, Imshael wants a host. Michel doesn’t give it. Imshael fools everyone and yada yada yada he’s free now, okay. He possesses an elven mage (respectively, the clan First, Mihris, the one we meet in Inquisition near a ruin in Hinterlands. Tries to steal a locket meant for Solas, that sneaky elf), Michel and group finds out, lots of stuff happens but in the end, Imshael remains free to roam the world.

Skip to Inquisition, red lyrium and Emprise du Lion. Michel wants Imshael dead. You go to hunt for Imshael and you meet him in Suledin Keep. Here’s where the confusion kicks in. 

Imshael looks human. In the battle he does shift between various demonic forms, which I assume are related to the fact that Imshael’s “concept” is more complex than a simple desire demon. This is explained in the wiki article for demons in DA. Read it. Or don’t. 

Point is, Imshael has obviously been forced to possess someone. The person in question was not a mage, otherwise we’d most likely see Imshael using magic instead of demonstuff in the fight with him. Who did he possess? At what point? To my knowledge, living people forcefully possessed by demons end up looking something like abominations. True enough, we’ve only ever gained knowledge of mages being possessed, so it’s hard to tell what other, non-magical people would look like afterwards. I assume it would be sort of the same, which I base upon my thesis of abominations resulting in the demon’s presence fighting the will of the host, ending up in a chaotic aftermath.

Then there’s, of course, the possession of corpses. Here we have two possible outcomes, and Sophia Dryden in Dragon Age: Origins will serve as an example of both.

Sophia Dryden died at Soldier’s Peak after a painstakingly long siege against her troops. Demons and blood magic were involved. Centuries later, when the Warden returns to Soldier’s Peak, it’s discovered that Sophia Dryden is now possessed by a demon. Here comes the tricky part.

Did Sophia Dryden allow the possession, which then resulted in the demon completely taking over her body (instead of a shared consciousness, like in the case of Anders and Justice), which, in itself, resulted in slowed down decomposition of the body over centuries of time? Or did they share consciousness for a time, until Sophia’s just dropped dead on it’s own (seems unlikely)? Or did the demon take over afterwards, possessing the already dead commander of the Grey Wardens, and the possession itself completely stopped the decaying? Question remains: Why does Sophia Dryden look relatively healthy, given that she’s lain dead for centuries and no sir, you can’t explain this with just ice and snow. 

This brings me back to Imshael. He’s possessing either a body or a living creature. Is he sharing consciousness with the previous owner, or has he... forced it out? If it’s a body, should it be decaying, or does possession stop decaying all together?

Honestly I just wanted to know if Imshael has possessed someone or if he’s somehow learnt to take a human form. It resulted in this brain vomit. Input appreciated!