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heylittleriotact · 6 months ago

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Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

@emmg tagged me in this, so here you are - thanks for making me think about a lot of these because I hadn't considered them 😅

Answers under the cut due to length (teehee)

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

Nevarra, probably.

2: What is your character's alignment?

I entered Amina’s answers into an online quiz just for shits and giggles knowing full well that my Lawful Good girl would make Steve Rogers look like a knuckle-dragging thug with the moral fibre of a used car salesman.

3: Race and subclass?

Elf, Reaper

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

Probably in a cemetery in a small town on the continent trying to put a wayward spirit to rest. Or at an extremely expensive boutique hotel in Orlais (she got a discount for offering to stay in the allegedly haunted room).

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

Positive/optimistic with the occasional purple choice. She reads the room and doesn’t act overly familiar with people she doesn’t know well.

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

She becomes quite close with Bellara. Amina admires her optimism and passion for life despite her own regrets and hang-ups. Her excited, keyed up energy compliments Amina’s manic border collie energy and somehow their energies sort of like… harmonize and cancel each other out. It’s really wholesome. Like you know how they sometimes assign dogs to cheetahs so they don’t get too stressed out and die? That’s basically the vibe with Amina and Bellara, except they both think they’re the dog and not the cheetah.

7: Romantically close with?

She is romantically VERY close with Emmrich. In fact they get married and live happily ever after, and enjoy an adventurous sex life, and have exactly one (1) child.

8: Who are they suspicious of?

She tends to give the majority of people she encounters the benefit of the doubt, but is inherently wary of anyone who telegraphs any indication that they see spirits as lesser/tools/pests/evil because she fundamentally doesn’t understand why anyone would treat a spirit differently than a person.

She’s not sure what to make of people who treat their families poorly/disrespectfully. She understands that there are all sorts of dynamics out there, and not all family relationships are good, but she would give her left kidney to have a petty argument with her mother, or have her dad question her life choices. She’d much rather take the hardships that come with family than her reality where she has none.

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

For the most part. She’s extremely dedicated and passionate about her work, and she takes her oath to protect the living and the dead very seriously. She’s well-principled, disciplined, and is above corruption and political machinations. She’s very approachable, however, and has a knack for getting people to like her - even the ones that initially don’t.

Obviously some people are of the mind that she’s an inflexible hard-ass, but she truly believes that rules exist for a reason and order is infinitely better than chaos. If someone chooses not to like her for that fact, she doesn’t take it personally: she let go of people-pleasing years ago.

Varric always thought she and Aveline would have been fast friends.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

She taught herself to play the lute when she was 14 because she thought people would be more keen on being friends with her if she knew an instrument. It didn’t help much, but she can still play a little if she feels inclined.

11: Weapon of choice?

Sword n board baybeeee.

12: What is their orientation?

Pansexual.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

She doesn’t love it, and will actively exhaust every other option before entertaining it as a solution. If she’s decided she’s out of options and killing you is the only one left, better kiss your ass goodbye though, because if she’s decided the only solution ends with your death, you’re absolutely going to die very soon.

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

Shopping. Fashion. Sewing - if she didn’t end up with the Mourn Watch she would have pursued becoming a clothing designer/tailor. If she ever did decide to permanently step back from the Watch I could see her opening a quaint, bespoke lingerie shop or something.

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

She pretty much likes everybody until they give her a reason not to, and even then she doesn’t take it personally. The First Warden really wore on her because his willful ignorance was actively endangering other people, so she wasn’t keen on him for that, but she also knew he was just another poor bastard trying to do his job and yeah sure he’s an idiot, but he’s not a malicious idiot.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

Wisps hold a special place in her heart. She makes no secret of the fact that she wants a dog/mabari after she moves in with Emmrich, and when he says that the Necropolis apartments are no place for a pet, she reminds him every moment she gets a chance (in writing, via three separate students, and on one occasion in the form of a corpse who recited her wishes as a limerick) that he also owns a sprawling estate on the outskirts of the city with OODLES of room for a dog. Why, they could get a whole kennel of them and a dog would be such a lovely way to teach Manfred about caring for other creatures…

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

Yes and no. She’s grateful that she can be a force for good in the world, but the danger and uncertainty of it tends to wear on her especially after she and Emmrich get together. Life as a Watcher is dangerous enough as it is - what kind of crazy person actively seeks MORE of it when they have someone waiting for them at home?

Emmrich actually forces Amina to stop for a minute and consider her mortality and her legacy. She thought she didn’t matter before. That her life would be a blip in time: inconsequential and certainly not worth mourning when she dies, but he seems devoted to showing her that’s not the case at all.

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

The Thedosian equivalent of being a Ghostbuster lol.

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

Oh she will die old and comfortable in bed, with her family beside her and a smile on her lips as she announces that she’s off to be reunited with her sweetheart. It’s all happy endings here.

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

After the ritual, she wanted to see Varric’s goal through: she wanted to finish what her friend started and make Solas see that he didn’t have to do what he was planning to do. When Solas’ spiritual origins were revealed, she felt further compelled to help him see reason: no longer was he just a man burdened by guilt and regret, but a spirit dealing with them, and it was her sacred duty to help spirits whenever and however she could. In this case, she saw her responsibility change from “stop a foolish man from ruining the world” to “aid a tormented spirit."

That said, after the truth of what happened at the ritual site became clear, she was livid. She felt hurt, tricked, and as though her own kindness and tendency to believe in the best of people had been used against her. Her own grief was used against her in a cruel trick. She questions if Solas can actually be reasoned with anymore, and has about hit that point I mentioned earlier where she starts to see death as the only remaining option. Emmrich is the one to talk her out of this, urging her to remember her oath as a Watcher and encouraging her to not give up hope.

So Solas really has Emmrich to thank for happily ever after with his vhenan because Amina was 10000% done with his shit.

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

The thing with the big spectral scythe always feels extremely badass no matter how many times she does it.

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

Common, Nevarran, Orlesian, and Tevene. She knows conversational Antivan and next to no elven despite her ancestry. It’s important for Watchers to be fluent in many languages, as the dead tend to be quite chatty, and the spirits that reside in the Necropolis can’t all be assumed to speak Common.

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

Keep finding things to do. If she sits still for too long it’ll all catch up with her at once and become overwhelming, but if she keeps finding people to help and helping them, she can put it off indefinitely. This has led to burnout in the past, and without someone like Emmrich around to basically force her to deal with things rather than burying them under work, it would happen again.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

She thinks that anyone who says they have a definitive answer to that question is lying. There are so many things about magic, the Fade, spirits, and the soul that aren’t known or understood, but she has witnessed enough evidence that she feels confident in some sort of continuation of a person’s essence beyond the veil of death. What that ultimately looks like/entails is a mystery, but she finds comfort in not knowing every detail. It would be anticlimactic to set out on that next Big Adventure if everything was spelled out in advance.

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

She is the Reaper-est Reaper who ever Reaper-ed. She’s capable of keeping up with the insane physical demands of the work, but also possesses the compassion, empathy, and patience that make a good Watcher. She loves caring for the living and the dead, and approaches her work enthusiastically. Also, she’s just kind of… odd. A trait that many Mourn Watchers possess.

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

Border collie. Needs purpose. Needs activities. Needs to be contributing in a meaningful way. Otherwise will get severely stressed out and die, probably.

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

Amina was having a crisis of belonging before Veilguard. She’s questioning her purpose and place in the world after being soft-exiled from the Necropolis and is just kind of drifting from place to place and doing the only thing that she knows, which is Watcher work, but the people she’s helping aren’t exactly tripping over themselves to thank her for any assistance she renders because of the inaccurate assumptions most make about the mortalitasi.

She’s not in a great place. She’s struggled to feel like she belongs anywhere her entire life because of her start as a foundling, and by the time she meets Varric she’s largely of the mind that she’s a burden that people simply tolerate out of politeness and moral virtue. But Varric… he really seems to like her. Care about her even. The more time she spends with him, the more she starts to think that she’s not just a receptacle for pity and charity, and that maybe she actually deserves to connect with people.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

Amina has zero qualms with taking charge of a group of people and telling them what to do… especially if it keeps them alive in a dangerous situation.

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

I think her sense of honour and duty would have made her an excellent Grey Warden. She’s got too much of a conscience to be in the Lords of Fortune or Antivan Crows.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

She has this quiet, understated strength about her that could easily be mistaken for shyness or passivity, but she’s actually just so humble and kind and good that she tries to make herself as approachable as she can, even with her scarred face, somewhat crooked fingers, and the tip of one of her ears missing. She wants to be someone that people can trust during their darkest times, and if given the chance will unequivocally prove herself to be that person. She is literally a knight in shining armor with a pure heart and so, so, so much love to give.

#dragon age #rook questionnaire #rook #mourn watch rook #mourn watch #rook ingellvar #amina ingellvar #emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrich x ingellvar #she's so pure and sweet and I love her dearly

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curioussubjects · 7 months ago

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I just finished Veilguard, and...I'm really not sure how I feel about it?

All in all: good game, had fun, but still didn't quite hit some of the highs it wanted to hit and it's still not as good as DA2

(Spoilers galore below for everything)

The Good:

Pretty game is pretty;

Love the codexes, especially the ones written by companions or with their commentary;

Speaking of, the Mementos had so excellent tid bits of lore flavor to them, as well;

Regrets of the Dread Wolf was a damn good quest;

Some truly funny party banter;

I actually thought it was really easy to figure out who my Rook is as I played the game, which was much harder for me to do for my Lavellan in DAI;

And speaking of Lavellan, she was in character she WOULD say that she WOULD do that. Bless;

Everything about Nevarra and the Mourn Watch, I wish there was more content there because I was so into it;

Orb and dagger mage is really fun to play, which was VERY surprising considering I don't play close range ever;

I also really enjoyed destroying blight boils for some reason lmao;

Petting cats (they PURR WHEN YOU DO);

Assan <3;

Taash being so autistic;

Teia and Viago my beloveds;

✨Friendship✨

The Solavellan of it all;

And Solas, too. Love that sadsack disaster man;

Maybe this is super basic of me but I liked Varric's narration...idk it's comforting;

Honestly, just Varric in general was a bit safety blanket in a nice way for me because the game feels overwhelming at first;

There's no party like an all Dalish party!

Exploring -- loved finding all the fun details in each location, and I know I didn't even do enough in my playthrough;

I'm weak for stories about guilt, fear and regret. And I'm even weaker when those stories are so obviously about forgiveness and moving forward. Also love. Always love.

The Bad:

The pacing. I've said this before but DAtV could've used a more explicit arc structure or have quests note which level they're meant for or SOMETHING because some times it seemed I was doing quests too early or too late for when I was in the main story. I also thought events kept oscillating from happening too fast or too slowly, and it very much did get in the way of immersion;

The romance. Literally what are you doing Dragon Age that you fumble the romance. Granted, I only romanced Davrin so far, but I'm getting the sense from looking through the tag that maybe Lucanis' romance also feels a bit off? Honestly I have so many issues with the romance progression for Davrin that it's its own section;

I hope this is only a Veil Jumpers issue, but I thought Rook was so separate from the faction. I felt very little connection to them;

I've seen some people point out NPCs talk to Rook like they're a child, and while I don't really agree with that I do think Rook doesn't have enough opportunities to be knowledgeable in their own right. Especially annoying with a mage Veil Jumper Rook! I miss the Inquisition perk dialogue options that let my Lavellan be a smarty pants;

Holy overdesigned armors! Yikes!

Not all areas are as well developed as the others: Rivain is the most egregiously empty and underdeveloped, but I actually thought Arlathan Forest was super lifeless too. So was the Lighthouse! You get the early game discovery bit and then nothing ever again and it's like oh that was really it huh (and the stuff we did get was so good please more?);

I hate to say this but BioWare missed the mark with Rook's place in the group. The companions seemed connected to each other, yeah, but Rook was like some cross between group therapist and not-so-undercover boss. There was none of the warmth Hawke got from their companions (or the Inquisitor, for that matter!). The game really needed 1. a lighthearted party hangout cutscene and 2. companions coming together to take care of Rook (the fact this isn't even a thing in the romance is bonkers to me);

Taash's personal quest being about choosing between being Rivain and Qunari as if that's how culture works is Bad Actually;

The worst minimap I've ever seen in a game wow;

Also: give me back my beacon marker;

The gods were in a regret prison but what were their regrets exactly we just don't know.

The Bad (Romance Edition):

Again, the pacing! Incredibly slow to start (and not in a slow burn way, mind!) and then super fast in the last third of the game;

In fact, the romance seemed to be running on a completely different level than the rest of the story. The last romance scene was incredibly out of place tonally, especially.

The first two romance titles for Davrin are "Thrill of the Chase" and "Hot and Bothered"...and like WHERE????

Davrin never writes about Rook as a romantic partner or as if he has any concerns with the relationship...which we later find out he has, but was news to me;

Tbh, the romance felt like an afterthought. There were cutscenes that in any other DA game there would've been flirting options, for instance, but this time there was nothing (what do you mean Rook can't make a flirty comment when Davrin is shirtless working out with Taash? It's low hanging fruit!);

Not nearly enough flirty banter between Rook and Davrin, which is nuts considering their personalities;

I'm really super disappointed with Davrin's romance, which sucks because he's actually perfect for my Rook and I really like his character. There was so much potential for a really fun romance that was both tense and sexy, but also sweet. But no. Secret good Davrin romance that exists in my head save me.

The ???:

Southern Thedas got scorched when the North didn't how?

Please tell me who was catfishing Andraste;

Making enemies super aggro on Rook unless you specifically have companions taunting was very weird.

#dragon age the veilguard #datv spoilers #datv #dragon age #ok there were many thoughts #but they're bullet points it's fine #the lists are also not comprehensible or in any particular order #i think im closer to figuring out why the game isnt quite working for me though #there's just something fundamental missing that i havent been able to put my finger on just yet

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emmg · 3 months ago

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20 questions for fanfic writers

I've been tagged by a few wonderful boos (@aldisobey & @thepalehorsevictoria and as always I'm like two weeks late to the party, but here goes nothing lmao, and I'm tagging the usual suspects as well as anyone who wants (please tag me if you do, i'm a nosy fuck, i wanna know) @heylittleriotact @jainydoe @lavenderprose @caffeinatedmunchkin (i thiiiink? you did it???? i have a bad memory lol) @rooks-leather-jumpsuit @excited-hiss @rooks-leather-jumpsuit @starfleetteddybear I think everyone did it except me but I have the memory of a napkin so im tagging yall anyway lol

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

43 (wtf lol)

2) What’s your AO3 word count?

548 367 oof how

3) What are your top five fics by Kudos?

We don't talk about Bruuuunooooo, meaning we don't talk about anything written prior to 2023/4. So I'm just gonna count my recent Dragon Age shit.

An In-Depth Analysis of Trying to Get It On (Emmrich yaps and Rook fucks him on the autopsy table)

Something, Something Decorum (Rook steals Emmrich's rings and fucks him—there's a pattern here guys lol)

Herbarium (angst-y, very purple prose-y, overly lyrical, character study-ish 5-parter of Emmrich & Rook's relationship from Emmrich's POV, not yet finished.)

Aftertaste (modern "sugar daddy" Emmrook AU)

Lavender (smutty first time Emmrok one-shot)

4) What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Dragon Age, but every now and then, I might get the urge to write for something else. Just a one-off here and there.

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, BUT BUT BUT it takes me forever because I apparently have the emotional resilience of a damp paper towel when people are nice about my writing. I know, shocking, considering the absolute nonsense I spew everywhere else. I love writing. I love the process. But the second I have to acknowledge that someone else enjoys it? My brain files for immediate resignation. I GET SO SHY. Creativity? Fantastic. Embracing it? Absolutely not. Psychological block? Probably just some deep-seated nonsense I don’t have the energy to unpack.

appreciate comments more than I appreciate oxygen. They make me stupidly happy. And if you’ve ever received one from me, you know I have zero chill and will leave an essay. But responding to my own? Suddenly, I forget how to human. Not because I’m ungrateful, just because I’m awkward as hell. So yeah, if you get a random, painfully sheepish thank you from me a month later, just know I’ve been pacing around like a Victorian child with a letter to papa I’m too nervous to send.

6) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Euh, I mean I'm not finished with it yet, there's one part left, but it would be the Lich!Emmrich x Rook creepy reincarnation/memory loss fic.

7) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't know lol, any of the smutty one-shots, I guess. They all end nicely.

8) Do you get hate on fics?

Nah

9) Do you write smut?

That's almost exclusively what I write nowadays lol. I'm a fiend.

10) Do you write crossovers?

Nah. My brain is too exhausted for that.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah

13) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Can't say that I have

14) What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Solavellan forever.

15) What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My own book lmao

16) What are your writing strengths?

Idk. I dislike everything I write. I find fault with everything. Being visceral I guess.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm a purple prose monster.

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Unless absolutely necessary for the plot, don't do it. I say this as a multilingual person.

19) First fandom you wrote for?

I think I wrote some shitty Hunger Games fanfic back in the day.

20) Favorite fic you’ve written?

I like Charlatans a lot. I had fun with it. Even if I'm rewriting the parts 2 & 3 that I lost when I upgraded my computer.

#20 questions for fanfic writers #lol there's a tag for that #who would have thought #i dont particularly care for my own shit it's just words in the ether and doesn't matter #but i love being part of a community/fandom #the fact that people read what i write at all is so incredible to me #tag game

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selunesdreams · 7 months ago

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Eating Crow

Chapter 2: Gems of Antiva

“I haven’t had a cup of Andoral’s Breath since before the Venatori stuck a demon in me.” Lucanis’ smile was wasted on Illario, whose eyes remained fixed on Rook as he pulled out a chair for her. She lowered herself cautiously, as if it could be snatched away from under her at any moment. “You see, Fiamma? My cousin is all stomach and no heart.” His words were syrupy as he took his place across from her, but there was something very, very threatening in his gaze. “Rook.” Lucanis corrected politely. “She goes by Rook now.” Illario’s eyes narrowed. “I heard. You would really abandon your namesake? Your father’s legacy?” “I don’t need a name nor reputation that precedes me in this fight.” Her voice remained plain and unaffected as she replied. “I earned Rook, it wasn’t bestowed onto me like some curse. I’ll return to Fiammetta once it suits me again, if it ever does.” “Well, then you won’t mind me continuing to address you by the name your father called you by? I would prefer to honor the Flame of Treviso, not cause him to roll in his grave any more than he already has.” “One has to have a body in order to roll in a grave, Illario.”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x sometimes Spite??

Summary: Rook gets out her rock collection and reminisces about her dead mom. Illario wants to meet, and Lucanis finally gets that cup of Antivan coffee. This chapter covers the quest "Coffee with the Crows". No major warnings, just dead parents and Illario being…Illario. You know, the lighthearted stuff. Link to Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.4k

Things of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Rook is Fem, human, mage, Antivan Crow. I like writing storylines and tension, but there will be smut! I don't know how the tags/warnings will evolve, but it's reasonable to expect some messy Spite consent stuff? Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

Dante De Riva’s advice to his young daughter had always been a bit cryptic. The “Little Flame of Treviso”, he had called Fiamma. He came to regret his advice when his daughter became so good at hiding that neither he nor his wife, both assassins trained to find people, could not find her.

No child of an Antivan Crow grew up with the luxury safety. So parents created rituals, games, protocols - all conceived to keep children prepared for the worst. Fiamma hadn’t faced real danger. Not really. But today, for the first time since she’d been chased through the streets of Treviso by an angry rooster from the market, Fiamma was scared. And so she did what her father trained her to do, and she kept out of sight.

Because today was her mother’s funeral.

Gemma De Riva, “The Gem of Antiva”, lived a brief life. Twenty-eight years, to be exact. When assassins died young, it was typically a contract that took them out. Fiamma didn’t know what a contract was, but she knew when her parents accepted one, because they would be gone for days, sometimes weeks. Usually one at a time, but every once in a while, they’d go together, and auntie Viama and cousin Viago would come over, or she’d stay with the Cantoris down the street.

Crows always came home to roost, but when they didn’t, contracts were to blame. Fiamma always believed contracts were the only bad thing that could happen to a Crow. Until her mother.

For weeks, Gemma’s health declined. It started with fatigue. She sequestered herself away for a couple of days, claiming she just needed to rest. Days later, her eyes were bloodshot, and her olive skin grew clammy and pale. When her mother couldn’t leave bed, Fiamma joined her, and Gemma would read aloud to her, pausing occasionally to cough into a blood-speckled handkerchief. That was usually about the time when her father would send Fiamma to play alone in her room.

And then mama was gone. Peeking from behind corners in the hallway, she and Viago would listen to their parents whispering about poison - something Viago explained to her like a sickness you give someone on purpose. But it would be okay now, Viago assured her, because now they could all move in together and make a new family. His father was a king, but didn’t talk to him, because he was a bastard (Viago couldn’t tell her what that meant), and he had half-siblings, but he’d never met them. But Dante and Fiamma could be his new family, he’d told her, trying to help her see the bright side.

And Fiamma loved Viago, she really did, but how could he and auntie Viama possibly replace mama?

Hiding out in the back room of the cathedral during the funeral, Fiamma lined up colored rocks in a row. A green one for Viago, a red one for daddy, gray for auntie Viama, and a purple one for her. She pulled the pink ribbon from her hair and set it off to the side to represent the Cantoris. Teia couldn’t talk very well yet, but Fiamma had a feeling they’d be good friends someday. The stones felt off, no matter how she rearranged them. Frustrated, she swiped her hand along the floor, sending them rolling across the granite tile.

“Are you playing marbles?”

A boy dressed in a too-large suit stood in the doorway, his long black hair nearly reaching his shoulders. His dark eyes surveyed the room like he was looking for monsters in the shadows.

“No, I’m making a new family.” Fiamma said, crawling on the floor to retrieve her rocks one by one. The boy crouched beside her, helping her search.

“Out of rocks?” He asked.

“Auntie Viama wouldn’t let me bring my dolls.”

“Oh. You’re Fiammetta.” The boy frowned. “I’m sorry about your mom. My parents are dead, too.”

“My daddy is still alive. He’ll always be alive.” Fiamma said proudly.

“Parents always die.” The boy retrieved her green rock from under a nearby statue of Andraste and dropped it in front of her.

“That’s not true. Lots of people have parents.”

“Not Crows.”

“No. You’re wrong.” Fiamma insisted, “I’m smarter than other six-year-olds. You can’t trick me.”

“My little cousin Illario is six and still can’t read. I believe you.” The boy said with a smirk. “So, which rock is you?”

“The purple one.” She said, chewing on her lip. “It doesn’t seem right, though.”

He hummed in admiration. “I like the purple ones. They’re my grandma’s favorites. They’re called tourmaline. There are pink and green ones too. But here…”

He shoved his hand in his pocket and dug out a small, iridescent stone that shimmered between his thumb and forefinger. Smooth and cube-shaped, it reflected glimmers of white, pinks, and blues back to her.

“Take it. It’s a fire opal. You should have it for your collection. It kind of reminds me of you.”

Fiamma plucked it carefully from his hand, letting the cool rock roll around on her palm.

“But it’s yours.” She protested, holding it out to him.

“Nah. I stole it from my grandma’s dresser.”

“You shouldn’t steal.” She said, but closed her fist around it, anyway.

“Caterina won’t miss it. She likes it when I steal, but only from her. She says it will make me a good Crow someday.”

“Your grandma is First Talon Caterina?”

He nodded.

“You’re Luca?”

“Lucanis.” He corrected her quietly. “Nobody calls me Luca anymore. Not since my mom died.”

“Oh. Well…” Fiamma set down the opal next to the tourmaline and the red stone. “Maybe you can be the purple rock.”

But Lucanis didn’t answer, and when she looked back up, he was gone.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook woke up with a start, scanning the room. Schools of fish swam in the Fade’s illusions overhead and she exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. Solas had called this place a meditation chamber, but since her arrival here, all she’d had were nightmares. Though, with the addition of Lucanis to their team, it seemed she would no longer be haunted by visions of Varric being stabbed over and over again. Instead, just memories of dead people and rocks, apparently.

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

Rising from the green chaise she called a bed, she pulled a fresh pair of training leathers from her wardrobe and slipped them on. They’d become worn over the past year, the stitching slowly coming apart at the seams. Viago would call her a disgrace. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The main hall was empty, oscillating rocks and miscellaneous objects shimmering in blood light above. On a nearby desk, a scroll tied in purple ribbon waited for her. A contract.

She delicately pulled at the thread and uncurled the parchment. It bore only four short lines, a missive from Illario: We need to talk. Café Pietra. Nightfall. Bring Lucanis.

Rook tossed it aside. They were fighting elven gods. What possible news could Illario of all people have that required their attention? At least he wanted his cousin to tag along - that meant this was business, not a personal call. Judging by the hourglass on the table, they had an hour to get to Treviso.

She crossed the courtyard. Since Bellara had fixed the Eluvian and they’d cleaned the Crossroads of some of the blight, it had become more pleasant to look at. Passing through the kitchen, she knocked on the pantry door. Of all the rooms the Lighthouse had to offer, Lucanis and his demon had chosen a glorified closet to call home. A far cry from the luxuries he used to enjoy in Caterina’s estate.

“Come in.” A voice called from within. She crossed her fingers for Lucanis, not Spite, and pushed inside.

“You asked for time…has it been long enough?” She asked, leaning against the wall.

“Yes, my head’s clearer.” Lucanis said, sitting cross-legged on his makeshift cot and sipping from a mug in his hands with a wince. “Though I would kill for a good cup of coffee.”

Rook could have rolled her eyes. Growing up in Treviso would cultivate a snobbish affection for quality roasts in anyone, but Lucanis’ standards were, at best, unreasonable. Maybe his habits were endearing to the others, but she’d lived in the same home as him before. He wasn’t exaggerating: there was a good chance he would kill to satisfy his caffeine craving, if he hadn’t already.

“You’re in luck, then. Illario requested a meeting in Treviso. Tonight. With both of us.”

“You don’t seem thrilled. Not exchanging love letters with my cousin anymore, I presume?”

She shoved off from her place on the wall, standing over him as he swirled the grounds in the bottom of his cup, unphased.

“I might have been your subordinate in the Crows, and yes, you had the pleasure of seeing me at my most humiliated. But within these walls - in this contract - we are equals, and you will treat me with the respect I’ve earned.” Rook snarled.

Lucanis sat his mug down on the floor and stood, holding out his hands in a peaceful gesture. He bowed - genuinely, not mocking her - bending slightly at the waist.

“My apologies. I meant no disrespect.”

Despite being nearly the same height as her when he rose, he had the imposing presence of someone a full foot taller than Rook. Perhaps it was just that she had a rough tally in her mind of the people he’d killed. She sighed, slumping against the wall behind her and letting her head fall back.

“No, I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping. I’m on edge.”

“I can empathize. Spite is stronger when I’m asleep. So I try not to do it much.” He stepped past her, holding the door open. “Let’s go find Illario. There will be time to chat on the way.”

They returned to the main chamber of the Lighthouse and descended the staircase to the Eluvian.

“You’ve got questions. You might as well ask them.” Lucanis said, breaking the silence that Rook had grown pleasantly comfortable with. His voice echoed in the nothingness surrounding the bridge to the mirror.

“I have a few. We’ll start with the obvious: how did the Venatori manage to capture the Demon of Vyrantium?”

“Someone set me up. I had a contract for Calivan. I took a ship from Treviso to Minrathous, and the Venatori were waiting for me when I arrived. I don’t know how they convinced the Crows I was dead, but I woke up in the Ossuary with Zara gloating about it.”

He stepped through the Eluvian, moving seamlessly once his feet landed in Treviso without interruption. As if it were the most natural thing in Thedas. Rook had been using the Eluvians for days and still felt dizzy every time she exited one.

“Illario wants to meet at Café Pietra at nightfall.” She said, glancing at the sky. “I have no desire to get there early, so we have a little time to kill.”

“Good. I need a few things from the market.”

Rook groaned, but didn’t object. The man had just spent a whole year in an underwater prison. Who was she to decide whether he should go grocery shopping?

She followed him from vendor to vendor, watching him cross items off a crumpled list he’d stowed in his pocket - a spearmint plant for Harding, fresh fruit for Neve, ingredients for a Dalish seafood dish Bellara wanted to make. Gifts for all of his companions, except her and Varric. Typical of him to overlook her, but it was fine. She was used to it by now, and Varric hated gifts anyway.

“Is that everything on your list?”

“Should be. Let’s get to the café.”

“So,” Rook said, stooping to drop a few coins in a beggar’s dish as they exited the market, “I know Caterina volunteered you to work with us. Are you okay with that?”

Lucanis chuckled. “Did Viago ever consult with you before sending you out on a contract?”

Rook snorted. “No.”

He paused as they crossed over a bridge, watching the streetlamps reflect over the dark waters below. He took a deep inhale through his nose, closing his eyes and wrapping his fingers around the railing. It was beautiful - her favorite view of the city - so she let him enjoy the moment in silence. It was the kind of thing that might keep a person sane through a year of torture - the promise of return. The desire to protect.

“It’s good to be home, no?”

She flexed her hands at her sides. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” He opened his eyes and gave her a puzzled look, as if he’d never heard anyone describe Treviso anything short of breathtaking. “You didn’t miss home while you were away?”

“I left of my own volition after becoming a local disgrace. I don’t have the right to miss it, nor call it home.”

“Nobody gets to tell you what you can or cannot call home.” He shook his head. “Home is a feeling. Not a bed, not a house. Not even a city.”

“Caterina volunteered you for a contract, not to play therapist.”

“Volunteered or not, Fiammetta, there’s still plenty of reason for me to work with you.” He pushed off the railing, giving her his full attention. “I owe you a debt, for one.”

She dipped her chin, pivoting to continue down the path. “It’s Rook.”

“Right, sorry.” He said, taking a few long strides to catch up.

“So, what do you think Illario wants?” She asked, changing the subject.

“Hopefully, he has intel on Zara. Or…he just wants to whine about how much he’s missed us.”

“He might miss you,” she said in a low voice, “But don’t even joke about-”

“Illario.” Lucanis said, cutting her off as his cousin stepped into view.

“Finally, I thought you might leave me all by my lonesome.” He replied, giving Rook a once-over before gesturing for them to join him at a nearby table near the water’s edge.

“Please. You think I’d ever pass up Café Pietra’s coffee? I haven’t had a cup of Andoral’s Breath since before the Venatori stuck a demon in me.” Lucanis’ smile was wasted on Illario, whose eyes remained fixed on Rook as he pulled out a chair for her. She lowered herself cautiously, as if it could be snatched away from under her at any moment.

“You see, Fiamma? My cousin is all stomach and no heart.” His words were syrupy as he took his place across from her, but there was something very, very threatening in his gaze.

“Rook.” Lucanis corrected politely. “She goes by Rook now.”

Illario’s eyes narrowed. “I heard. You would really abandon your namesake? Your father’s legacy?”

“I don’t need a name nor reputation that precedes me in this fight.” Her voice remained plain and unaffected as she replied. “I earned Rook, it wasn’t bestowed onto me like some curse. I’ll return to Fiammetta once it suits me again, if it ever does.”

“Well, then you won’t mind me continuing to address you by the name your father called you by? I would prefer to honor the Flame of Treviso, not cause him to roll in his grave any more than he already has.”

“One has to have a body in order to roll in a grave, Illario.” She said with a warning smile. While the years had hardened Rook, they had also changed her for the better. Apparently, Illario had only gotten worse.

“Enough.” Lucanis growled. He had been silent for most of the exchange, his arms folded and eyes flitting between them as he leaned back so far in his embellished iron chair that the front legs lifted off the ground. He typically didn’t get involved in their spats unless he felt a line was crossed. Which Illario was known to do, from time to time. Like now.

“Whatever.” Rook waved her hand dismissively. She wasn’t attached enough to Varric’s nickname to play this game all night, nor did she have the energy for it.

Lucanis shifted forward in his seat, clasping his hands together. “Let’s get to business, mm?”

“Agreed. I think we’ve done enough Three Crows In a Coffee Shop Bickering to bore the spies.” Rook said.

“Just about. The most persistent one gave up when Lucanis started waxing romantic about roasts.” Illario sneered.

“It’s a very good roast.” He grinned, bringing a bit of levity to the conversation. “So, you have something, or did you just miss us?”

“The Crows I sent after Zara have picked up her trail. They say she’s gone to Vyrantium.”

Rook raised an eyebrow. “How did she get all the way there when she was just in Treviso to kill Caterina only days ago?”

Lucanis nodded. “She’s right. Zara’s given you a fake lead, cousin.”

Rook did her best to not take too great a pleasure in his approval. Or Illario being proven wrong.

“You have better information?” He demanded.

“It’s obvious, is it not? We’re compromised. There’s no other way Zara could even touch Caterina.” Rook said.

Illario’s lip curled. “Yes, you would know so much about my grandmother after serving as her errand girl for a couple of months, wouldn’t you?”

“Rook is the one who broke me out of that underwater hell, and she’s been the only one trying to save our home from certain doom at the hands of elven gods.” Lucanis snapped. “Whatever transpired between the two of you, put it to rest.”

“If the Crows protecting Zara are here in Treviso, she has no reason to leave.” Rook interrupted, as if Lucanis didn’t just scold his cousin on her behalf. “I’m telling you, your lead is wrong.”

“Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll clean house.” Illario rose abruptly to his feet, his iron chair scraping loudly in protest against the cobblestone underneath. “Leave this to me and worry about all that saving the world business you’ve been going on about.” He shot a glare at Lucanis and stormed off.

“How long do you think he’s going to lurk and watch us to make sure we’re not talking about him?” Rook asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Lucanis rose without excusing himself, and walked to the bar, returning with two mugs of coffee.

“Long enough for me to get a refill.”

He pushed a cup towards her and swirled his around before taking an appreciative, slow drink. Rook leaned onto her elbows, resting her chin on her wrists.

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” she asked snidely.

“It’s enough of what I need it to be, for now.” He said, setting his cup down. “You know, I understand why you’d change your name.”

“I didn’t change it.” She sat back quickly in her seat. “I’m just…taking a break.”

“Still…” Lucanis averted his eyes. “Even before I was captured, my life was never really my own. So much has been determined for me.” He leaned over the table, holding her gaze. “The mess with the Antaam - you owned it, and you paid the price. When you had a rare opportunity to reinvent yourself, you made the most of it.”

He fell back in his chair.

“Make whatever name you want for yourself, Rook. I’ll call you whatever you tell me to.”

She smiled at his words and reached into the hilt at her waistband, producing a wyvern tooth dagger, and placing it before him on the table.

“For me?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. She nodded.

“I loved wyverns as a kid. Caterina would never let me have one of these, though.” He turned the blade in his hands. “Thank you.”

He ran his fingertips over the edge delicately, looking up with a hint of alarm on his features. “I just realized I didn’t get you anything.”

“Sure you did.”

Rook brought the cup nestled in her palms to her lips and winked, taking her first sip of Antivan coffee in over a year. It tasted bitter and sweet. Like Treviso. Like home.

#lucanis dellamorte #eating crow #lucanis x rook #lucanis fanfic #illario dellamorte #dragon age lucanis #da4 lucanis #lucanis romance #lucanis fic #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age fanfiction #veilguard fic #dragon age veilguard #spite dragon age #rook x lucanis #da4 #lucanis #lucanis fanfiction

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midnightwind · 5 months ago

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Get To Know Rook

thank you @pixiedurango for the tag, I adore talking about my little feral cat child

Tags: I think all my DA moots have actually done this one already lmao so you! person reading this!! you are now tagged (if you want) and you can blame me (if you want, I like reading about Rooks)

1. Name?

Mirenna (Renn) de Riva [Dalish: Mirevas]

2. Gender?

Female (She/Her)

3. Age?

Renn is 34 at the start of Veilguard (kind of old for an active Crow, but ehh let's just claim that elves are more youthful/slightly longer lived than humans idk)

4. Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

Pessimistic, but plays it off as a joke; she never expects things to go right (and they almost never do) so she’s constantly planning for the worst

5. Are they introverted or extroverted?

Appears extroverted, but it’s fully an act she learned from Teia so she can get people to like her more; she almost never talks about herself outside of fishing for a laugh unless she’s desperately pulling a “please relate to me, you’re so cool and I wanna be friends.” She tends to spend time alone for a decent chunk of the game before she realized that the gang is actually her friends and she likes being around them.

6. How do they display affection?

Mostly with teasing! But if she’s in deep, then it’s a bit of a mix of acts of service and physical affection; she wants to do things for you and then drape herself over you like a very annoying cat

7. What is their greatest fear?

Losing her place in the world; stemming partly from abandonment issues with her mother and partly from the Crows essentially functioning as “be useful or die,” it’s also why when Viago sends her off with Varric she has a bit of a breakdown as she feels she was just disowned and sent away. (Very close runner up is Viago dying!! That is her only family and she sees herself as the first line of defense for him, very “if Viago was shot by an arrow, it had to pass through my heart first” energy)

8. Do they have siblings? Older or younger?

None by blood, but treats Viago and Teia like older siblings

9. Did they grow up nurtured or neglected?

Quite neglected in her Clan; the Crows depends on your definition lmao

10. What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved?

Made Viago care about her She did kill the fellow de Riva fledgling she trained with and softly dated during the House purge

11. Has anyone ever saved their life?

Viago, countless times be it when he first saved her from slavers as a child to his training actually keeping this idiot gremlin alive

12. Do they believe in love at first sight?

Nope, but she does believe in “gonna tap that” at first sight

13. Are they in a relationship?

Slowly trying to domesticate woo Lucanis

14. Has your character ever been in love?

See above (she thought she was getting close with that fledgling, but it ended quite suddenly before it got very far lol)

15. Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue?

Renn will try to talk herself out of Everything, because if she’s in a situation where she has to talk or fight, then she’s fucked up already and she’s a bit of a twig, build wise (assassin shouldn’t have to throw a punch idea)

16. What is their choice of weapon?

Poisons, predictably (she favors paralytic ones in combat and fast acting killers on the job) but when those aren’t available, then she’s swinging with her mageknife and orb (and sooo much electricity)

17. How many weapons can they use?

Daggers, shortswords/rapiers (with basic swordplay), throwing knives, magic/mageknife and orb, bows, crossbows, does poison count? lol

18. If they could save one person, who would it be?

Start of the game, Viago every time no question, but at the end of the game, she’s in trouble with this one. Put her in a Saw trap where she has to pick between Viago, Teia, and Lucanis? She’s a puddle on the floor begging for them to just kill her instead

19. What is their greatest regret?

She super regrets that taking out the Antaam patrol put Viago in such an awful position that she had to be disappeared for him to start fixing it. She spends the entire year away with Varric absolutely terrified that she’d come back and Viago would be ousted or dead, and that it could be traced back to her ruining the Talons’ raid. That she wasn’t there to help keep him safe and the worst happened. (She doesn’t regret saving those people, just that it cost Viago so much)

20. How do they respond to a threat?

“Interesting!” *extreme cartoon violence*

#I love having an excuse to talk about Renn thank you so much #Rook #ask game #of a sort? dunno how to tag these lmao #Renn #Renn de Riva

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mayonayys · 4 months ago

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A Single Thread

Chapter 1

Tags: Shadow Dragon Rook, Original Characters, Eventual Romance, Pre-Canon, Pre-Veilguard Rating: T Words: 1,726 Summary: A glimpse into Mihren's life before she left her old identity behind—before the Shadow Dragons, before she even really knew who she was. Miriam Mercar couldn't stay one more moment as a dog of the Imperium. It hurt too much to see people like herself be shoved to the bottom while she got to live in comfort. Every step she took in the path her father drew out for her shortened her leash—tightened her collar, deprived her of air. With nothing but the clothes on her back, she fled. In Dock Town she wandered, life feeling more and more meaningless with every step she took, until finally a hand was extended and there she saw a thread of salvation.

AO3 Link

The streets of Dock Town weren't unfamiliar, but they were never somewhere that Miriam Mercar had ventured without her father's broad back to follow or her brother's playful jabs at her side. The poverty was palpable here, making the humble street she grew up on seem much more luxurious than it ought to have. Every movement she caught out of the corner of her eye made her jump, and her heart wouldn't cease its useless hammering in her chest.

The ground underfoot was soft, the air hot and heavy, and the clamoring that rose from the stalls and drifted up from the docks was too much. Everything here was too much.

"Miss, spare a coin?" A hoarse voice called out.

She ignored it, content to keep her hood drawn, her eyes forward as she trekked forwards.

"For my daughter, Miss, please." Something caught at the edge of her cloak, tugging and pulling the fabric taught.

Miriam sucked in a deep breath, hands balling into the fabric of her cloak as she tugged it from the beggar's hands.

Their grip didn't relent and the struggle caused her hood to slip from her head.

Miriam quickly grabbed at her hood, but with her peripherals clear of the fabric, she couldn't block out the sight of the beggar woman next to her.

Both of her hands were stretched out, wide, forest green eyes locked onto Miriam's face, pleading for her help.

Miriam tugged at her cloak again, willing herself to not meet the woman's eyes, but when the grip on the fabric did not cease, she whirled around.

That was when she spotted the child, grubby hands clutching the edge of her cloak so tightly, like her life depended on it—the daughter, if those identical green eyes were any indicator.

Miriam ceased her fight for her cloak, gaze caught by the little girls and her unspoken plea.

The beggar woman took her opportunity, reaching forward, dirty, calloused hands grabbing gently at her own clean and well manicured ones. Her voice was hoarse, "Please, Miss, I haven't had a bite to eat in days—my daughter, she gets every scrap we can manage—but it's not enough."

The woman's hands shook, her grip unsteady—Miriam could have easily broken her hold on her, but there was something in the woman's eyes that transfixed her where she stood.

Her pain and hunger. Her fear. Her desperation.

But at the edge, something else. A glimmer of hope, which only seemed to grow the longer Miriam held her gaze.

That was when Miriam noticed her face—pale and bruised, but with thin brown lines marked across her skin.

Then she noticed her ears, sloped to a point, breaking through the lines of her greasy hair.

And she realized why the woman's eyes held hope—she was like them, and elf in these cursed Tevinter lands. And unlike them, she was not dressed in rags, she was clean, and surely, surely, she would help them.

Her heart ached.

She was in no position to help anyone—in weeks, if not days, she was likely to be in the same position, begging, with no prospects and nothing to her name but suffering.

"I—" Miriam's voice came out broken. It'd been so long since she'd spoken to anyone, her last few days had been spent entirely avoiding speaking to anyone. "I have nothing." She finally got out, heart breaking as the woman's lips began to tremble.

"Please," she heard a smaller, meeker, voice.

It was the girl, and she'd pulled Miriam's cloak closer to herself, her small wan face pressed against the soft fabric.

Miriam's mouth went dry at the sight as the woman's hands slipped from her wrists.

"Don't, dear, please." The woman nearly fell to her knees, hands pulling at her daughter's grip, her bony fingers trying weakly to pry the child's dirty hands away from the cloak.

Miriam couldn't stand the sight, the small pleas that the woman made with her daughter, nor the desperate way the little one clung to her, blinking back tears as she buried her face in the cloak.

She was acting before she could even think it through. Her own hands were shaking, but she made quick work of undoing the cloak, the silver buttons slipping loose with only a bit of coaxing.

She leaned forward, the mother letting out a gasp of surprise as Miriam draped the cloak around mother and daughter.

"It's alright," she said softly, crouching down.

"But this is…" The mother's hands grabbed at the cloak, fingers gliding over the soft fabric, "too much." She whispered out as she caught a silver button between her fingers, eyes wide as it caught a ray of sunlight.

"It's not nearly enough," Miriam did her best to keep her voice level and not let any of her own emotion seep through.

The little girl finally pulled the cloak from her face, looking up at Miriam with a quivering lip.

"No need to cry," Miriam told her, using her cloak to wipe a bit of the dirt from the child's face.

The mother wrapped her trembling arms around her daughter, pulling the cloak tight around them.

"May the Maker bless you," her voice wavered and she pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

Miriam forced a smile, "I've not much, but to this, you are welcome, I hope—"

The woman shook her head, a motion that looked violent on such a frail body. "This is too much, truly, we cannot keep this." With great reluctance, she pulled the cloak off of them. "The guards will think we've stolen it—the brokers will not give us what it's worth."

Miriam's smile faltered, "But—"

"Anything else—coin, something small, nearly worthless—but nothing so grand." The woman shoved the cloak back into Miriam's hands. The little girl whimpered as her mother pulled her to her, allowing her to bury her face into her skirts.

Miriam set her jaw, something like anger sparking inside her. She was giving this, willingly, were things so bad here that she couldn't even do this much for them?

"Where is a good place to pawn it then, I will sell it myself." Miriam stood quickly, throwing the cloak back over her shoulders and fastening it at her throat.

"You would…" The woman nodded her head slowly, coming to understand what was being offered. "I know a place." She finally said.

"Then lead the way." Miriam nodded, gesturing forward.

The streets that the woman—who went by the name of Panlin, daughter Bryn—had taken her down were worse than where she'd ventured before. She'd kept her cloak wrapped tighter around her as they slipped through alleyways and holes in fences, but finally the grime of the slums gave way to more well maintained streets.

Magic had pulsed through the air more clearly here. The colorful glow of shop signs illuminated the streets, casting shades of vibrant blues and pinks across puddles and the faces of passersby. The natural light of the sun was blocked out by tall buildings and awnings overhead, making the place feel even more disconnected from the city around it than it already was.

The pawn shop they'd ushered her into had shelves upon shelves of items—from mundane to glittering and gold. The broker was a sweet talker, oozing with sleazy charisma, that unfortunately might have worked better on her had her thoughts not been so preoccupied with the mother and daughter that waited outside.

He'd haggled more than she would have liked, but she left the shop without her cloak and a concerning amount of coins in her pockets.

"Here." Miriam reached out her hand. Bryn outstretched her hands, eyes wide, ready to receive whatever Miriam had to offer.

Miriam knelt next to the girl, cupping her hands in her own before placing the coins firmly in her palm. She curled Bryn's fingers closed around the cool, shiny metal, encasing her hands fully in her own.

"I spoke to the shopkeeper, there is a place nearby that will let you a room for a whole week for this. They'll even give you breakfast every day." Miriam told her, a tight smile on her face. "And in a week, I'll be back."

Bryn's eyes grew wide. "Breakfast every day?" She gasped, looking up to her mother in disbelief.

"This is…" Panlin began to protest again, but stopped as a wide smile broke across Bryn's face.

"It's not nearly enough." Miriam finished for Panlin as she stood to her full height.

"How will we ever repay you?" Panlin whispered, brow creasing deeply, expression caught somewhere between relief and grief.

"You'll keep her safe." Miriam patted Bryn on the head, the young girl had opened her palms, gently turning the coins in her hand, counting them over and over again.

"And what will you be doing this coming week? You said you had nothing, but surely you have somewhere to go." Panlin pressed, watching Bryn play with the coins.

"I'll find work." Miriam assured, hand going to rest on the hilt of the shortsword on her hip.

Panlin gave her an uneasy look, taking the smallest step back. "Are you a mercenary?" She asked hesitantly. "The only good mercenary work involves things like finding slaves—is that what you do, because if so, I don't think we can—"

"No, no" Miriam threw up her hands, eyes going wide. "No, I'm not a mercenary—at least not yet—and I won't be doing any slave hunting. I don't know what I'll do, but not that—never that." She assured, but Panlin still looked uneasy.

"I promise." Miriam said, "Whatever I find, I'll make sure it's honest—nothing that could hurt our people, we have to stick together."

"Our people," Panlin said softly. Even though her hands still trembled, she gently brushed over Bryn's hair, pushing the dirty strands out from her face and tucking them behind her ear. She scoffed. "I'm not sure our people have ever done me much good, but…" She breathed deeply, "but perhaps this is a start." She nodded resolutely to Miriam.

"It has to start somewhere," Miriam offered her a sad smile. "And we should get you to those lodgings, I'm sure a good, safe rest and some food could do you both very well."

#datv fanfic #dav fanfic #dav #dragon age the veilguard #rook mercar #dragon age rook #datv fanfiction #dav fanfiction #oc #oc; mihren #da4 #ao3 link #fanfiction #mayo makes things

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tricia-swritingcorner · 2 years ago

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-The Lockpick and the Canary Cage Pt.1-

Jacob Frye x OC!Reader (Leandra Starrick)

No warnings, honestly just a rewrite of something I wrote years ago. I am currently working on the next installation. As always, if you like please enjoy. If not, scroll on.

‘Oh look, it’s raining. How interesting.’ Hearing the light drumming from her window, Leandra sighed as she stared up at the ceiling. Three weeks in an asylum and yet her own sanity remained intact, though daily visits from her father certainly weren’t helping. He was certainly an important man, who else could imprison their own child in Lambeth asylum with little outcry or comment? Though, one might ask just why he would go to such lengths, and it was simple…Leandra had no intention of becoming a Templar.

Admittedly, to refuse the Grandmaster of the Templar order borough in London was certainly an action that held consequences. While she had sworn that she had no intention of becoming an Assassin instead, apparently Crawford Starrick did not enjoy the idea that his daughter did not wish to follow in his footsteps. Though truthfully, adopting a child from Crawley likely wasn’t his wisest decision. Maybe he believed that by locking her away, Leandra would agree to join out of desperation. It wouldn’t work though and humorously he had the Assassin’s to blame for that.

‘What was my last record again? Two months?” Chuckling at the memory, Starrick did not know the half of her time with the Assassin’s, and she did so on purpose. Regardless of the two friends Leandra had, those higher up in the order often disregarded her after the death of her parents. While the order knew she was their charge for a time, it meant little when no one could agree on to whom she was to go to. Back then, as long as she was given a daily meal there was nothing else they felt she needed to pass time in her “room”.

Despite her current predicament, Crawford Starrick was a fine father figure. He certainly fairs much better than many of the other doting old men who looked in to adopt her. While living with his, she was allowed to study philosophy, economics, even medicine. Not many men of the age were so open to allowing a woman to learn beyond her role as homebody and bearer of children. ‘I suppose that’s why he saw fit to stick me here. Where better to dangle a hook than where I study and what I most risk losing.’

As Leandra continued to stare at nothing, her thoughts were disturbed by a knock at the door. Turning her gaze, the meal slot opened without a word and a package was slid halfway though. How interesting. “My lady?” Oh, Arnold was on guard today. He was always the nicest of her guards, even told her of news from outside or at least what he could tell her. “I got a book for ya. Mutual friend asked for this to be delivered.” Twisting herself out of the oddly comfortable bed, Leandra beamed as she took the bundle into her hands. Must be Dickens, he had been writing something the last time the two met at the George and Vulture. Ripping apart the wrapping, the joy of something new to take her mind off the situation could not be adequately described.

“Thank you Arnold. Tell me, what news is there? Last time you were here Dr. Elliotson was in the midst of trafficking his soothing syrup.” Setting the book down onto her desk, even mentioning the disgusting draught sent shivers down Leandra’s back. Before her incarceration, Starrick had asked her to check in and get an understanding of what Elliotson was pandering to the common man. While she was no chemist, the drug’s combination of opium and datura stramonium was something that she was abhorred by.

“I’m sure you’ve ‘eard the commotion around here. Someone managed to slip into the main distillery and blow the damn thing. While I wouldn’t mind shaking their ‘and, your father ain’t none too pleased. Talk around the boroughs is about these Frye twins and their gang, the Rooks.” At mentioning the name, Arthur definitely had a mocking tone. To Leandra…Blighters wasn’t much better though at least they weren’t named after a chess piece. Hold on a moment, did he say Frye?!

“Frye? Haven’t heard that name in a long time. It can’t be them…could it?” Leandra spoke her thoughts, as if saying their name herself would make it make sense. The last time she saw Jacob and Evie Frye was after her mother’s funeral in Crawley. The assassins weren’t in London, they hadn’t been for years. Shaking her head, she shifted her focus to the other parts of Arthur’s news.

“On that, you and I agree. I will never understand why father believed selling that was a good idea. Poisoning your enemies is one thing, but poisoning innocents? Nothing warrants that. How’s the Lambeth group doing? What with these Rooks and all.” Acting along with Arthur’s mockery, Leandra couldn’t let it slip that she knew Jacob and Evie. To her knowledge, not even Starrick knew about her past with the two especially as he’s never asked during his visits. If he suspected that she did know them, he never let it show.

“Last I ‘eard they got chased out, at least those who didn’t betray their kin.” CHASED OUT?! How long have they lost control? Leandra turned to gaze at the door, trying to understand what she just heard.

“Chased out? How is that possible? There hasn’t been a change here, at least not a noticeable one.” Hearing this, she could hear Arthur hum in response. Perhaps they’ve doubled their efforts in the asylum, at the very least due to having two high value individuals within its walls. She may not have agreed with the good doctor, but Starrick couldn’t afford to lose his hold on the medical field in the city. Before their conversation could continue on, Leandra heard a crash outside the door.

“Arthur?! What’s going on out there?” Genuine concern sat in her voice, something she hadn’t felt since before her incarceration. Slowly approaching the door, she could hear a cocking sound before her guard spoke.

“Not sure miss, but nuttin’ you need to concern ‘urself with. Just read that book a’yours.” Sighing, his bravado was certainly a comfort. It wasn’t like she could provide much help within her cage anyhow. Stepping back, Leandra returned to her desk but before she could even open the book’s cover there was another crash. This time the sound was followed by Arthur’s barking voice. “The FUCK are you doing here?!” Drawing in a sharp breath, she looked around the room for a suitable hiding spot.

Since this was an asylum, it was understandable that her room was mostly bare. Though in cases such as this, it was a grand inconvenience. Remembering how the door opened reminded her that it swung inward, if whoever attacked Arthur came in she could potentially hide behind it and make an escape. Thinking quickly, Leandra grabbed her present and rushed to hide. Time was apparently not on her side as right as she hid, the door’s lock was being picked.

‘I hope Arthur’s okay. Only a Rook would warrant that kind of response from him.’ Covering her mouth, the door was unlocked and just as she thought the burglar entered her room. Thankfully, he didn’t need to open the door completely to enter and so he did not notice the other body that hid from his sight.

“Armed guard, Starrick must have something important stored here. Dr. Elliotson can wait.” Dr. Elliotson? So, she wasn’t his target, that was a tad reassuring. Tiptoeing from behind the door, Leandra was met with the back of a rather average sized male with a hood. While he hadn’t quite noticed her yet, she could not risk him turning around before she was fully out of the room and catching her. Bringing the thick tome above her head, she slammed the book as hard as she could down onto his head and appeared to stun him as she planned. Bolting out of the room, she heard a shout of anger right as she shut the door. Unfortunately for whoever it was, the doors look from the outside and once closed her door always locked itself without the use of a key.

Turning away from the other side of her cell door, Leandra spotted an unconscious Arthur a few steps away along with several other Blighters. Checking the man she had come to see as a friend, there was a steady pulse and his breathing appeared unimpeded. Releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, for a second Leandra contemplated what her next move was. The guards were down and whoever had broken into her cell was going to become a much larger issue soon if Dr. Elliotson was his target. This was the kind of opportunity she had prayed for. But what would happen once she leaves?

Her father was never one to let those under his thumb go without a fight. Yet, if he was losing control of the city then maybe could…get lost in it. While she had no prospects as a woman in London, Starrick had set up accounts in the past she could access for “frivolities” as he called them. That money could easily be used to set up a new life, whether it was in the city or not. Plus…there was her other friends in the city. Living with the assassins for the first ten years of life did not leave her completely without aid.

‘Now is the moment, alright time to go.’ Walking away from Arthur’s unconscious body, Leandra ran through the hall. Looking for an exit, it wasn’t until she found a stairwell with roof access that she managed to truly escape. Seeing a pile of hay at the bottom, she gathered the courage mentally before performing an eagle dive into the cart. Feeling the rush of air and the adrenaline that came from the free fall, when she jumped out and brushed herself off the rush propelled her. Calmly but quickly walking to the front gate, Leandra took her first steps out of the asylum a free woman.

Continuing on through the streets of London, it dawned on her that her clothes were the same ones she had been incarcerated in. Had she been there a night or two, that would be easy to explain away. Yet, three weeks was much less of an instance. ‘Which street am I on?’ Looking for a nearby sign, she was relieved to find that it was the very same one that her tailor was on. ‘Today must be a very lucky for me. Hopefully he’s open.’ Using muscle memory from the days where she would leave the asylum for a new coat or a fix on a skirt, it didn’t take very long for her to find Thimbles and Threads.

Entering the quaint shop, the shop keep stood at attention and smiled warmly at the sight of her. “Leandra! My dear, it has far too long since your last visit. Asylum keeping you busy? Here, let me have a look at you.” Gliding across the floor, her dear friend Michael gingerly took her hands and guided her to one of the fitting rooms. Helping her to step up onto a small platform, he did a full look at her wears and tusked at the state.

“When was the last time you had something new to wear? I swear, it looks you’ve worn this for the past week at least.” At this, Leandra gave a sheepish smile before speaking.

“Make that three. Oh Michael, it’s been awful. Father didn’t like what I had to say about paving my own way…so I might have spent a little time as a patient at the asylum and not a caretaker. Think you give me a hand?” The look on Michael’s face said it all when he heard her out. Over the following few hours, the two spoke on everything they’ve missed in each other’s lives the last few weeks. Once everything was said and done, Leandra offered to pay for his services, but Michael promptly and adamantly refused.

“You have been through hell my dear. Consider this a gift.” Placing a hand over her heart, if only the man wasn’t already wed. She would have kissed him right then and there.

“Well thank you, my dear friend. Now, do you know where I can find Mr. Dickens these days? I left something in his care and was hoping to retrieve it.” The man nodded his head, of course he did. As far as tailors go, the upper level of society chose from a select few. Thankfully for me, he was one of those.

“Aye, I believe you can find him at Devil’s Acre in West Minster. He claims it’s their ale, but there’s been talk of other things. You know how it goes.” Lightly chuckling, she understood very well what Michael implied. Shaking his hands, Leandra continued on her way through London. West Minster was where both her father and the leader of the Blighters dwelled, so she was certainly going to use great caution. But if she wished to retrieve her belongings, it was there she had to go.

Prior to her incarceration, tensions with her father had been building to a dangerous point. While she had no true clue has to the extent his was willing to go, something was brewing in his mind. The last time she saw Dickens he noticed her unease and offered a solution. Pack a trunk, one her father wouldn’t take note of, and leave it with him at a pub. From there, he would hide for her. ‘Dickens, you wonderfully chaotic mind.’ Hailing a cab with ease, the quick journey to the Devil’s Acre was a quiet one.

Once she reached the tavern however, the peace of the day ended as the slow roar of revelry reached her ears. ‘Hopefully none of the other guards from Lambeth are here.’ Keeping her head down as she entered, it felt as though her presence was greatly…unnoticed. Which made looking for Dickens that much easier, adding to the fact that he was probably the only classy gentleman in the place. Gingerly snagging the seat next to him, the poor man nearly choked on his ale at the sight.

“*cough* Leandra! Dear girl it has been many a night since I last saw you. Did you receive the book I sent you? Arthur promised he would bring it to you.” Covering the laugh that escaped, she nodded her head and gestured to him with said book in hand.

“He did, haven’t had the chance to read it quite yet. It makes a very good weapon of defense. Thank you for finding a way to get it to me.” The old man chuckled and took a sip of his ale, without choking this time.

“So, our mutual friend was tight-lipped on your whereabouts. Were you right to be cautious?” Leandra nodded her head, unperturbed by Dickens’ sudden serious tone. For the pair, it had been a month since their last conversation. Dickens had been someone outside of her father’s circle that she could speak freely with. So, it was not difficult to understand his worry for her after disappearing for three whole weeks.

“I was, despite your usual joyful demeanor, you were right about him. He placed me in Lambeth, a few days after we spoke. I managed to get out but without the things I gave you, it shan’t be long before he throws me back in and walks away with the key. Where is it?” Speaking in hushed tones, Leandra began to feel the gazes of others on her back. Devil’s Acre was not a place to linger for long, and both knew this.

“The prize you seek,” Dickens paused as he took another sip, “lies amongst oddities galore, which could not be further from the river’s shore.” A moment passed and Leandra had her answer. Henry Green’s curio shop. The belongings of the Templar Grandmaster’s daughter are with the one assassin in all of London…clever move. Tipping her head, Leandra slipped out as silently as she had entered. While she could hail a cab once again, the chance of being spotted by a Blighter as she waited was too high here. Instead, she chose to stalk the side alleys for an unabandoned carriage whose owner was too drunk to care where it might be.

Thankfully, it did not take very long around Devil’s Acre just nearby. Procuring her mode of transport, it was easy to move through the streets as she attempted to remain as unnoticed by Blighters as possible. Reaching Whitechapel within the hour, there was a sharp change in scenery from the Whitechapel she remembered. Men and women walked the streets but instead of Starrick’s red coats, they wore dark green plaid. Children played in the streets instead of slaving away in factories. People here appeared…happier? The sky remained the same dreary hue as in the rest of London, yet the people around didn’t seem to mind as much.

‘Maybe the Rooks are what London needs. Certainly appear to do more good than harm.’ Driving the carriage until she was a few blocks from the shop, it seemed like a good idea to leave it there. Certainly would not want someone mistaking her for a Blighter sent to hurt Mr. Green. Once she reached the shop, Leandra noticed the unburnt candles and seeming desertion. Had Henry left London? Why would he leave his shop unattended?

‘No matter, just need to get my things and leave. Starrick likely knows of my absence by now.’ Going around to the back of the shop, she was pleased to know the spare key was still where she had been shown in the past. Unlocking the door, Leandra scoured the shop and managed to find her chest amongst Mr. Green’s personal things. Opening the chest with ease, certainly helped that it wasn’t latched by a true “key” but a puzzle, she was on the verge of opening it when a chime was heard behind her.

Did someone see her? Leandra didn’t notice any lingering eyes on her walk here, or any carriages that possibly followed her. Stepping away from her chest, she spotted a nearby armoire that was not against the wall. Quickly squeezing herself behind it, luck must have once again been on her side for as soon as she was secure there was the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Who’s in here? I saw you through the window. I don’t think Greenie would be happy someone is going through his things.” Greenie? Did the voice mean Henry? Leandra held her breath as the voice grew closer. She couldn’t leave the chest open, regardless of this person’s potential friendship with Green. The floorboards creaked as he stepped in front of the armoire and in a split second, she recognized a chance to flee. Using the wall as a grounding force, she toppled the furniture onto the man. Hopefully it would only render him incapacitated for as long as she needed.

Racing back to the chest, she grabbed whatever she could and fled through the front door. In her haste, the only thing she could get her hands on were papers from her father’s study. While there were other things of value, these just might have been the most important to her. As she fled, the voice called out again in rage for her to come back. Strangely enough, she recognized the voice this time…the same one she heard back in the asylum. Certainly it wasn’t the same person from before, right?

No matter, for now the next stop was Bishopsgate station. Green may not have been in his shop but that doesn’t mean she had to stay and wait for him. Right now, her best move would be to return to Crawley. While she had no intentions of joining the assassins in their fight, these papers from Starrick might be enough to grant her safe passage to America or Europe…or literally anywhere other than here.

Easily making it to the station, the next train to Crawley wasn’t set until for several hours. ‘Unfortunate, but I don’t mind waiting.’ Finding a seat by the tracks, Leandra thumbed through the documents. If she was going to be carrying these around, it wouldn’t hurt to know what she had in her possession. The first few were nothing of consequence, however the further in she went the more crucial they appeared to be. Contacts, debts owed, and locations of owned businesses were in her hand. Somehow she seems to have snagged a literal treasure trove of documents. No wonder her father was adamant of her return to the fold, he likely knew what she had taken and wanted it back.

‘Well…shit. What have you gotten yourself into Leandra?’ Taking a deep breath, she allowed herself to be lost in thought as time ticked by. Trains came and went, and it became a game for her to make up stories to keep herself entertained about their lives. Whilst doing this, Leandra hadn’t noticed a certain figure slump next to her until he groaned. Keeping her head still whilst stealing a glance, there was something recognizable about the man she couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was someone she had run into at the asylum during her rounds, he certainly fit the description of a Lambeth asylum patient. Before she could steal anymore glances, a woman approached the man and chuckled at his appearance.

“Tired brother? And here I thought you were the brawn of us.” Wait a moment, that snark. Leandra remembered it well, only when they were children it was much more high-pitched.

“Yes sister, having a wardrobe fall on someone would do well to tire them out.” The man hissed out, oh shit. Had she pushed it onto him of all people?! Looking out onto the tracks, she risked another look at the pair beside her. Seeing them together, it was undeniable. Despite the years, she would recognize the Frye twins anywhere. So many questions filled her head at this realization. What were they doing in London? Did they know Mr. Green? Could they help her?

Before she could speak out, Evie spoke. “Ah, was that before or after being hit in the head with a book at Lambeth?” That was him too? Oh god, she had a lot of apologizing to do for today.

“Hey, I at least finished the job. Damn nutter got the jump on me. Besides, someone was in Greenie’s shop. Figured he should know some trunk was opened. Whoever it was wanted something. I don’t know what, but it was probably important.” At hearing this, she looked down and gripped the papers tightly. Either Jacob or Evie must have noticed her action as the two shifted to whispers, none of which she could hear. Good Lord has today been a long day. Leandra became consumed by her thoughts, embarrassed at the fact she had not only hurt the same man twice but both instances had been one of her TWO childhood friends all for the sake of survival. Was it worth it?!

Before she could answer herself, a pair of shadows loomed over her. Shifting her gaze, it was of course the twins standing over her. Evie was thankfully the first to speak, always being the more…socially polite. “Excuse me, my brother and I couldn’t help but notice how tightly you’re holding onto those papers. Mind if we see them?” She didn’t recognize her, how could she? It had been eleven years since they had seen each other. Taking a deep breath, Leandra steeled herself before answering.

“I would actually. They’re for a friend, he was holding on to them for me. I wouldn’t suppose you know him, Mr. Henry Green? I was hoping to give them to him.” She had to act unbothered. The twins she remembered were always quick to action, even if Evie was one to know more than her brother beforehand. Speaking firmly, she noticed how Jacob became defensive.

“And how do you know Greenie?” He growled the name, as if itching for a fight. Shit, this was not how she wanted this to go. However, before she could explain a train pulled into the station as if in the nick of time…with Henry Green hopping out. Honestly, something was working hard in her favor today.

“Leandra! You’re okay. When Dickens dropped off your trunk I thought something had happened.” Practically jumping to her feet, Leandra was happy to see her friend.

“Henry. God you have perfect timing. Here,” she held out the stack of papers in her hand as he approached the three of them, “I need you to take this. And I have to ask a favor if you can help me.” Evie and Jacob parted as Henry walked up. Gingerly taking the papers from her, he peered over them and as he realized what she was giving him his eyes bulged.

“Leandra, how did you get these?” Of course that was his first question. She had never told him about Starrick, why would she when the two were staunch enemies? Though, she supposed now was as good a time as any.

“They’re from my father’s desk, or better yet Crawford Starrick’s. There is much to discuss but I’d rather not do it here. Please Henry.” Her gaze turned to pleading as she looked at him. While they may not be in Blighter territory, the more time she spent outside, the higher her risk of being found.

The twins, still present, shared a look before turning to Mr. Green. It would appear her safety was in his hands. However, it would appear that he valued their friendship. Taking a deep breath, he looked to Evie and nodded his head. “Come Leandra, you’ll be safe on the train. After we’re aboard you can tell us everything.” Adamantly nodding her head, the trio turned to the train that had yet to leave the station and headed towards it. Leandra followed behind, hopeful for what was to come.

#assassins creed #ac syndicate #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader

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elcor-thespian · 5 months ago

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hi!!! for that datv ask game how about 1, 3, and 4? i also just followed you so i know nothing about your rook (or if you've posted anything about them) but i'd love to hear about them and who they are (class, species, etc.)!!!

Yay, thank you! Please answer the same on your blog if you'd like and tag me in it! I'm assuming this is the ask you mean, because I've reposted a bunch of them today. 50 Questions Ask

So since you haven't read my other stuff I'm sorry to say I've tricked you and I have 7 Rooks. But I'll try to keep this as abridged as possible! I’ll put in a shitty screen grab for everyone too, so you have a basic idea of what they look like.

Also some of this I've never fully solidified so we're making decisions now and sticking to them!

The questions are, how old is your Rook, what faction did they join and how long ago, and what was their life like before? We'll get the quick and easy stuff out of the way first.

Nephele Mercar (human rogue, romanced Lucanis) is 28, and has been a Shadow Dragon for about 11 years. I, like many people, am fully ignoring any sense of them being "new" to the organization.

Nasreen Aldwir (elf mage romanced Emmrich) is 25, and has been a Veil Jumper for about 4 years. I know a lot of people who romanced Emmrich are aging their Rooks up to make the age difference less noticeable. I'm leaning in, baby.

Aleksei Mercar is (elf rogue romanced Bellara) 26, and has been with the Lords for about 7 years.

Paloma (Qunari mage romanced Taash) is about 26, but she doesn't know for sure. She has been a Shadow Dragon for about 2 years.

Brenna Thorne (human warrior romanced Davrin) is 32, and she has been a Warden for 14 years. Again, we are ignoring any sense of them being a rookie. As far as I'm concerned when the First Warden called her a "junior Warden" he was just being an asshole.

Konstantin Ingellvar (Qunari warrior romanced Neve) is 27 and obviously was found in the Necropolis as a baby so....27 years.

Elspeth de Riva (dwarven warrior romanced Harding) is 28 and....depends who you ask. They would say they were born a Crow, most people would say about 10 years. Viago would say he's still waiting to see.

Now for some back story. Trigger warnings in here for child abuse, alcohol and drug abuse, sexual physical and mental abuse, slavery, depression/suicidal ideation, murder. Did anyone's Rook have a good childhood?

Nephele was born in Rivain and was in charge of raising herself as far back as she can remember. She never knew her dad, or what happened to him (it's unclear if her mom doesn't know or doesn't want to talk about it, and asking questions gets you punished). Her mom is an alcoholic/drug addict, and when she wasn't gone she was mostly unconscious, and if she was conscious she was probably screaming at Nephele or smacking her around. Things got worse when her step dad entered the picture when she was about 5. He was always awake, so he was always screaming, throwing things, and hitting her. Nephele learned really early on to stay out of the house as much as possible. Her community tried to help her as much as they could, but no one could afford to take her in, and her step dad seemed to have some strong ties in the community through various criminal activity so no one really wanted to get on his bad side.

For the most part Nephele dealt with this in stride, developing a great sense of humor and precocious charm (you know, like most traumatized children). However, things really started to become untenable once she hit puberty. Skipping over the more graphic details for now, step dad sucks, but she was always able to get out of the house or get him black out drunk before things got too bad.

One night when she was 15, he was being particularly aggressive and was trying to push her on to the kitchen counter. She saw a knife on the counter and tried to grab it. He went for it too, they wrestled for it, and at the end he had cut the side of her neck but she had stabbed him in the stomach and he was unconscious on the floor.

She ran out of the house, and got patched up by the local Seer, but she had had enough, so she got on the first boat out of there before she even confirmed if he was actually dead.

She ended up in Minrathous without a plan, and without any money. All she had was that same kitchen knife, which she got pretty good at using, and her winning personality. She got good at getting by on the street, either by charming, begging, swindling, or straight up stealing. Maybe sometimes you sleep with someone and they buy you dinner. It's a fair trade.

Eventually she was working in bars and trading information she picked up there to interested parties. Her reputation caught the attention of the Shadow Dragons, who ended up bringing her in. That meant an actual consistent place to sleep and regular food. Also training from people who actually knew how to fight with knives. She was a great study since she didn't have another option. She quickly became a fixture in the organization, particularly when they had need for a spy. Nephele is really good at fitting in to most environments, and making people feel comfortable.

(By the way I came up with all of this before I knew anything about Lucanis or his romance, and it fits sooo well. What do you mean he takes really good care of her when she had to always take care of herself? What do you mean he’s changed her associations with kitchens to be a place that was safe and welcoming as opposed to where her deepest trauma took place? What do you mean he offers non sexual intimacy? What do you mean they both collect knives? I’m sick.)

2. Nasreen was raised Dalish, mostly in Antiva. She started manifesting her magic at about 10, and it was very clearly mainly focused on naturally on death. Where she walked in the forest the grass blackened and died, mushrooms would sprout at her touch, and the decaying and rotting process for dead animals would speed up until they were nothing but bones. She actually started eating mostly vegetarian meals because she couldn’t be too near the clan’s kills. People tried to be normal about it, but it was pretty clear she made people uncomfortable, so she spent a lot of time alone. Her parents did their best to help her, but she turned in to a pretty sad and lonely kid.

When the Kirkwall Rebellion started she was about 11-12. Since the Dalish have never been forced to go to circles (allegedly), particularly in the North, it shouldn’t have affected them much. But the thing about fear mongering is that it ends up catching a lot of people in the crossfire. When a nearby human town found out about Nasreen’s magic, it sounded a lot like demonic possession and blood magic to them, and they attacked the clan. Nasreen’s family tried to hide her, but they were killed in the process, and she saw the whole thing from her hiding spot.

Nasreen left what was left of her clan to avoid anyone else getting hurt. She wandered around for a bit, and ended up in Rivain, where she met Aleksei. They became fast friends, and when he found out that she was living on her own he took her home and his mom basically adopted her.

The two grew up together, alongside Aleksei’s three younger brothers. Nasreen had a massive crush on him, but he really saw her more as a sister. We’ll talk more about him in the next section. But long story short they went their separate ways and Nasreen ended up in Arlathan with the veil Jumpers.

A very important of facet of Nasreen’s character is that she is suicidally depressed. She’s never actually acted on it, but she is very reckless, particularly in a fight, almost like she wants someone to finish her off. At the start of the game she has given herself about 6 months and if she’s still alive she has a plan to kill herself.

She also has a real anger problem. Thedas needs to invent talk therapy like, yesterday.

3. Aleksei is the oldest of 4. His brothers are Mikheil (3 years younger), Kire (4 years younger), and Vedran (7 years younger). His father passed away when he was 9, and he was raised by his mom, Marina. Marina is the ultimate mom. Across 7 Rooks we have one actually good parent.

Aleksei has always been a really happy go lucky kid, but his father’s death hit him a lot harder than he lets on. His mom noticed the subtle changes in him, particularly in how much he started pitching in around the house to help her out. Which is nice, but also she really didn’t want him to sacrifice being a kid to take on that responsibility. Which is certainly part of why she was so happy to take in Nasreen. Aleksei was a kid again when Nasreen was around and he seemed so much happier. She also saw that Nasreen was in distress and she would never turn away a kid in need. Very quickly she saw Nasreen as her own, and she finally had a daughter.

Aleksei wanted to be a sailor his whole life, and he and Nasreen would often pretend to be pirates and adventurers. They did a lot of odd jobs around the city to help bring in money, including but not limited to performing music on street corners. One thing they didn’t really have as much time for was school, although Marina did her best to teach them at home. Aleksei has ADHD and is dyslexic, so he was not a great student and really struggles with reading. (Nephele and Nasreen can probably read at an 11th or 12th grade level since they kept working on it as adults, but Aleksei is like at a 2nd grade level as an adult).

When he turned 18 he immediately signed up to join a ship, and wanted Nasreen to go with him. The thing is, Nasreen is terrified of boats and gets seasick very easily (you know, because of the trauma of escaping on a boat after seeing your parents get brutally murdered). So she asked him not to go, and he went anyway. She’s never forgiven him for that.

Not that long after setting sail, maybe a couple months, Aleksei’s ship was attacked, and he ended up getting put in to slavery. After about 6 months he was rescued. I saw a post that made a lot of sense that suggested that since Fenris was out there freeing slaves, it makes a lot of sense that thats how he was rescued and met Isabella, so that’s canon now.

His family never knew about any of this. Aleksei can barely read or write, so he doesn’t send a ton of letters home, and he doesn’t want his mom to worry about him more than she already does.

4. Paloma was born in Seheron and she doesn’t have many memories from her life before age 9. That was when she first displayed her magic, and she was taken away and called Saarebas. She doesn’t even remember what if anything she was called before that. Trauma has a way of erasing your identity, particularly if that is what the people around you want.

But the whole time she was stewing and formulating a plan, and the second she was able to escape she did. She was about 22 or 23, and her first concrete memory is ripping her mask off of her face, and using a rock to cut the stitches in her mouth.

At this point it had been about 13 years since she had said a word, and she spent a lot of time on her own in hiding teaching herself to talk again. She would watch people during the day and then spend the evenings trying to repeat what she had heard. She actually got fairly decent at understanding different languages, even if she couldn’t read or write them. Once in Minrathous in the market she heard a mother call for her child “Paloma”, and she liked the sound of it and decided that was her name too.

At one point she gained enough confidence to start attacking Qunari and Venatori she saw subjugating other people, and the Shadow Dragons brought her in after a particularly brutal raid.

She’s getting better at talking, but still forgets to chime in in conversations, particularly in large groups. She still isn’t used to people wanting to know what she has to say.

She has also taken huge strides in finding her own identity. She is constantly trying different styles, foods, hobbies, etc. She dyes her hair all the time and changes her make up to match. She’s trying to make up for lost time and is speed running finding her personality.

5. Brenna was born in to a noble family in Amaranthine. She has 5 younger siblings. Oskar, Glynnis, and Owain are the triplets (2 years younger), then Ailith two years after that, and Eveleen two years after that.

She was 11 during the 5th Blight, and she remembers the day that Warden Commander Ilayna came to Amaranthine. She even met her briefly once. Brenna was a tomboy and was obsessed with the idea of being a Warden and traveling the world fighting evil. Her parents very much did not support this and forbade her from learning to fight or going near the warden fortress. She snuck out all the time and found a lot of wardens happy to teach her.

When she turned 18 she told her parents she was joining the Wardens and they told her that if she did they would never speak to her again, and they wouldn’t allow her siblings to either. She did it anyway, although she misses her siblings tremendously. She heard that Eveleen is finally engaged and Owain is expecting his second child.

Despite the pain, Brenna has never regretted her choice. She’s thrives in the Wardens and it has been everything she dreamed of when she was a little girl.

6. As we all know Konstantin was found in a crypt when he was an infant. We still don’t know anything about his birth parents.

This sweet summer child. Konstantin was the only Qunari his age in the Necropolis (I’m tempted to say he was the only Qunari period, but I can’t swear that we don’t see any other Qunari NPCs anywhere. Suffice to say he stuck out). He grew really quickly and eventually was 7’2” not including the horns. He also isn’t a mage, so there’s only so much that he can do.

His entire life he has tried to be useful and not take up too much space or attention. This is entirely self imposed, as the Watchers have always been kind and made him feel loved and supported. But he still feels the need to justify his place, especially because the other students his age were real dicks about him, partially because of the perceived special treatment he was receiving.

He is a really good student, focusing on magical theory rather than practical application. He understands magic better than most mages outside of the Necropolis. He also reads a lot of history and poetry. He reads a lot also because he doesn’t really have any friends, and he doesn’t talk to anyone his age much beyond pleasantries and what is needed for work.

He gets along much better with the senior watchers. And I think nearly every senior watcher sees him as their child to some degree.

7. Elspeth is the backstory I have fleshed out the least, and they’re also the character I’ve played the least.

The Crows buy orphans, and usually only elves and humans. Elspeth being a dwarf, she wasn’t high on the priority list. But when Viago saw this tiny child, he thought what the hell. It was the worst impulse purchase of his life.

Elspeth is not….the worst Crow. They just aren’t naturally patient. Or stealthy. Or graceful. Or quiet. They prefer a direct approach. Smashing things with a giant hammer is pretty direct.

What they are is committed and loyal, and genuinely everyone likes them. So they get away with a lot. They somehow have become Viago’s sister, child, bodyguard, and biggest headache. But only he is allowed to complain about them. He’ll kill anyone who suggests kicking her out.

#dragon age #datv #dragon age the veilguard #dragonage #datv spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age spoilers #fanfiction #ask #my ocs

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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 2 years ago

Text

Spolia (IV)

Parings: Malleus/(Light Fae) MC // Slight Rook/Vil // Trein/MC (Parental)

Summary: You wondered why you ever got accepted into NRC but never bothered to look back when the infamous black carriage whisked you away from a place you could never call home. Having been handed an opportunity of freedom, of solitude, of hope- how come you're paralyzed with fear rather than excitement? Your sunny plein air sessions and nightly walks contemplating this has attracted a certain dragon fae with an affinity for your nimble gargoyle sketches and magnificent paintings.

Notes: Rn I’m re-reading Nishi Kanako’s Fukuwarai so I’ve been inspired by her writing style/concepts in this work overall‒ it’s a story about defining “yourself” within the murky conception of “you”/what it means to “know” someone, and it uses a lot of sensory/bodily/interoceptive imagery to do so, but it’s kinda hard translating it to my native language to English. Also realized some errors regarding in-game knowledge because I have no working memory. Like actually none. But notes at the end for that lol. Lots of made up lore I vomited out enjoy! Comments, likes, and reblogs appreciated as always :)

CW: None

AO3 Link Here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 (Here) // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

Masterlist

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The rest of the cultural festival went smoothly, and though the anxiety from actually confronting the instructions of the letter you received buzzed inside of you, your discussions with Malleus on your passions and theories on Gothic architecture grounded you to the present. You were also pleased to find that the mystery student Trein mentioned was him, which gave you all the more reason to trust him with your adorations that tethered you back to life.

“That’s definitely an interesting theory…I could definitely appropriation being used as a psychological strategy during the wartime efforts and translating postwar with the rise of decorative statuary…” The both of you sat at the foot of a tree in the campus courtyard, leaning onto the sturdy trunk side by side, enjoying the sunny warmth that wove itself into the light breeze.

“My thoughts exactly, child of man. However I still need more material regarding wartime sentiments and society of both the fae and humans.”

You hummed in response. “I wish I could help you with that but unfortunately that falls a bit out of my specialization…I guess all we have is the knowledge in the library. Besides, first hand accounts are hard to find during many wartime eras.”

Malleus paused for a second, putting his slender fingers to his lips. “Hm…I believe actually have a proposition to this issue.” He paused, piercing his gaze into yours, as if to look straight through you. “Do you trust me, (name)?”

Your eyes twitched at the sound of your name on his tongue, before flickering down at your hands. “Always, Malleus.” The heaviness at the root of your wings formed a doubt in your mind.

Why do you trust me?

You dreaded the sturdy kindness, the benevolence of his words to follow. Opposed to you, who kept their heart tucked under sorry smiles and an eternal distance from living things, Malleus always presented his heart in the palms of his hands like a fluttering bird, ready to share its warmth with his friends. Warmth so foreign to your skin, to yourself, that you felt like you were carving the same cold emptiness into him as life had done to you, stealing the brilliant warmth from inside of him. But he was always warm.

“Repent, repent, repent”

“Then I trust you.” Those simple words almost shattered you. He rose from his spot on the ground, and offered you his open hand.

For once you did not flinch, or back away‒ as much as you wanted to turn and run and run and run from his kindness, his warmth, to spare him from yourself. You prayed for discipline , a resistance inside of you that would prevent you from camping next to his warmth, yet, everytime he offered his open hand like this, your body moved on its own, drinking the mulled sweetness that you yearned. In the palm of your hand, you memorized the heat that pumped through his veins, swallowing it with the pain that struck your heart whenever you looked into those eyes that gazed far into you, unraveling the tight knot that strung every piece of yourself that you had cleaved off for other people. You were the first to pull away, afraid that you could become undone if you allowed yourself to revel in his divine warmth any longer.

Find me, find me, find me

He smiled so gently when you accepted his hand. It burned. “I want you to meet someone.”

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You didn’t expect for Malleus to bring you to the Diasmonia dorm. As you walked on the cobblestone path, you noticed it was one of those rare days where sunlight grazed the rocky mountains the dorm was perched on top of. A perfect day for painting, you thought. However, you had more urgent matters. Malleus seemed eager to take you to his “someone”, but despite his enthusiasm, he made sure to slow his long strides with your small ones.

When the two of you arrived at a wooden door, Malleus gave a few knocks. A beat a silence before it creaks open.

“Oh! Malleus. And a friend…?” You recognized the short man as Lilia Vanrouge, the vice dorm leader of the Diasmonia dorm.

Malleus gestured towards him. “(Name), this is Lilia, Lilia, this is (Name), my dear friend.” Your throat choked on his words. Quickly you bowed to hide the bashful smile on your face, introducing yourself by your full name and title, like you were taught by your mother.

“(Name) D’aramitz, of the D’aramitz skincare and potions company. A pleasure sir.” Lilia giggled at your stiffness.

“We’re the same year aren’t we? No need for formalities, any friend of Malleus’ is my own. Come in, come in.” Lilia stepped aside, allowing the two of you to enter the colorful chaos that was his room.

Ah, such a messy room. We’ll be fast friends.

“So what brings you here?” The vice dorm leader cleared a pile of extravagant looking clothes with a flick of the wrist, before levitating a tin box of cookies towards the table he urged you to sit at. He instantly nibbled on a thumbprint cookie filled with red jam.

“We had a question that I thought you could enlighten us about. Regarding wartime sentiments between humans and fae?” Malleus explained.

You continued. “We’re doing research on gothic architecture and its reflection of cultural and social shifts in both fae and human culture.” The playful grin on Lilia’s face dropped a bit.

“Ah…It’s not a happy story. If you’re okay with that, I’ll tell you all I can.”

Malleus looked towards you for confirmation. “Yes, please, to whatever extent you’re comfortable with.” You said.

“Well, again, it’s nothing happy.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms to cradle himself. “Tensions were rising between the two species because of a standstill in the battlefield. Though we fae generally stuck to physical attacks because of our overpowering abilities in magic, however, the humans tended to go for cultural or psychological damages. One way they did that was the complete destruction of fae species.”

“There are many species of fae, and most have specializations based on their magical or physiological make-up. For example, you Malleus, are capable of breathing fire as a dragon fae.” Malleus nodded in acknowledgement. Lilia continued.

“Because the humans could not overpower us physically, they tried to go for psychological and cultural attacks‒ mainly targeting fae species which were especially prevalent in important cultural rituals and roles. Like the celestial fae, born from stardust, and often taking up roles in spiritualty because of their natural inclination with the stars and astrology. But the most gruesome… genocide …I saw, was the extinction of the light fae.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Suddenly, the ache at the root of your wings, and the itchy wig bristling against your pointed ears became heightened. You had read somewhere during your childhood, that light fae had, for the most part, been extinct for decades. That was of course all you could remember, as your mother burned the books you had gotten from the school’s library that had any relation to the fae. But, you didn’t think they were actually completely extinct.

“Light fae‒ blessed by the spirits of the sun‒ have, or, had a particular artistic affinity because they were able to distinguish more colors of the light. So they had a sensibility when it came to tactile and creative pursuits like painting, architecture, or sculpting. Though for centuries they often stood at the center of the art world, during the gothic era right before the war, they gained even more religious, cultural, and political power because of their role in producing stained glass. Further, because of their natural affinity with light, they also attract it. So often in their presence, the walls covered head to toe in stained glass would shine brilliantly. It’s truly beautiful.”* Lilia pauses, gazing far beyond the present moment and space as if to remember its radiance.

“When they were exterminated by the humans, it not only destroyed us psychologically and religiously, but we also lost much of the technical and symbolic traditions of gothic architecture. Without anyone to teach the techniques born from the light fae, the original intentions, meanings, and practices were gone, forever.”

You almost teared up at that. Gone, forever? Lost, never to be found? You dug your nails into the scabs in your palms.

“And the worst part is…what we know of the techniques currently comes from not fae and human writing. They claimed the knowledge as their own, and used it to structurally reinforce their palaces. Gothic architecture was originally born out of militaristic necessity, to strengthen defense. So they used that knowledge gained from the extinction of one of our kind against us.” With a somber expression Lilia mindlessly bit into another cookie.

“That must be what led to the decorative phase postwar, as well as the appropriation of architecture by humans…interesting.”

“Spolia.” You merely stated, starting to feel waves of numbness wash over you. Really, you were doomed from the start. The pain, abuse, and manipulation was just a cycle of what happened before, it was just being repeated over and over throughout history, then passed onto you like a pathetic family heirloom celebrating your growth into an agonizing skin which beckoned destruction. Why wasn’t your bloodline killed off during the war? Why did your parents swap you with a human child? Why did they leave you with your barbaric family? Why? Why? Why?

“Actually, Lilia, I have something to show you.” You barely registered Malleus leaving his seat out of the room, dazed in a nauseating trance.

“…(me)? (Name)?” Lilia’s voice fazed in, as he stuck his hand in front of your glazed eyes, waving it with a concerned look on his face.

“Oh. Sorry. I zoned out.” You quickly replied. The vice dorm leader shot a questionable look at you. He kept his eyes trained on you as he leaned back into his chair.

“You’re not human, are you?”

Despite there being no ill intent behind that question, you felt an icy chill drench your head at that question. You shrunk into yourself, praying that you would continue to become smaller and smaller, and disappear from that moment.

“I…I…” you blubbered. Anxiety buzzed to your hands and feet, and you squeezed your first further, drawing blood from your palms.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell little ol’ me.” Lilia tittered, offering you a cookie. “Fae are common here, there’s no need to hide it.” Internally, you signed in relief. It also seemed he had not caught on that you were a light fae of all things, perhaps because he spoke like he witnessed their extinction first hand.

“No, i-it’s…” you struggled for formulate words as your throat constricted. “It’s different. I’m a changeling. I was raised human, and my family…desires that I keep it that way.” The words you chose were curated carefully. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Lilia gives you a sympathetic smile. “I won’t. I promise. We’re friends, are we not?”

“A-ah, yes, yes…thank you.” You accepted the cookie that he wiggled in front of you.

He looks you dead in the eyes with a serious expression. “However, I would give anything that’s diminishing your magic a break when you can. Without being able to properly absorb your natural source of life, you’ll surely become drained,“ he paused with a playful smile “mad, even.”

Despite the lightness in his last words, those words struck your gut, swirling a nausea in your intestines that almost rose to the back of your throat. Through that absolutely vomit inducing quip, you let out a nervous smile to assure him that you were in fact, definitely not going mad. You thanked the great seven when Malleus entered the room again, canvas in hand. However, your nausea increased tenfold when he revealed the panting. Your painting. Your gargoyle painting.

Really need to get that exorcism asap. Because what the fuck

Malleus handled the canvas with extreme care, careful not to touch the surface.

“This painting…I’ve never seen such beauty and sensibility in the colors. I was wondering, could it be modeled after any light fae painting techniques?”

Lilia adorned an unreadable expression as he peered at the piece. He took a slow breath through his mouth.

“This…” He paused, gazing at the rare light that poured in from the windows. “This reminds me of a painting I came across during the war, once.” His chest rose as he took in another gulp of air. “Paintings by light fae circulated around the fae world, especially as their numbers dwindled. Even with their extinction imminent, they created, and created, and created, piece after piece, leaving remnants of their existence in the world.” Lilia softly brushed his fingers against the raised mountains of paint on the canvas.

“They were often heralded in the fae as a symbol of incredible strength, a stubbornness to live and create and see beauty despite the ever present death that was instilled in their existence during the time. The death of their friends, the death of their children, the death of their kind…” Both you and Malleus were entranced by his words.

“It was when morale was low‒ humans had succeeded in their psychological attacks and even with our physical capabilities, we weren’t recovering fast enough to get back to our full potential. We received word that a cathedral was being attacked for the search of light fae, so we ran as fast as we could.” Lilia paused for a second. “When we arrived, all we found was a demolished building. But there was one painting, still attached to an upright wall of the building that was otherwise completely obliterated. It was a painting of prayer hands. The form was simple, and the colors brilliant as usual‒ but the way that it handled light was so vibrant, ethereal even, and most of all soft, tender, and loving. These paintings were born of love. Love for the sun, love for their people, love for beauty, love for life. In its presence, I felt rejuvenated. I made me shiver in my skin and bones‒ in a good way.” Lilia drew his eyes across the entirety of the canvas, you were nervous to watch his expression.

“This painting reminds me a lot of that time. But I doubt it was actually made from a light fae, they were pretty thoroughly wiped out, you can even look at the surveys done in Briar Valley after the war if you want to confirm. Ah but the way this painting makes me feel…I feel an undeniable love from it.” Lilia’s lips were graced in a smile as he pulled his hands away from the surface of the painting. Your heart swelled at that, had you been painting with love? What did you even love? Had you felt it before? What did it feel like? You weren’t sure.

You looked at Mallus, curious of his expression. Sweetness spread on your tongue when you saw the enthralled look in his eyes. You drank his expression in, the same way his eyes consumed the painting.

Wait…if he purchased the painting, did he leave a note?

Your heart jumped at that. No, no, it couldn’t possibly be. Something so good couldn’t be true. There’s no way you could handle the reality of that situation. After all, who would love a damned creature like you? Still, you are reminded of the contents of the letter. You lull your heart with a prayer,

Find me, find me, find me.

“Thank you Lilia, for sharing that. I am…further in love with this painting.”

Find me, find me, find me.

“I should get going soon. It’s late.” You rose to your feet, averting your gaze from your creation. Malleus also stood.

“In that case, allow me to walk you home, child of man.”

You bid your goodbyes to Lilia, and before you knew it, you set foot once more into the front lawn of the Pomefiore dorm.

“Thank you for walking me back. And I had a lot of fun today! Please tell Lilia I loved his stories, and that his knowledge will be great for our future research!”

Malleus let out a airy chuckle at that. “You can tell him when we meet again in the future. He’s your friend now, you’ll probably be seeing more of him, especially with his pranks…” You returned his laugh with one of your own.

“Good night, Malleus.”

“Good night, (Name).” You felt like your body swelled with a million bubbles at the sound of your name. You watched his form slowly disappear, and you stood at the entrance of the Pomefiore dorm to confirm that he was likely on his way back to his own. The paper felt soft in between your fingers as you pulled it out of your pocket, worn out from you folding and opening it over and over.

“I wish to find you,

Spolia, 1001.”

Find me, find me, find me.

Your heart drummed along with those words. As you sang them in your head like a mantra, your legs carried you towards the direction of the library.

Find me, find me, find me.

The cool breeze in the library stained your cheeks with red. You trotted your way over to the bookshelf you scoured a few weeks ago, grazing your hand against the spine of each book, fearing that you’d somehow miss it.

Spolia, Appropriation, and Victory: Decorative Statues Throughout the Ages.

Spolia, you think again. Sought after its destruction. The new founded on the old. The cycle of annihilation you bear with your existence. You held your breath, hooking your finger into the spine of the book. With a quick release of air, you swiftly dragged it out.

Your hand trembles slightly, having no issue turning to page 1001 with the nervous sweat sticking to your fingers. 1001. A folded parchment nestled in the pages. Opening the paper, you shivered as you trace your feather light touch onto the elegant crimson cursive, raised slightly from the thin parchment soaking the ink. Finally, you allow your eyes to take in the contents of the paper, transforming meaningless shapes into words.

“Everything you are to me is that beauty I saw in your hands.

The hands that inscribed your thoughts, the hands that drafted your sketches, and hands that tenderly painted brilliant colors onto the canvas. Your hands create such soft gentleness, life, and a depth that pierced right into my soul when I gazed upon your inner world coloring the canvas.

Though I do not know you, what color your hair is, how the rumble of your voice echos upon my ears, or the warmth of your touch, what truly is “knowing” a person? When we think we “know” a person, we may imagine such things as the shape of their lips, or the hum of their voice, but I, who remain blind to these things, can only imagine the beautiful things which make up your existence. That is everything to me.

Though the world I imagine within you may seem small, everything that you are to me is beautiful. Your entirety to me in this moment is just that.

You are beautiful. So, so beautiful it hurts my heart.

If I may find you, gaze these eyes upon your hair, your eyes, your hands, and feel your warmth‒ I would like to expand this small world of beauty inside you that I know into something bigger. I would like to change the “everything” you are to me. I know that for certain, it would be magnificent.

Please let me find you.”

You didn’t even have time to stop the tears that were gushing from your eyes.

Oh great seven, you pleaded. Please, oh great seven, please find me, find me, find me. Your knees gave in from under you, and you knot your hands into a prayer with the letter still in your grasp. They shook from the power, the desperation, the hunger .

Find me, find me, find me.

You satiated that appetite with your tears that night, from the walk to your dorm, to the moment you sat in front of a canvas, painting with such ferocity you felt like you would drop dead if you stopped creating. The moonlight kept you company as you shed the layers which restrained your natural features, scrapping anything that slowed your furious movements.

Find me, find me, find me

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Notes:

Sorry this chapter is a bit short ,._. I’m gonna make up for it next chapter I promise

Just noticed while looking through the Wikipedia for the Diasmonia dorm that it’s on a literal fucking cliff so there’s really not much space to paint from afar, but I’m just gonna pretend that there’s some grassy areas around the mountain that the dorm is on, which is where I guess the character would go to paint IDK lol I totally forgot to put that into consideration because I completely forgot that the dorms are in their own dimensions because of fucking course they are lmao ALSO I realize most of the times it’s like cloudy and rainy and generally dreary there but I was like FUCK and added in the tidbit that light fae attract sunlight and their extinction made it less likely for Briar Valley/Diasmonia dorm realm to have less sunlight

AUGH I’ve forgotten how hard worldbuilding/creative writing is I should just go back to writing about the power in believing the futility of life depicted in art or whatever

Light is such an important aspect especially in Christian/catholic architecture. “Let there be light” holds a completely different meaning when you consider that technology was not developed enough to provide much light during the night, or to enable big windows to let in huge amounts of light in the early Byzantine era. So candlelight was predominantly used within religious rituals, the flickering of which animated mosaic Christian icons that decorated the walls of early churches in the Byzantine era. Then in the gothic era, light continues to be very important in a different way, as technology enables windows to become taller and taller, and more abundant. Stained glass often depicts religious images/narratives, paired with symbols of the ruling elite in order to strengthen secular, religious, political, and social power, so this light is a way of showing their power and influence in a direct way in the imagery of the windows, but also the existence of the windows as a testament of technological advancement made possible by the royal family (at least this is the case in France)

I wanted to emphasize hands not ONLY because I have a thing for hands but also because of their importance within the art world, and the human experience in general. Hands and hand motifs especially if they are the artists’ hand illustrate their creative soul and devotion to the craft, such as Goltzius Maximus The Artist’s Right Hand (1588). Though the hand is crippled, it holds incredible beauty in its ability, and stubbornness to create. Really, I was stuck between this, or Praying Hands by Albrecht Dürer (1508). But I went with Praying Hands because of the story behind it. To keep it short, Dürer and his brother wanted to go to art school but it was too expensive so the brothers decided to take turns working at a coal mine to afford it. With a flip of a coin, Dürer’s brother was the one determined to work at a coal mine, while his brother used the funds to go to art school, and they planned to switch in some years time. Dürer became quite the prodigy in woodcarving, painting, drawing, and some years later, it was finally his brother’s turn at the gig. But because of the harsh conditions of the coal mines, his brother’s hands were arthritic, and horribly disfigured, rendering him unable to do the delicate work of an artist. I think this piece tells tragedy, devotion, but most of all, love. The love between brothers, the love between people with the same goal. There’s longing, futility, and love in this piece and I think it would make sense for him, as someone who is sending his friends, his brothers, his sisters, and his kind into a pointless thing called war, he would be greatly touched at something like this

We hold hands to touch each other, to prove that we are in fact here, to bring ourselves closer. We use hands to prepare food for each other, to take each others pulses, to reach out to each other when there’s a distance. Though there are many hands that hurt us, there are hands with incredible love in them. The warmth we feel when we touch palms, touch flesh, is transferring that love from one human to another.

I’ll also be referencing this stuff in the next chapter

Also working on another fic with Rook based on the myth of Pygmalion. His character has such depth I think it tends to be overlooked because his avoidant attachment techniques are working lmao. But stay the fuck tuned goobers <3

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