#she mostly thought of herself as mage first and elven second

[grandwitchbird]

I touched on some thoughts on adaptation especially re: Nilfgaard and the political plot in the Witcher games previously. Mostly that was so I could tackle the convergent narrative that emerges across the games as a mirror or homage to the novels. To do that I have to talk about romance choices in Witcher 3. And to do that I have to talk about Triss. Buckle up.

TW: discussion of SA, nongraphic but frank

The first game specifically created some significant problems for 2-3. And no matter how I turn the issues around in my head, it really comes down to Triss. The amnesia plot is a silly contrivance, but so was Yennefer’s prison stint in the novels. If the contrivance does the job and gets a character where they need to be or out of the way for good enough reasons, we roll with it. The first game over-all has some interesting ~stuff~ happening as an rpg, but I’ve realized I mentally have it categorized as a Witcher-flavored rpg that mostly the next two games have to account for, for better or worse. It gets at some of the short stories’ charms but misses the weight of the novels. Intentionally I think. I guess we’ll see if that changes with the remake. Still, we can think of this as the kind of awkward prelude, a dip into the world in the same way the stories provide snippets of Geralt’s life before Ciri’s story really kicks off in the novels.

The second game is a bridge between this kind of standalone homage to the stories and the 3rd game’s homage and epilogue to the novels. It suffers for it. And Triss is right in the middle of that.

The Triss Problem

Triss Merigold, Yennefer’s best friend, sometime-mentor to Ciri, friend to Witchers, Geralt’s rapist. That’s the woman the first game decided could be sacrificed on the altar of characterization so Geralt could have a random red-headed love interest.

In the novels, Triss is a young sorceress with a complex about her friend Yennefer. She’s a coward. She’s sweet. She’s manipulative. She’s deeply insecure. Shes very into Witchers. She’s also a powerful mage and a pretty solid teacher and support to her Witcher friends and Ciri. Her arc in the books sees her facing herself and eventually growing a spine.

Along the way, however, she essentially magic-roofies Geralt when he’s in an off-again phase with Yennefer. He represses so hard he’s kind of just weird around Triss forever. Nobody else knows. We know why these two don’t address it. Triss is a coward and Geralt is king of repressing. It’s horrible. It’s also notably nongraphic and well-written, centered entirely on the abuse of power and trust and what that does to Geralt.

The Triss we leave behind in the novels would never repeat that choice, I think. Or any choice like it. She went and she changed on her own for her own reasons. The Triss we encounter in the second game is very much doing a retread of her novel arc. But now it’s worse because she’s literally used Geralt’s amnesia to act out her fantasy of supplanting Yen, everything is reasonably graphic, and everything after does kind of stem from the abuse of power.

In a way, I think this is the game owning the mistake while trying not to punish non-reader players for it. No matter what the player does, these two split. Geralt will go after Yennefer. Things will be weird in the 3rd game. Geralt gets back in character and being in character for him means repressing and being weird around Triss. He can’t blame her. She’s his friend. It’s painful to watch. Time is a circle I guess.

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Part elven, invisibly disabled, over a century old, absolute menace of a woman. Yennefer is mean. She’s petty. She scares the hell out of Geralt’s friends. She’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for and also intimidating as hell. She causes problems wherever she goes. This is not an rpg love interest. She is the only woman for Geralt though. And it’s obvious. The 3rd game can’t and doesn’t avoid the obvious ‘canon’ nature of this relationship. It does try to counterweight canon a bit for RP by resetting the sense of conflict and how other characters react to the relationships.

In 2, Dandelion’s narration characterizes the relationship with Yennefer as “toxic.” This goes along with the overall reset and retread the games are doing for characterization beats. In the books, we were well past this version of Dandelion. We see the same thing play out in 3 where everyone and their uncle has to weigh in on how hard Yen is to deal with and how nice Triss is. This is probably handled as well as possible. Eskel’s exasperation with the dynamic, where Geralt can actually clarify and push back, is reasonable. Vesemir is likewise just kind of put off by Yen, which is fair enough. And you essentially have to ignore Yen’s quest entirely or actively treat it as purely a gameplay mechanic to break the romance off at all. The question isn’t whether Geralt and Yen are together, it’s whether or not they can move forward. This is contrasted to all of the pressures towards Triss coming from her own desperate manipulations and people who don’t understand anything about the history the two share.

Time is a Circle:

Recreating the Convergent Narrative

At the end of 2, we find out that Yen is essentially a prisoner again (hello Vilgefortz lol) and we set out to find her. This is where W3 opens more or less. We’re tracking a Yen who has since written to Geralt and is on the run. We don’t yet know from what. She, of course, finds us instead. And we find out that Ciri is back and on the run herself. Now we’re really doing a speed run of the novels. How many times can this family separate and miss and lose each other before they find each other again. Yennefer is off to Skellige (again) and Geralt is doing a (one man this time) road trip and playing detective. Ciri is being the protagonist of a much crazier mythic story, with space elves once again causing her all kinds of problems and a tyrant trying to claim her power for himself. Time is truly a circle.

Somehow, the games have pulled all of this together in 3 via rp options for Geralt. You can play as book!Geralt and stay on theme. This will ultimately lead to the Witcher ending where Ciri takes over as not just protagonist of her own story but as the Witcher herself. This closes out the convergent narrative the game has been recreating and sets them up to carve out their own stories in future. Or you can deny your role. You can rp a random-rpg!Witcher hero and lose Ciri forever, one way or another.

All that said. The Triss Problem(tm) is a problem. It’s the biggest, most glaring flaw in the series to this day, and we’d probably all be better off if that had really been some random redhead in the first game. 3 gets some serious credit here for Geralt just being generally weird around her again, but the rp demands to counterweight the pull of canon with Yen have done nothing but confuse non-readers and frustrate readers. Narrative conveniences are fine. The Hunt becoming a plot device works to pull the mythic layer of storytelling back in, and it gives everything a solid motivation. Regis being back just stretches the lore a bit and serves a great story. The political plots can be a bit of a sticking point but flesh out the game world. We can even forgive amnesia. But The Triss Problem(tm) is forever.

Honestly, as a reader, I kind of respect the skill involved in reworking the arcs and the commitment to not just cutting Triss out after the first game. I also appreciate the effort made to bring these characters back to essentially their book-selves and to give game-Geralt a final hurrah without just wiping the slate. It shows a certain amount of integrity in the writers room that I think we’ve since seen confirmed with the additions to Cyberpunk 2077, where they committed fully to the night city experience and doubled down on it in phantom liberty.

[blutopaz15]

Flufftober Oct. 1

Winning a Prize for the Other

Hi friends! I've been badly needing some writing inspiration, so I think I'm going to make an effort to do some @flufftober2021 prompts! Some of the other things I've been working on have been getting a little heavy, so...what a good excuse for some sweet, sweet Rayllum fluff!

NOTES: modern au rayllum + ez at a renaissance faire, 1.3k word, rated g

ao3 link

“--so all I’m saying is I’m pretty sure this is supposed to be a toad, not a frog. I mean, have you ever seen a frog this grumpy looking? Toads on the other hand--” Ezran chatted on happily, despite Rayla’s inattention. He turned the bright yellow stuffed animal towards her once more, showcasing--then mimicking--its definite frown. “Rayla?”

“Sorry, Ez,” Rayla sighed, glaring at the corner that Callum had disappeared around, then glancing down at her phone.

He’d been gone thirty whole minutes, and the more time passed, the more impossible it felt to stop looking for him...and it wasn’t just the hunger pangs that’d kicked into gear.

She opened their messages again, and tapped out the text she’d held off on sending.

Where’d you go?

She’d been scanning the crowd, looking for Callum--and their lunch--every few minutes all along. It didn’t help that every so often some other boy in blue or with messy brown hair or even once with a red loop around his neck would come down the dirt path. Her breath kept catching, hoping it was Callum...and then she’d deflate each time when it turned out not to be her dork in his prince-(but-like-not-obnoxious)-turned-mage get-up.

Rayla returned her phone back to the pouch sewn into the holster at her back and her attention back to Ez and the much-loved prize she’d won for him when they’d first gotten to the Faire this morning.

“You’re probably right,” she said, fidgeting with the tape that held her pinky finger to her fourth, regretting how the distraction of looking for Callum kept making her inadvertently ignore Ez. “A toad for sure.”

“A glow toad, I think,” he commented, holding it up for her consideration again, “named Bait.”

“That...sounds made up,” she teased. Really, she was only mostly sure that a glow toad was a species from Ezran’s imagination rather than from the near-encyclopedia of animals she knew he had in his head.

“Well, yeah,” he said, serving her sass right back and gesturing to the gold crown Callum had spray-painted for him last night. “Every king needs a magical animal companion, obviously. He even had a stint as my regent, but it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah?” Rayla’s focus drifted again, her eyes pulled back to the path she kept expecting to see Callum on.

“Mmhmm,” Ezran nodded. “He--”

The fairgrounds weren’t that busy, she thought, itching to check her phone again despite not having felt it buzz against her back, but...maybe they should’ve all gone to get lunch instead of letting clumsy Callum try to manage food for three. Maybe he needed a hand?

“I’m sorry, Ez,” she interrupted, too distracted by picturing Callum and their lunch dumped all over the walkway. “You good here if I go find your brother?”

Ezran agreed--with a groan and a remark about sandwiches that she didn’t think was all that related to lunch at a Renaissance Faire--and she followed the path Callum had taken on his quest to find them all some food.

Rayla made herself pass quickly by the booth that Ez and Callum had nervously accompanied her into so she could buy her pair of props: two blades that fit just right with the elven assassin costume she’d spent all summer saving for and piecing together.

She then happily sped past the creepy, dark shack that seemed to sell replicas--she hoped they were replicas, at least--of random animals and parts of animals in jars. On her way by, she tugged the headband holding her horns--that looked an awful lot like ones the shack had on display--back into place and pushed platinum blonde hair back behind the pointy-ear prosthetics that were starting to itch.

Rayla slowed, though, when she came to the vendors where Callum had lingered earlier, not putting it past him to get so caught up in googly-eyed amazement again that he’d forgotten all about lunch. It definitely wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d spent the past half hour thumbing through old-looking books that his bedroom didn’t have space for, or poking at weird amulets and pretty-looking stones.

But...no Callum.

She was practically back at the entrance to the fairground by the time she found him--looking somehow both determined and demoralized--back at the carnival game she’d won Ezran’s Bait from earlier.

Rayla waited to speak until he’d thrown the last dart in his hands.

“You know the food’s that way, right?”

He startled like she’d thought he might, shoulders bolting upward, and sighed as he turned to her, following her gaze down the path they hadn’t yet taken before slumping over.

“Yeah...I know.” He sounded exasperated, but the dejected look on his face cleared a little when she came closer, leaning her hip against the counter of the wooden booth.

“Well,” Rayla said, drawing out the word and tilting towards him, “we’re starting to get a little hangry back there.”

Callum’s barely-there smile twitched a little wider. “Sorry,” he said, shrugging and pushing the handful of change he’d dug out of his pack across the counter. “Got...distracted.”

“By darts?” She asked, crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter now, eyebrow raised. The attendant exchanged the money on the counter for another three green-handled darts.

“You said you liked him.” Callum looked up--above the colorful balloons he’d apparently spent the last half hour trying to pop--at the blue stuffed dragon she’d said was cute when they’d stopped at the booth the first time. “And it looked so easy when you did it earlier, so I thought I’d surprise you with a cute baby dragon when I brought the food back, but…” Callum trailed off, looking down.

She reached for his hand, her taped-together fingers settling awkwardly at the side of his.

“How very noble of you, your highness.” She tugged on his scarf, pleased by how her teasing had made his eyes roll and his smile brighten again. “Want some help?”

Callum sighed again, picking up the darts and offering them to her.

Shaking her head, she untangled her hand from his, but only took one of the three.

“Which one do we have to pop?” she asked, turning slightly to the side and lifting the dart to eye level.

“The one that’s all glowy,” he answered, pointing up at the iridescent balloon near the top of the board.

“Watch.”

She took aim for the one just below the single, solitary dragon-winning target.

Pop.

A wave of satisfaction fluttered in her chest when she let loose the well-aimed dart and then immediately turned, a hand on her hip, to see Callum looking at her so attentively, eyes wide and head cocked to the side.

“Your turn, mage,” she smiled.

Callum lifted the dart to eye-level--just the way she had--but she cut him off before he could throw his second-to-last dart.

“Hang on.” Rayla stepped closer to gently press his shoulder to the side, encouraging him to split his stance the way she had.

His eyes followed when he turned and then his lips were right there, just inches from hers. It was nothing to drift closer and kiss him softly, her hand trailing away down his arm.

“For luck,” she explained, squeezing his elbow before stepping to the side.

Callum, a little more smiley and a lot more red-faced than before, nodded, seemingly having recaptured his sense of determination. He took aim, and…

Thud.

Missed.

But...it was close.

“You should probably just do the last one,” he grumbled, looking down at the last dart in his hand before holding it out to her. “I can’t do it.”

“You can, Callum.” She shook her head and closed his fingers back around the dart. “Just...breathe. I believe in you.”

Callum listened. He sucked in a breath as he pulled back the last dart, then exhaled, and...

Pop.

[potatotrash0]

Your DR magic AU, hand it over 🤲

Okay I have two other anons and I’m just gonna split the character ideas among the three asks. I don’t quite have a plot thought out, and most of these characters’ concepts have only existed in my head up until now...bare with me skdjksjfkd

Mm I talked about them briefly in Prom’s ask? But here’s a more in-depth thing of the THH fighting styles.

Makoto is a mage-type. (I used fighter, support, and mage to describe the various adventurer types it’s temporary just roll with it) Again, he can’t really hold magic for very long? He’s got a large mana reserve but it’s hard to activate and harder to control, so he’s currently working on mastering the little bullets. In the future, I imagine large barrages of bullets would sort of circle around him like they would in the barrel of a gun.

He probably got in accidentally? I’m not entirely sure about this, but I think there’s an entrance exam for Reserve Courses and he was probably forced in on Komaru’s behalf for some reason.

He was basically running the entire time until the very end when he panicked and suddenly the entire field was wiped clean from him waving his arm. HPA saw that, decided that he was worth training, and put him into the Main Course. He doesn’t feel very good about getting in that way, but HPA isn’t exactly empathetic like he is. Again this is like one of three ways I think he could’ve gotten in with the rest of the cast because I’m indecisive skdjsjf

Kyoko is another mage-type, in general the Main Gangs of each game have various themes. THH’s trio has a magic theme, they all use magic. She doesn’t use a weapon, though I’m thinking her gloves act as a limiter of sorts?

As a general rule, more mana means less control, and being half-demon gives her a lot of it. Her gloves help her regulate her mana output so that she doesn’t use too much of it when attacking and tire herself out. Later in the timeline, I imagine there might be a scene where she takes them off and fights off some enemies to buy the rest of the class time to escape something? She would get trapped in the process, but I think this would happen after she’s worked with Makoto for a while and she would trust him enough to believe he would come back for her if she didn’t return.

Oh this isn’t related to her fighting style but on the topic of her being half-demon, that’s mainly because I thought it was boring for everyone to be human and I’m a big sucker for fantasy species so yeah. She’s a cambion.

She has purple-tinted skin, horns that curl up and are fairly close to her head, a thin pointed tail, pointed ears, her pupils are slitted, she’s got carnivore-style teeth, her nails are longer and sharper by default. Whenever she uses the full extent of her magic, her scleras turn dark purple and her irises turn white. Oh yeah her scars came from an accident she had when she was young where her magic got out of control and burned her hands. Her mom’s the demon by the way, for no particular reason, I just thought that the Kirigiris would stay human in this and I don’t know anything about her mom’s side of the family.

I just realized I never said Makoto’s race skdjks he’s human!! He and Komaru just happen to be a special case and have a lot of mana. Most other humans in this AU aren’t so lucky. (cough hinata cough cough)

Byakuya, again, uses magic. He’s the only one who uses a weapon in the Trio, he uses a staff specially made by the Togami family. He also knows how to use a sword and a bow.

I haven’t put too much thought into him, but I know for a fact that his adventuring outfit would have a big sweeping cape later in the timeline. In the beginning though, he just has a stupid expensive suit. The cape comes in later as he, Kyoko, and Makoto start to group up more and more.

I’ve decided that adventurers in this AU group up just as often as they go solo, and while Byakuya would initially be solo, he would deem Makoto and Kyoko strong enough to work with whenever they’re taking on a difficult job.

Groups would change to have matching designs the longer they’re partnered up, and capes/cloaks happen to be the THH Trio’s Thing, as in all three of them would have a cape/cloak of some sort. Byakuya because he’s pretentious, Makoto because he thinks it looks cool, and Kyoko because she uses the cloak for practical reasons like storing things and keeping a low profile when needed. Oh and Byakuya’s bloodline is of royal elven descent, their business is selling spellbooks, runestones, potions, reagents, any magical item you could think of.

Sayaka is a half-siren mage! She mostly uses charm and illusionary magic, as well as healing so that she can support her allies. Later on, she might learn water magic so she can actually deal damage as well. I haven’t decided on her weapon of choice, perhaps she uses a lyre or casts spells from a book. I’m also debating having her learn hand-to-hand combat instead of water magic?

I just like the idea of someone coming up and trying to challenge her, thinking they’ll beat her easily, and barely getting a hit in before she kicks their legs out from under them and tosses them over her shoulder like they weigh nothing. She deserves to take out people twice her size and be menacing, as a treat for the amount of disrespect she gets in the fandom. And I want her to take Leon down a peg because he definitely acts a little like a cocky frat boy sometimes.

Speaking of Leon, we’ve got our first fighter-type!!! I could have him use a baseball bat but that’s boring so I’m thinking he might utilize items as well as a weapon? Bombs or grenades that look like a baseball and explode on impact, baseballs that ignite when thrown and act as fire balls. Alas, I don’t think about him much so this is all just me throwing ideas to see what sticks.

Whatever the case, the main thing I know would happen is that he frequently gets help from Kazuichi and Miu because he just cannot for the life of him stop breaking his equipment. He’s reckless and rushes into battle and now that he doesn’t have Kanon to stop him from setting stuff on fire all the time, he gets detention a lot. (And no she isn’t into him like in canon, I refuse to acknowledge that she ever was.)

Chihiro......they can’t fight djfjsjfjjf. They specialize in making tech and weapons, and in the beginning, would mainly use robots that they programmed to support their allies. Though, they do end up training with Mondo, Sakura, and Aoi to help them become better at combat, and eventually they join everyone else on the front lines as a ranged fighter/support type.

Also, the robots would kinda follow them around like pets. Cute little guys that can also shoot lasers. The robots are powered by mana crystals and each one has a different personality and magic type! Sometimes they follow around different people, the electric one took a liking to Mondo and you’ll see it floating around while he works out. They’re buds.

On the topic of Mondo, he’s another fighter-type! He’s more hand-to-hand combat. A controlled berserker, if you will. Probably started out fighting guys in his hometown and progressed to clearing out monsters when Daiya got concerned about his temper? Perhaps. Maybe. I do not think about Daiya I apologize.

Oh wait hold on. I’m looking at his character art and he’s got a hammer.........it’s decided he uses a warhammer, the biggest one they’ve got, and it’s probably a mana-based weapon. Specifically electric. He and that lil robot wipe the battlefield with their opponents >:D

Taka is probably a fighter-type? I can’t for the life of me find where I read this, but apparently he’s really good at self-defense so I imagine he does hand-to-hand combat as well as sword-fighting for the Noble Paladin Aesthetic.

Hifumi was originally a mage-type, but upon second thought, I’m making him a support-type who uses items and potions and stuff! I like the idea of him making fun little bottles and potions themed after his favorite animes and mangas..........he also definitely helped everyone design their adventurer outfits. He’s the only reason that Makoto’s outfit isn’t boring as hell.

Celeste is, of course, a mage-type. She’s Miss Lolita of course I have to make her an ethereal magic user alright also I love her and I love mages let me have this skfjdkjf. As for her weapon, my first thought was her having playing cards that she throws HxH style?

Or she could summon goons to fight for her, playing into the whole loyal servant dream she has. They would be vaguely themed after the cards, so there would be a jack, king, queen, and joker, all of different magic types depending on the suit of the card she throws. Electric for a spade, fire for a heart, ice for a diamond, something along those lines.

I’m also considering having her little...finger armor thing? I’m thinking of having that cross into her magic, where she attacks with claw-like things formed out of mana. Of course she could also just. Use the cards to cast spells directly skdjksjfkhf

Sakura is definitely a fighter-type. Again, hand-to-hand style, but I imagine she’s more controlled and strategic than Mondo. I can’t see her using a weapon, so I guess she’s like one of the only characters to fight exclusively with fists.

Mukuro’s a ranged fighter-type, but she can also do melee. She uses magic-based guns, ones that shoot mana infused bullets. They have a variety of effects depending on the type of bullet and magic. (I’m not a gun person so take this with a grain of salt.)

Bullets that break apart might be laced with electric magic so that they can shock a target from several points, or fire magic if she’s aiming to start a fire quickly. Exploding bullets are usually used with fire magic, but she might switch to ice if she wants to create a barrage of ice shards for...some reason, I don’t know. There’s more combinations I could probably make, but I’m. Not here to spend an hour researching guns. Not right now at least, who knows what I’ll want info on in the future.

Mmmmmm I’m starting to lose patience here so forgive me for the shorter explanations. I might throw in a fun fact about them for ✨ flavor ✨

Junko’s a fighter/mage-type! She uses a scythe and laces the blade with magic. She could combine it with fire magic to create a flaming scythe and go nuts with it, or she could just channel general mana and slam the blade into the ground to create a big crack in the ground.

There’s about an 80% chance she gets several weapons later in the timeline. Her scythe, a spear, possibly a gun. Monokuma probably exists, I like to think Junko ran into a smarter monster and tamed it and kept it as a slightly feral pet.

Also, yes, she’s still a big adrenaline junkie who gets off on despair. If you see her fighting things she knows are out of her league, mind your business.....actually, call someone to help before she gets herself killed. Please.

I haven’t decided what Aoi will be just yet? I’m veering towards fighter/mage-type, she could use water magic and maybe a leg-based fighting style. Possibly judo or taekwondo. I.....do not have any ideas for her. However I do know that she and Sakura would have a bunch of combo moves together dkfjkejfkdjjd

Toko is a mage-type! She probably uses a book to cast spells from. Or just uses her hands. She would fight ranged, I don’t think she’d want to be up in the action. Too much stress for her, y’know? I

As for Syo, she fight differently than Toko! She technically uses dual swords, but the swords can also connect to create a giant pair of scissors. Again, this is just sort of a fun character thing, but she gets to hate Byakuya in this AU. They have arguments and get on each other’s nerves a lot, but I think the rest of the class usually separates them before anything serious happens.

At some point after Toko befriends Komaru, I like to think that Syo gets a proper fight scene with Byakuya where she rips into him. I don’t think Toko would want to hurt anyone though, even him, so Syo would probably leave him with a few minor cuts at most.

Afterwards, I think Byakuya would quiet down with the insults with Naegi and Kyoko’s requests. (Well. Naegi asked him to try and be nicer because he was worried that they might fight again. Kyoko just bluntly told him that he needed to stop being a jerk and start considering everyone else’s feelings.)

Skfksjfkdh ah. I also like to think Komaru and Toko were initially partnered up by HPA for a job. They were assigned to deal with a couple of school kids wreaking havoc on a nearby city with some monsters they semi-tamed?

But after finishing the job, they decided to partner up permanently on their own. They probably have a few combo moves that Komaru came up with, Toko tweaked them to make them actually possible with their skill set and weapons.

Hiro is...possibly a mage/support-type? He’s probably a bit cowardly and freaks out when on the front lines, but he can use a crystal ball to attack from afar. I’m also considering giving him tarot cards so that he can toss them and attack from several points at once?

Or the ball could shatter at some point during the story and he could just roll with it and spread the shards out during battle to attack from several points at once. They could also be used to create a magic cage of sorts, like electric fence but only electricity.

Okay that’s everybody oh my god. I have plenty more stuff about this au, this isn’t even half of it trust me lmao. I’m sorry about this being so long I didn’t realize it’d be this wordy!!!!!

[spidermilkshake]

Isolated Element--Part 1: Captoptromancy

Welp, I'd best post writing on the hellsite too. What better place for the unhinged fanfiction that spills between my brain's cracks?

IP: Kingdom Hearts (powerfully headcanon'd)

Genre: Fantasy, Mystery+Suspense

Word Count: 2,400+

TW: Unreal/derealized dream states, mild body horror

(Next)

1: Catoptromancy

It had been a few years since she had last come this way. Already, nothing was at all like she remembered. Years back, Traverse Town didn’t even have its proper name; it was only known as the settlement cobbled together from Gaia’s refugees—from Radiant Garden to Corel to Nibelheim—a hybrid of survivalist shelters and shanty-town as more and more hunks of unfortunate Worlds materialized in the outskirts, sometimes bringing hundreds of new people with them. A few years ago there weren’t quite five thousand folk crowded in here, getting by on salvaged bits and crisis aid given by the Elveshmean military and the Elvaan Źduhace (the Elven Dragoon Order). If not for the work of Radiant Garden’s more progressive intellectuals, Gaia’s ties to Elves and even fellow Human nations would not have been so strong, and if not for these ties, the alarm at the sudden radio silence would not have been so swift in onset. If not for this, Traverse Town would likely have remained a guttering, suffering den of survivors—languishing and on their own.

Aqua sympathized.

As she disembarked the transport cruiser into a grey, stale-smelling rain she noticed immediately the place’s changes. She pulled the sides of her hooded poncho together, pausing by the platform’s railing to look out over the newly-constructed bell tower, and the mis-matched buildings surrounding it. Formerly, this area had been half-built and strewn with piles of salvaged rubble. The wrecked hulk of an Interspace-Airship hybrid, the Highwind Mark IV, had lain propped up on blocks, its engines burst and drained of power. It had since been moved—or taken apart, likely to go towards the Mark V. Shaking the oil rivulets dripping down her hood away, Aqua brought herself back to the present. Traverse Town was now equipped with signs; she began following some, scanning the terraced levels and built-into underpasses for signs of nightly lodging. A warm, elevated porch caught her eye—its swinging sign lit up with a covered manatech lantern, the orange glow making “Bedknobs+Broomsticks: Food—Rooms—Entertainment—Vacancies Available” legible through the weather. She climbed the stairs to the entrance, taking a moment to shake the rain from her poncho again, to not drip a soot-marred trail all through the place. The least she could hope for was that this one wasn’t already grimy, and without her griming it up for the proprietor.

It did turn out to be clean inside, mostly. A few active spiderwebs decorated the high, out-of-the-way corners, but a polished oak bar-top was well-shined, and a row of recessed booth seating looked to be mostly clear minus some spice containers. It was a tiny place, a staircase and a cramped elevator entrance intruding halfway into the diner-like area. Clearly, most of the establishment was on ascending floors and this scant hole-in-the-wall was the only important thing besides cheap beds. At first she assumed she was alone on the floor—some clanking in the doorway behind the bar area implied one distracted kitchen worker only. A sound like sheafs of silk rubbing together turned her head, and the slight, constant movements caught her peripheral vision.

She jolted, instinct forcing her to grip thin air after a Keyblade that would no longer come to her. After all this time, she’d assumed she would be used to the full range of weird entities roaming the Three Realms, but apparently this… entity, was still a surprise.

He was wedged into the outermost side of the closest booth, in the shadowy corner. His feet were propped up on the table and half-crossed, but it was not their electric-green claws and webbed toes the color of “drowning victim” that was so terrifying: The rest of him was by far more strange. Tall, slender, with swept-back pointed ears and some of his dark reddish hair braided into an Elf-Knot identified his species—and the bustling array of mutations he bore brought that species into question again. Above the protective gloves and bracers he wore, his forearms were that drowned-blue color, and slithering with several large tentacles each. His ripped jeans were a similar story at the hip joint—and even more sprung from a point near his shoulder blades. The deep V-neck of his shirt allowed a travesty of more subtle issues to be on display: His shoulders and across his collarbones had stubby, green quills protruding from them, the veins of his neck close to the surface were a green hue too and hideously engorged. On second glance, Aqua suppressed a shudder of revulsion as she saw the veins on his arms and even one faintly popping from his temple were the same. A moment passed in which this Grey Elf paid no attention to her—engrossed with a ratty-looking, thin book propped open against one knee—but then, vivid purple eyes flicked over to the onlooker.

“Well, well, cydezé,” the twisted elf greeted her, gaze flicking over her from the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho emblem on her chest to the lacing ornaments over her corset and spur-stabilizers on her boots, landing at last on her muted blue hair and bright eyes. “They say it’s rude to stare, stranger.”

“Sorry, I, uh…” Aqua stalled her movements by force of will, as instinct was sending her creeping backwards. “I couldn’t help but look.”

“’Swhat they all say!” He snickered, snapping his book closed. She couldn’t be so sure of this relaxed, humored response; her eyes lingered on the tentacles as they coiled back over themselves. “No offense taken at all, eh, miss..?”

“I’m Aqua,” she suppressed a flinch, especially as one of his eyebrows raised in intense interest.

“Aqua, eh?” Finally, he slid the mutated pair of feet down from sight. “Excellent. I’m named Oppidimy—though some call me the ‘Octomancer’. Or a walking accident.” He chuckled again, grinning.

“Now we’re introduced, at least—so! You didn’t come in here after me, I’ll assume, but surely you’re looking for someone.”

Aqua’s brow twitched as it was tempted to furrow, “What makes you say that?”

“You have that ‘looking for someone’ quality,” he smirked, tipping a hand towards the scene outside, “It’s a safe assumption. Most who come here are, in fact, trying to find people.”

The young Keybearer half-bit her tongue; appearance aside, she was unsure of how wise it would be to make even a guarded mention of her goals. Oppidimy was clearly a mage of some sort: What kind was as uncertain as how he’d come to be half-elf, half-aberration. And what kind of magic-user he was made all the difference.

“Actually, I wasn’t looking for someone,” she chanced it. She figured she could downplay the importance it had, leaving little clue that the lost item in question was the sacred Keyblade. “Something, actually. Several somethings.”

“Lost some stuff?”

“Actually… more like stolen.” She sucked in a breath, reigning in the residual outrage that lingered even years later, “A sword, and a set of plate armor. They were very important to me and I don’t have much idea of who took them from where I last saw them.”

Oppidimy clicked his tongue, eyes hooding in a disgusted expression as he nodded.

“That’s cute—people really are out there like that. World’s in the process of ending and they’ll still try robbin’ you blind.” Aqua blinked hard at the statement, but he carried on overtop of her visible bewilderment, “Odds are, the culprit’s one of a short and nasty list; the only types who would be out to steal anything that wasn’t provisions, these days.

“I might be able to help y’ out,” a slow, crooked smile spread over his pointed features, and his gloved fingertips settled together into a triangle of scheming thoughts. “At least, if you’ll have me. At the very least I could help rule out some of these skeezballs.”

“And how would you accomplish this?” Her voice turned suspicious, and the Rurcelan mutant obviously cottoned on. He disbanded the triangle of wicked contemplations with a series of assuring waves, shaking his head and chuckling.

“Ah, ah, I know that tone—relax! My methods are one hundred percent legitimate, completely moral. Even though I blend in quite well with society’s villains and monsters, the ‘look’ was not exactly intentional. But, if you’ll take up my offer, you’ll see how it serves to my advantage.”

As Oppidimy began to stand and tuck his book amongst the grips of the tentacles issuing from one elbow, Aqua tilted her head:

“…So you specialize in espionage?”

The elf raised a gloved finger to his lips and the quills on his bare shoulders went rigid, suddenly looking grim and serious.

“Not so loud,” He slid past her, the Keybearer wearing a stone face even as she cringed internally at the tendrils coming inches from brushing by. Stepping towards the stairs, he turned back to call over his shoulder, smirk returned: “Come see me some time if you need a hand, yeh? I’m in 32. I’d suggest giving that old office door a knock so you can get a room of your own before it gets too late.” He began to cackle, “Owner’s a bit narcoleptic, so knock hard!” His laughter echoed, becoming cartoonish as he ascended the narrow stairwell and the raucous noise faded out. She paused a few seconds just to breathe.

Never had she encountered someone quite so exaggerated—it felt like a front—or a trap. She could be the intended victim, but just as easily the intended bait, a lure to draw in the unsavory targets he’d referred to. Only further investigation would bring that to light.

-------------------------

As suspected—the place was a cheap joint for cheap beds. The need in town was high, and the cramped room she was assigned was, at the very least, livable. Crumpled under the stiff, rough-textured outer sheet, every attempt to calculate the dubiousness of the elf’s offer, versus the likelihood she could finally close in on her lost Keyblade, set her sleep back another hour. And another. But slowly, surely, sleep and Aqua arrived at an uneasy truce.

She had the dream again. Different—and clearer.

The vision of that round, white, metal-plated room, the gaps in this armoring (or acoustic featuring?) showing faint glints of pipes, cables, and other hints at underlying manatech. It mocked her. She was for a second so infuriated at its recurrence that she almost missed the new features: Insignias in a stark black marked the walls, familiar but strange. It was much like the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho—or the Heartless Emblem, itself very much a cheap plagiarizing of the order’s sign—upside-down, so that the spikes forming the “Chi” took the peak position.

The miasma of her unconscious half-lucidity swam around her as she struggled to turn around and face the raised central area. She had already seen what was arranged there during the prior dream states. Her armor, and her Keyblade, where she knew it last. If the passage of time was to be believed, someone had been keeping it tidy and dust-free.

The chair was new. Aqua’s jaw hung in silence a moment, unable to react, as she faced its occupant. Outside of this recurring hallucination she knew she was asleep—and she wondered if he, within the dream, was also. His dark-toned skin and wildly-arranged silver hair were uncomfortably familiar, and his face itself also so but for different reasons. His ears were slightly-pointed as a half-elf’s would be, but since his eyes were closed she couldn’t tell if he possessed the mish-mash of colors and features she dreaded. She had seen this man before, she was sure this was… but somehow, her mind refused to let her assume this was the same person. Or persons, technically. He had to be, and yet… she was sure this quietly seated man was another entirely.

Her frown began to appear, giving some control of her face and voice back. Whoever this dead-ringer for Terra (and Xehanort) was, there was no likelier suspect for the role of the one who had relocated this Chamber—her Keyblade with it.

“Where are you?”

Aqua nearly jumped, though her dream-self felt far too sluggish for it. Exactly as and exactly what she had been gathering up energy to say the man with closed eyes had asked in a low murmur, devoid of feeling. Though, this she supposed could be from him truly being asleep—mumbling and aware of her regardless.

“No,” she barked, “You tell me. Where are you? And who are you?”

The man paused, eye movements flickering behind their lids. In painfully slow motions, he began to shake his head.

“I cannot answer you. You must tell me first.” He was still almost deadpan, with a hint of tired annoyance creeping in now.

“You can’t force me to tell you, and you can’t do anything to me. This is a damn dream-state. So, if you want anything, you first.”

He huffed, his brows twitching, and the sleek black fabric that made up his gloves straining as his grip on the armrests tightened.

“No,” he growled. “You don’t understand. I cannot answer you first because I have no answer. I don’t know who I am.” He let silence return to the humming void around them, becoming neutral in expression, “But perhaps, if you tell me your name, I can know more.”

A spike of hope softened her expression; the frustration and the intonation was so like his, melded neatly with the rigid aura of calm he imposed on himself—two traits so Terra-esque and incongruous with each other they seemed unlikely to be performed. And very un-Xehanort, in this way.

“I’m Aqua. Do you have a name, by chance?”

“I do,” he nodded, brows knitting slightly, “But it would mean nothing to you. It is a chosen name, taken after the time you seem to recognize me from.”

“Are you Terra?” She forged ahead, prepared for a let-down.

“I am aware of who that name belongs to, but I do not think so,” he surprised her, “Before you ask: I am equally aware of the one called Xehanort. I am not him.

“You have seen this Chamber before, haven’t you?” A dim inkling of curiosity entered his soft tone, surprising her alongside the change of subject. “Years ago I began to see this place. In my dreams at first, and then, every time I closed my eyes. I suspect you saw these visions. You saw the way into the room, hidden in what is left of the bastion of Radiant Garden.”

“How did you figure that out?” But, already guessing the answer, her eyes wandered to the sections of her armor propped on the central dais.

“I have memory I can’t explain,” he began. “I remember the name of the one this Keyblade, and its armor manifestation, belongs to. Aqua.” Sudden, jarring, he seemed unable to resist letting his eyes snap open and zero in on her with their bright, orange intensity, “This belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

An immediate shock came over her—but not only from being eye-to-eye. As soon as it happened, a spell broke. She felt roaring in her ears; the Chamber of Repose winked out and she was filled with the sickening sensation of half-awake, confused floating just above one’s body. Psyche-wise, she felt slammed back into her self as she bolted awake, still curled under the cheap inn’s terrible sheets, the room quiet and empty.

She sat up, waiting for some soreness that never came. A vivid dream. Not exactly, but closer than really being there. For a minute she just listened; a few muffled clangs of activity echoed from some lower floor, and she could hear through razor-thin walls the sounds of folk opening and shutting doors, exchanging bleary greetings, and going about the act of “morning”. A sliver of weak light creeping in between shut curtains confirmed the early, small hour. She collected her wits, and stood. She wasn’t getting any more sleep now anyways.

To Be Continued

[shabre-legacy]

another random piece from princess rising because the feedback is motivating me to get back into this story

                                     AMBRINA

Ambrina straightened out of her battle stance and brushed her bloody bangs out of her eyes as she surveyed the field in front of her. The grass was mostly ash near her and further out was covered in blood and corpses. Her familiar, a massive gorgeous lioness, stood in the middle of a circle of mangled bodies, blood dripping from her muzzle and onto her claws. Ambrina had managed to take out all 6 without too much effort and only had to burn one of them, and Lyca, that wonderful cat, had taken down 3 at once.This was a job well done and the payout would be excellent when they delivered the target home. She moved swiftly over to the large rock at the edge of the field and reached behind it, pulling out the young girl hiding there.  The poor girl was clearly terrified, shaking like a leaf, with huge eyes. Ambrina sheathed her sword and pulled a knife from her belt cutting the girls binds. “ relax kid, I’m just here to take you home. Your parents sent me” the girl nods, still scared, but willing to do whatever would get her home. Ambrina led her over to the horse nearby, a large cream paint gelding, they mounted up quickly and headed for the nearby city. Lyca tailing behind them, just far enough for the girl to not pay attention, she slipped ahead of the duo and entered the shadows of the city, heading home as Ambrina went to collect their money. 

    A few hours later, Ambrina steps into The Singing Oak  tavern and collapses onto a stool near the bar, grabbing a bottle from behind the counter. She had successfully rescued the kidnapped girl and returned her to her parents and collected the large reward. Now she could relax for a few hours or until she got another job. The life of a sword-for-hire wasn’t the easiest but she was damn good at it and honestly enjoyed it, some days it seemed that the same fire that flew from her fingertips drove her to need a fight most of the time. This was the life, go out into the open air, kick a little ass, get paid for it and come back to cozy apartment or a loud, boisterous tavern with the best drinks in Sea City.   She leaned back against the bar and looked around the room, taking in the atmosphere and and the familiar sight of the Singing Oak. Full of the best people in Sea City. Thieves, Pirates, Mercenaries (like herself), former slaves, mages, sailors, ect. Hard-working people on the low end of society, rejected by others and trying to get by or to disappear. Honestly, this place was as close to home as Ambrina had ever known. Get rich or get drunk trying was how many of the people here, including her lived their lives. A group of sailors over near the back wall started a loud drinking song, Turning towards her slightly, she had had some good conversations with the guys over the few days they had been in port. She leaned over the bar and pulled a case from the shelf underneath. She lifted the fiddle into place and started a jaunty tune to go with the sailors song. Within a few notes the bar was full of people singing and dancing to her tune. This was her second favorite form of magic, the intoxication of music and the power her fiddle held over everyone who heard her play, at least in this tavern. After a couple of tunes, she let herself fall back onto her stool and swung her fiddle case back to it’s shelf as she ordered another round.  She leaned back and laughed as the day got later and the tavern swung into usual crowd and antics. A few crews of Sailors were sharing tales of the sea and trying to beat each others drinking records. A few games of dice and cards had sprung up among sailors and thieves and the few street gangs that were hanging around were staring each other down as they did all the time, it wasn’t that unusual for them to start glaring on site, but they would never fight inside. Those were the rules that kept this place the best place in all of Sea City.  Ambrina never felt out of place here, this was her world; her violence and anger, the fire that burned inside her was accepted and embraced. And yet strangely, it sometimes felt like she was part of the scenery of the tavern, like she was accepted but not seen, not belonging, simply there. There seemed to only be one person who saw her, like actually as a person and not another angry sword in a room of them, her roommate Lyra. The red-haired elven thief was her best friend in this city that she loved.  She burst out laughing as the girl entered and flopped into her seat. Ambrina reached over and clapped her shoulder, leaning over and grabbing another drink before swinging onto the bar and leaning over towards Lyra, “good haul today, I see” 

The girl sighed and pushed at her leg, “stop it” 

Ambrina pushed her drink at her, grabbing another and throwing a few coins on the Tavern owners tray as she passed, earning her She drained her mug and nudged lyra again. “Out with it” 

“Totally botched job, I mean, I got out with a painting, but I mistimed the return of the caretaker and almost got caught and had to leave almost all those other nice things behind, all that money gone.” 

Ambrina patted her arm  and downed another drink that was the unfortunate reality of their lifestyle, sometimes a job just doesn’t work out, but it always sucked when that happened. “ don’t worry bout it. I just finished a job, I can spot the rent till you grab something that’s worth a damn thing”         

She jumped off the bar and headed over to the job board. Her and Lyra had been sharing a small apartment above the tavern for a few years now and rent was usually a concern with how much she was trying to save. This taverns rep was known through the city and a few requests could always be found alongside the wanted posters and city decrees. 

This time though there was an envelope with her name printed on the fine paper in an elegant script pinned among the other papers. A small  She reached up and grabbed it. She’d open this later in her apartment. For now she wanted to relax. She turned and with a quick half step she leapt onto the nearest table, “Next rounds on me” she yelled to the jovial crowd. And as the drinks were ordered and the usual chaos of the evening crowd built up, she felt as close to home as she ever did.

                                                                   Kiria

Kiera sighed and continued to trudge through the forest. They would probably reach the galpin plains soon. This wasn’t good. She knew that they had to travel through the plain to get to Xaeria, where they should be able to rest for a day or two before moving to the coast. They couldn’t stay in Xaeria. Not with the position of Queen Varalyne on the existence of mages.  She couldn’t drag her brother into that. That same little black colt had been following him for as long as she could remember; that, plus how Daemon could disappear better than any of the others she knew. There was no way she could drag him to Xaeria or Prouba. They could possibly try the wild woods beyond Taeslaes, but that area was Elven territory and the only humans that were even rumored to be able to survive in those forests was some temple and Bluecall. They were a traveling troupe that made people vanish after every performance. Between the wild magic and the beasts of the forest, they might be able to survive, but it was risky. Their best option was probably to head to Everfield, catch a ship, and disappear to sea for awhile. 

    Since she ran, they’d already had to fight off the first two teams sent to bring them back. Daemon had to fight the people he had trained with and lived with and fought with for years. She couldn’t imagine doing that, though she knew in her soul that she would be forced to do the same to those she had called sister for years. But there was no choice for her, but to go on. When what you believe becomes incompatible with the popular line of thought, it is necessary to separate from that thought and find a way to build a life away from that which you can’t support. And she could no longer support a group of assassins that broke their assassins through torture and the torture of the innocents. Death was one thing, a life of pain and fear and relentless agony that goes on endlessly with no stop in sight was an entirely different situation. She had a broken rib, two head wounds and a stab wound in her side; her brother had a twisted ankle, a new head wound, probably a concussion and a few other injuries, both horses had injured legs, but right now, they had their freedom, and that was everything. 

    Unfortunately, it was under threat yet again as Daemon signaled that there was someone following at the same moment that Kiria felt eyes on her. She steadied herself as much as she could as the trees melted into brush and they entered the Galpin Plains. As they headed further in, Kiria noticed the trees seemed to part and in the distance she could see their pursuers. Raven-marked horses, four in red, three in black. This was an extermination group, a hunting party,  they had called them. They probably wouldn’t run them down. She knew their tactics, she’d led a hunting party or two herself. They’d stay back, far enough to be able to disappear if needed, but close enough to keep the pressure on and keep them moving ‘til they dropped or slowed down. Then they’d swoop in and wipe out the entire group they were chasing. It was a terrifying tactic, and and effective one. They would die at some point soon. It would take some kind of miracle to save them and Cornoth would never provide that. But even with that knowledge, Kiria wasn’t one to go down without a fight, no matter what she’d still try to fight her way out if she could. As she limped through the grass and shrubs to Daemon’s side and they trudged their way, limping and injured, she felt him reach out and gently squeeze her hand. He was scared, she realized, he probably didn’t know why he had left and more than she truly understood why she had. Yet he had come with her as soon as she asked. And he would die for it and he knew that as well as she did. “I wish I knew more than how to blend into shadows and blur tracks” he murmured “i’m sorry, i can’t throw fire or some shit like that”.

    She squeezes his hand back “At least we’ll die free from their torture and we’ll take a few of them with us.”

[modernagesomniari]

Fic ‘I am Changed’

Part of the Mala Suledin Nadas Series (Eli Lavellan).  You can read it on AO3 here.

The parallels between In Hushed Whispers and Solas' situation have always made me unneasy (which shows good writing tbh) but I wanted to explore how different Eli and Solas' attitudes are towards this sort of thing, how it's a natural part of who they are, which is why they'll oppose each other eventually.

PG-13, ~1750 words

I Am Changed

It was the new sparkly kid who told them what had happened, not their Eli.  This was the first thing that set off the warning bells in Varric’s head.  The second thing was that, within minutes of Dorian starting the story, she’d quietly warned him off exaggeration.  The third thing was that he then did what she asked.  In Varric’s opinion, men like this one didn’t tone down their exaggerations for anything.  He should know.

Not that wasn’t like Eli to be quiet - she’d spent a good deal of the first week or so barely saying a word unless you spoke to her first, but Varric could understand that.  She’d just been thrown into a situation so far from anything she’d experienced, anyone with any brains at all would take a few days to take the lay of the land before they started throwing their weight around.  She’d picked up about day eight, starting to initiate conversation and get to know her new surroundings.  Cheered right up, if he was honest, he couldn’t fault her strength.

This was different.  She was sat in the circle they’d made around the camp fire down the King’s Road from Redcliffe.  None of them had particularly wanted to stay in the town, so they’d kept walking and camped halfway between the town and the camp.  Once the sun had set and they’d eaten, inevitably they’d asked what had happened.  She was playing with a piece of leather in her hands, twisting it and tangling it only to thread her tiny fingers through it and smooth it out before starting all over again.  She watched the fire, something violent in the way it reflected in her huge green eyes, but there was nothing on her face.  This had moved her, deeply.

He kept his eyes on her as he listened, mostly horror struck, at what Dorian was telling them.  The red lyrium clenched his gut, but the new kid’s description of who they found and how was worse, far worse.  Poor Leliana.  It was a sobering thought, the idea that a world where he himself was dead had existed.  Not for long it seemed (only it had also lasted a year?  Only it hadn’t?  There was no way he was going to be able to put this into any book, was there?), but still the reality of it was a cold slap in the face.  No one liked imagining a world where they were dead.  Eli, apparently, had seen and experienced it.  Watched some of them die.

It was only when Dorian was finishing the story, trying to tell them that it was all ok, that they’d found the amulet, sent themselves back, none of it ever happened, it was all a bad dream etc etc that Eli looked up, something wrong and fierce in her eyes now.

“It wasn’t just a bad dream, Dorian.”

Her voice was low, but something about it quietened the whole damn camp.

“Well it might as well be.  Otherwise I’d have to live with the reality the whole rest of my life and nightmares do play havoc with age lines…”

“We can’t just pretend it all didn’t happen because it’s easier.”

Now her voice was raised and she’d sat up, leather clenched tightly in her fist.  “Dorian.  It happened.”

“Technically, no it…”

“Yes.  It did.  To us.  If it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t be here.  Alexius still sent us forward and then we came back, so if it hadn’t happened, we’d still be gone.  And then it would have happened.”

Varric considered himself a clever sort of bastard, but he was having trouble keeping up.  There was something frustrated but pained in Sparkler’s face.

“I see your point.  But that doesn’t change the fact that they don’t fit into this world any more.  For us to be here now means they never have to exist.”

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.  Just because they don’t fit anymore doesn’t mean they didn’t exist when we were there.”

Andraste’s ass but there were tears in her eyes now, not falling but glinting just enough in the firelight he knew they were there.  He could never stand it when people cried, damn it.

“Then where are they?  I know you think I’m being cowardly about this, but what do you want me to do?  Cassandra is sitting right here.  Solas has as impeccable a skin routine as when I first met him, not a red vein to be seen.”

“So they didn’t die?  Is that what you’re saying to me?”

Varric definitely preferred it when she’d raised her voice to this quiet fury she’d switched to now.

“I didn’t say…”

“But that’s what you want to believe.  What’s easier to believe.  They died, Dorian.  They died so that we could come back.  And they were real.”

She shook her head, her face crumpling slightly as she couldn’t keep the tears in anymore.  The brokenness of her voice did nothing to the ferocity in her eyes as she stood across the fire from Dorian, not flinching even as the tears ran down her face.  “I am changed, Dorian.  Their fight, their death, their sacrifice.  They have changed me.  And I am real.  So they are, too.  Think me foolish for mourning them if you must, but I will.  And I will not forget.”

She turned, refusing to wipe her eyes but clearly not wanting them to see any more.  They let her go.  Silence fell over the fire as they all watched her take herself to sit on a rock at the edge of camp, looking down the ravine at the hinterlands below.  No one said anything.  It made Varric respect the new Tevinter mage slightly, that he just nodded solemnly and poured himself another drink rather than try and continue to fight his corner now he had no opposition.  As for Varric, he took a sip of his own drink before casting a quick look around the fire.  Most people were staring into their cups, uncomfortable and pensive.  One of the few who wasn’t was Solas, who was looking after where Eli had gone like he couldn’t look away, something unreadable but deeply uneasy in the expression on his face.  Varric’s inner alarm bells started going off again.  This didn’t bode well.

“Was it so bad?” The Seeker asked after a while.  Clearly tired, Sparkler just shrugged and nodded.

“I know what you look like after being speared by a Terror demon, if that paints a picture.  And I’ve seen the difference between human and elven eyes when exposed to truly horrific amounts of red lyrium, which tops it all off nicely.”

“There’s a difference?” Varric asked, immediately wondering why he always asked questions he didn’t want the answer to.  Dorian’s gaze was slightly haunted to match his hollow laugh.

“Elves are apparently more susceptible, or perhaps it’s just the same thing that makes their eyes glow at night.  I don’t know.”

He took another swig of his hip flask before gesturing over to Solas.  “You were a bloody breath of fresh air.  Barely had to explain anything - caught on quick as a whip.  Have you known her long?”

Solas looked as confused by the last question as Varric felt, eyebrows drawn together as he shook his head.  “No.  Didn’t think so.  You get on though, don’t you?”

“If you are suggesting some sort of elf connection…”

“No.  No I’m not.  It’s just…”

Dorian paused, flicking his gaze over to the silhouette that was Eli, back at Solas and then back at the fire.  Finally he just shrugged.  “Oh, she’ll tell you if she wants to.  If I were either of you, though, I’d find a few moments on the journey back to Haven to remind her you are both, in fact, still alive.  She took your deaths pretty hard.”

No one said anything after that.  No one really moved either.  Varric wondered what it was - the horror, the reality of this Elder One, or just the realisation that their Herald wasn’t strong because she was all-powerful, but because she didn’t let her fragility shatter her.  She would mourn, she would let her heart break for this world that should never have been and then she would allow it to make her stronger.  Varric had seen it before, watched a person take more pain than he thought possible and turn it right back into fierce determination and unshakeable loyalty.  Maker’s balls, but he was going to get in way over his head again, wasn’t he?

Solas got up first, quiet and graceful, stepping around them all as he angled towards the tents.  Varric watched him go, wondering at what Dorian had said and hoping that what he suspected was going to happen wasn’t going to.  Because he’d been there before, too, and there was nothing there but hurt, he knew it.  So some part of him started silently willing Solas to keep heading towards the tents, even as he watched him slow down.  Knew that there was a suspicious squint to his eyes as he watched Solas draw to a halt, looking over at where Eli was sat at the other side of camp.  Felt something release as he turned away, back to the tents and clench right up again when he hesitated.  If a low ‘Don’t you dare, Chuckles’ left his mouth under his breath, he couldn’t be blamed.

His heart sank as Solas changed his mind again, something reluctant in his gait even as he turned once more towards Eli and started walking towards her like it was despite himself.  Honestly, Varric would almost say that the man was even more irritated at himself than Varric was for not being able to leave her.  He watched him hesitate one more time, just behind her, before he took one more step forward and sat close beside her.

Varric couldn’t hear what they were saying.  Knew damn well that he wouldn’t be wanted there even if he could.  He watched her body sway slightly before she let it lean gently against Solas’ arm and his heart was heavy enough he actually sighed into his ale as he watched that arm come up around her shoulders, pulling her in.  Damn that man for being an idiot, damn Eli for being, well, Eli and damn himself for seeing so much and caring even more.  He’d seen this play out in Kirkwall, seen it a thousand times in every tale of every hero in Thedas.

There was no way this was going to end well.

[crystalessenceswrites]

You’re Enchanting--Chapter Three

Summary:  Delphine always told Elazar she would do anything to help him if he was ever in trouble, even knowing his knack for finding it. She didn’t expect to be helping him save the world after someone blows up the Conclave and tears a hole in the sky. Nor did Delphine expect to be falling for anyone, let alone a troubled, former templar, while she’s watching her best friend shape the future of their world with a green glowing hand.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: Does Lord Seeker Lucius require a warning, because I feel like he does

Can also be found on AO3

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four]

Chapter Three- Chaos

“You don’t use a staff blade.”

Delphine stuttered a bit into her waterskin at the sudden comment, or was it a question, from Cullen. “No, I do not.” Wiping her drink off her face, she tried to hide the grimace that rose on her lips. Maker, how unsightly that was, she can’t even drink properly.

“Why not?”

It must have been common for mages to equip their staffs with them in Kirkwall then. Delphine was more curious as to why that was then why she didn’t use one.

“I have never had a need for one.” There was always someone in arms reach of her that was armed with a rather large sword.

“I see…” Cullen trailed off as he took a long drink from his own waterskin.

They had been working with the recruits for the better part of the day now, stopping to rest only before the newest recruits looked ready to drop from exhaustion. Delphine would not admit it to anyone, especially the former templar, but she found herself nearing that point too. Outside of training recruits for the last three days with Cullen, she had been practicing primal magic on her own, trying to build her own confidence in the casting before she ventured out with Elazar. She had not pushed her mana reserves to such lengths since she an apprentice preparing for her Harrowing. It was draining. Delphine did her best to focus on that feeling instead of how Cullen’s hair seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun.

“Have you thought about one? It may prove useful as you continue to master your magic.”

Delphine tried to ignore the, hopefully, unintended insinuation that she did not have full understanding of her abilities. She was an Enchanter from a well-regarded Circle of Magi, she had mastered her magic. Battle magic simply was not a school she had use for in the past, like a staff blade. It was a new tool she simply had to familiarize herself with in order to use it to its full potential.

“Possibly… after our trip to Val Royeaux I might speak with Harritt about it.”

Cullen nods, apparently satisfied. She wondered why he cared to begin with?

“May I ask you a question, Cullen?”

He quirked an eyebrow but made no move to stop her.

“Why did you join the Inquisition?” There were many things about the ex-templar that garnered her curiosity but this one seemed to nag at her the most, well maybe second to how he got the lip scar. She also wasn’t ready to return to training just yet.

Delphine wondered what he had thought she was going to ask about when he let out a sigh of relief. “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall. I was there during the mage uprising- I saw firsthand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

So, fate put him in charge of a much bigger mess than he had originally expected. Interesting.

“The Divine dead… a giant hole in the sky. I would say we’re a bit worse off than before.”

“Which is why we’re needed. The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot, our followers would be a part of that. There’s so much more we can- Forgive me. I doubt you were asking for a lecture…”

The man was passionate about helping, making a difference in a time of turmoil and crisis. It was reassuring to see people like him still exist after all the world had seen in recent years. Maybe that was why Elazar had become so friendly with him so quickly. He always was a good judge of character.

“Not quite, but if you have one prepared I wouldn’t mind.”

Delphine couldn’t help herself from letting out a little laugh with him. “Another time perhaps.”

This time she was sure he was smiling, the way his scar quirked up and his eyes gleamed reassured her there was still some mirth left in the soldier.

“I, ah…” and suddenly it had disappeared again. “There’s still a lot of work ahead. Should we return to the recruits?”

Delphine suppressed her groan as Cullen stood, her distraction had not worked quite well enough. “Of course.”

“Del!”

Both their heads shot towards the makeshift stables where Elazar stood, waving his arms frantically. He looked like an overly excited child to the point Delphine wanted to scold him. Varric stood next to the rambunctious elf, looking rather amused.

This time Delphine didn’t suppress her groan. “It would appear the Herald requires your assistance.”

“He could have come over and asked for me like an adult,” she huffed.

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. Well, at least someone could draw amusement from her friend’s antics.

“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, Delphine.” Cullen bowed slightly at the waist, much more formal than he usually was with her. “Have a good rest of your day.”

Well that was odd.

Gathering up her skirt, Delphine jogged across the training yard to greet El and Varric. She still could not tell what the dwarf looked so smug about but at least Elazar had stopped his shouting.

“Must you always cause a scene?”

“Of course,” he smirked, “for I must always be the center of attention.”

Del rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. Elazar was not fond of the spotlight in all truth, but he was doing his best to embrace the attention his new title was earning him.

“So, how’s Curly doing?”

Delphine did not like the dwarf’s insulation with that tone. Varric liked to see tension and pining in relationships where none existed, as if they were living in a novel. Del was content seeing him do this with other Inquisition members but did not want the author snooping around her. It was bad enough he thought she and Elazar were together when she had first arrived.

“A one-track mind, as usual.”

Varric chuckled, “he has not changed one bit. First the templars, now the Inquisition.”

“How long have you two known each other exactly?” Cullen had never spoken to her about Varric. Granted, Cullen did not go out of his way to strike up conversations with her, yet Varric loved to harp on the Commander.

“Oh Curly and I go way back,” Varric grinned as if he and the ex-templar were simply old pals.

“Sure…” How was it that the Inquisition had already collected such a gaggle of personalities? Or should she say how was it that Cassandra has collected such a group?

Delphine continued to ponder the subject as their party traveled to Val Royeaux the following day. Cassandra herself was easy enough to get along with. Her personality was gruff, sure, but she was rather understanding. At least for Delphine. Cassandra had little patience for Varric. Varric was well aware of that fact and it led to plenty of interesting conversations to pass the time. Solas would chime in from time to time, though mostly to disagree with the “child of the stone” or Elazar.

Elazar always took the jabs from the elven apostate in good faith, it wasn’t like Elazar had any ego to bruise. He had always been determined to befriend all he could, it was in his nature. He was persistent too. If Elazar was the type to flee at a few harsh words, he would have never befriended her to begin with. So, Elazar did his best to accommodate Solas’s remarks, no matter how snobby they became-which Delphine found a strange trait for an apostate but she was not about to mention that in current company- but even Elazar had a breaking point. As their travels continued Del could almost see the high-brow attitude begin to grate on Elazar, especially when Solas threw out a few scathing remarks about the Dalish. She did her best to get between the two, talking El through what information Leliana had gathered on the Chantry Mothers and etiquette for when they finally arrived. Not that any of the talk seemed to calm Elazar down, he never cared for authority, but at least he wouldn’t snap at her.

Varric, always reading between the lines began to pick up on the tension as well. Suddenly the dwarf avoided the topics of magic and elves completely, and with a rather wide berth. Del would have to thank him once they returned to Haven and the apostate was out of earshot.

She did breathe a strong sigh of relief when the city came into view on the horizon, which was rather ironic considering neither she nor El cared much for the idea of meeting with the Mothers. Cassandra was optimistic though, so Del did her best to match the Seeker’s energy as they arrived at the bridge leading up to Orlais’ crown jewel.

The last time Delphine had been to Val Royeaux life had been looking up for her, for her family. The whole family had made the trip across the Waking Sea in order to introduce Oweyn to the woman who would later become his wife. Del had been excited to meet her possible future sister-in-law, but more excited to see the gilded city all her tutors talked about. She’d been glued to the carriage window nearly the entire trip, vibrating with excitement in the way only a six-year-old can. Her mother had been scolding her for her behavior the entire time, attempting to get young Delphine to sit properly on the uncomfortable bench and stop creasing her pretty new dress.

Oh how her mother would scold her if she could see her now.

Walking into Val Royeaux in full enchanter armor, hood pulled low over her brow, her staff on full display over her shoulder, went against everything she had been told her life would be like. Delphine had never come back to Orlais to take part in society as she came of age as her mother had planned. Instead, she was standing side by side with a group of what could be considered political dissidents. The Maker works in mysterious ways.

“The city still mourns,” Cassandra observed. It did seem bleak, as if the dark skies reflected the mood of the people.

The mood of the people also seemed terrified. One Orlesian woman on the bridge screamed at the sight of them approaching.

“Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are.”

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.”

Elazar snickered at Del’s side; she was tempted to elbow him like she used to when they were sitting together during lessons. The Inquisition agent approaching was the only thing making her think otherwise.

“My Lord Herald.” The agent kneeled in front of Cassandra and Elazar. He tensed but El didn’t voice his discomfort.

“You’re one of Leliana’s people. What have you found?”

“The Chantry Mothers await you, but… so do a great many templars.”

Ice washed over her. They were walking straight into the arms of an order that would gladly kill them both for being “rebels.”

“There are templars here?” Cassandra sounded surprised but not nearly as concerned as Delphine thought she should be. She was a seeker after all, wasn’t she aware of what those men were capable of?

“People seem to think the templars will protect them from- from the Inquisition. They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the templars intend to meet you,” the agent explained.

“They wish to protect the people? From us?”

Delphine understood that Cassandra strongly believed in what she was doing, that this all was sanctioned by the Divine, but could she not comprehend that others might be less trusting? After a blight, a civil war and the death of the Divine, people were worried. Delphine was worried.

Elazar sounded rather unperturbed, “we knew there would be some kind of reaction.”

“But I didn’t expect the templars to make an appearance.” Delphine agreed with the Seeker.

“The people may just be assuming what the templars will do. I’ve heard no concrete plans.”

“You think the Order’s returned to the fold, maybe?” Varric pondered, “to deal with us upstarts?”

Despite her unease Del couldn’t help but chuckle, “is that all we are? A band of upstarts the templars find annoying?”

Cassandra shook her head, “I know Lord Seeker Lucius. I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense. Not after all that’s occurred… Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are… delayed.”

That was a rather kind way of putting it.

“As you say, my Lady.”

Leliana’s agent watched as their group proceeded into the market, but with the news they’d received Delphine couldn’t find it in herself to admire the grandeur of the capital. As the agent had said, a crowd awaited them on the far end of the market. The Mothers had set up a platform from which to decry the Inquisition from. Del kept herself as close to Elazar’s back as she could as they navigated their way to the platform.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well wonder no more!”

Delphine had been regretting this since the agent had spoken the word templar, now she was sure they shouldn’t have come. Cullen had been right.

“Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need!”

“Shemlen.” Elazar cursed under his breath, fists clenching at nothing. Delphine slipped her hands around his, hoping to ease some of his sudden temper. It appeared to help some, his gripped loosened enough for her to intertwine her hand with his. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he looked up to the mother. “You say I am the enemy. The Breach in the sky is our true enemy. We must unite to stop it.”

“It’s true!” Cassandra’s voice rang out over the crowd, “the Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it’s too late!”

“It is already too late!” The woman pointed to an amor clad group approaching. Delphine’s grip on Elazar tightened. She would not let them take him. “The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this “Inquisition” and the people will be safe once more!”

The group mounted the platform, stone-faced. They didn’t appear to be all that thrilled with the Mother’s declaration. Delphine’s jaw dropped as one walked up and sucker-punched the older woman. A startled hush fell over the crowd as a man in seeker armor clapped a templar on the shoulder.

“Still yourself. She is beneath us.”

This was not the templar order Delphine remembered.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Delphine cursed Elazar for drawing attention back onto them.

“Her claim to “authority” is an insult. Much like your own.” The Seeker shot back as he descended the platform, his armored companions following.

Cassandra started to give chase, “Lord Seeker Lucius, it’s imperative that we speak with-”

“You will not address me.”

This was the Lord Seeker?!

“Lord Seeker?”

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who have failed! You who’d leash out righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”

This was the man who had led the templars away from their duties? This man had convinced them it was better to purge the remaining mages than to protect them? How in the world had this happened? What were the templars thinking?

“What we truly need is an alliance that will seal the Breach.” Elazar countered, his voice remaining level despite the way he held Delphine’s hand in a death grip behind his back.

“On, the Breach is indeed a threat. But you certainly have no power to do anything about it,” the Lord Seeker sneered.

One of the templars stepped forward, brow tight knit, “but Lord Seeker… what if he really was sent by the Maker? What if-?”

“You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!” Another templar shouted back.

Delphine had to let go of Elazar’s hand before she cut off his circulation.

“I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition. Independence! You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition… less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”

In that moment, Delphine had never wanted a staff blade more. That man would destroy the Order and would kill as many mages as he could in the process.

Cassandra looked crestfallen but did not attempt to stop them from leaving again. There was obviously nothing she could say to the Lord Seeker to change his mind.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric chimed in, unnervingly not all that disturbed by the Lord Seeker’s intentions.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?”

Elazar looked to Cassandra, concern etched into his features, “do you know him very well?”

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is very bizarre.”

“Do you think he can be reasoned with?” Elazar continued to press but Delphine had little hope after that exchange.

“I hope so. If not him, there are surely others in the order who don’t feel as he does.”

“I hope so.” Delphine hated to see them fall to such a man.

“Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others.”

.

They didn’t return to Haven.

At least not until they had run around Val Royeaux in search of clues detailed in a mysterious arrow that had been shot in their general direction and received an invitation to a party being thrown by the Madame De Fer.

“So, the clues point to this estate here, just outside the city.” Varric and Elazar had huddled over a map in one of the cafes, both drawn into the mystery of it all. “So long as it’s not a trap it should allow us ample time to still make it to the party Del is so insistent on attending.”

Delphine threw her hands up and her friends’ insinuation, “I am trying to help you and the Inquisition, El. If attending this party gives us the chance to meet with Madame De Fer then we need to be there.”

They both knew full well the Madame De Fer was the Enchanter to the Imperial Court and was in a place far beyond the reach of any other mage. If they could gain her help it would be invaluable. Yet Delphine knew El was hung up over the idea of approaching a “loyal” Circle mage, his rebellious tendencies getting the better of him.

“Then we should best prepare for whatever it is we will be facing tonight.” Elazar declared, a wide grin gracing his features. He always did love a good mystery.

Cassandra and Solas nod in agreement, everyone gathering their things as the citizens of Val Royeaux look on in curiosity, just as they had been doing all afternoon. As they neared the stables to collect their mounts, Solas and Varric spun around to the sound of approaching footsteps.

“If I might have a moment of your time?”

Delphine recognized the elven woman approaching them immediately. Her blood began to boil all over again.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

First the Lord Seeker and now the Grand Enchanter? How had Val Royeaux not imploded after having them in the same place at the same time?

“Leader of the mage rebellion. Is it not dangerous for you to be here?” Solas had a valid point.

“I heard of this gathering, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If its help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages.”

That’s the angle she was using then. Delphine frowned at the older woman, “I’m surprised the leader of the mages wasn’t at the Conclave.”

Cassandra also seemed rather suspicious of the development. “Yes. You were supposed to be, and yet somehow you avoided death.”

“As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note. Both of us sent negotiators in our stead, in case it was a trap. I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live. I lost many dear friends that day. It disgusts me to think the templars will get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

“So you think the templars are responsible?” Elazar asked.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Cassandra countered.

“Lucius hardly seems broken up over his loses, if he’s concerned about them at all.” Delphine did have to admit, the Grand Enchanter has a point. “You heard him. You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us? So, yes, I think did it. More than I think you did it, at any rate.”

“The mages weren’t willing to talk to the Inquisition before. Why now?” This had bothered Elazar since they had discussed it in the war room. He had been in the rebel camp; he knew how their peers wanted change yet there was no move from the rebels to help seal the Breach. If the mages wanted respect then wasn’t this the perfect opportunity for them? El had voiced his frustration on the subject many of the nights they sat together and discussed their situations.

“Because now I’ve seen what you are. And I’ve seen the Chantry for what it is. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir my Lord Herald.”

As quickly as she had appeared, Fiona disappeared back into Val Royeaux.

[Masterlist]

[sabraefirst]

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

"Your 'Maker' is a story you humans use to explain the world. We have our own stories. I don't need to borrow yours."

"Spirits differ from each other, just as you and Hawke and Isabela are all human. More or less..."

"Magic can't be made safe and it can't be destroyed. Fear makes men more dangerous than magic ever could.”

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖘

NAME: Merrill Alerion Sabrae

NICKNAMES: Daisy, Kitten

AGE: 19 in DAO, 20 - 28 in DA2, 30 in DAI

BIRTHDAY: 9:11 Dragon

GENDER: Female

PRONOUNS: she/her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Belavhana Alerion ( biological ), Marethari Sabrae ( not by blood )

FATHER: Athras Alerion

SIBLINGS: Ishana Mahariel ( not by blood )

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: verse-dependent

CHILD(REN): none

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑  𝖆 𝖙 𝖙 𝖗 𝖎 𝖇 𝖚 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

FACE CLAIM: N/A - if anyone has suggestions lmk lmao, i’m awful at fcs

BUILD: slender, lean, average height

HAIR: short and choppy, ending just by her ears with braids scattered throughout her hair

HAIR COLOR: black

EYE COLOR: blue-green

SKIN COLOR: pale

DOMINANT HAND: right

ANOMALIES: scars littering both of her forearms and palms due to blood magic

SCENT: pine, dirt, and ( ironically ) daisies

ACCENT: a mix of ferelden / english and the free marches / scottish, though her free marches accent is heavier than her ferelden one

ALLERGIES: N/A

DISORDERS: Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD)

FASHION: primarily the popular fashion among the dalish, but after living as a city elf for nearly a decade, she’s incorporated some of their styles into her own. merrill wears lots of green and brown like her in-game outfit, though even if she doesn’t romance hawke, i imagine she still has that white romance outfit anyway. she only brings it out on special occasions. 

NERVOUS TICS: merrill rambles a lot. she second-guesses herself, especially when meeting new people, so her mouth often gets ahead of her brain and talks the ear off whoever she’s speaking with as a result. she also tends to move in place, whether that be shifting from one foot to another or just swaying where she stands. she needs to keep moving.

QUIRKS: mostly when she first leans clan sabrae but still every now and then, she hates missing dirty jokes and wants to know about them. she’s very blunt when she asks whether she missed something dirty, much like in-game, but she hates being left out of things.  during quiet moments, merrill also likes to hum quietly to herself.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: clan sabrae ( DAO - pre-DA2 ), the alienage ( DA2 ), nomad ( pre-DAI ), skyhold ( DAI )

BORN: nevarra

RAISED: nevarra until age 11, then ferelden once she was given to clan sabrae

PETS: no, but she’d love a cat

CAREER: First of Clan Sabrae ( formerly ); Arcane Advisor to the Inquisition

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: sides with the mages during the mage-templar war

BELIEFS: proudly dalish and an unofficial lorekeeper; 

DRUGS: no

SMOKES: no

ALCOHOL: sometimes with friends, but not often - she’s a lightweight

DIET: omnivore

LANGUAGES: trade tongue, elvish ( broken, as neither of her clans used it exclusively, but over the course of recovering their lost lore she’s become more fluent in it ), and a little bit of tevene since elven and tevinter ruins tend to overlap

PHOBIAS: being alone or abandoned; the thought of having given up everything she ever knew for nothing; those big ass spiders found in sundermount

HOBBIES: reading, studying, gardening, knitting ( badly )

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: anywhere outdoors

MUSIC: merrill loves listening to bards sing. they tell the most wonderful stories

FOOD: various fruits, but specifically berries

BEVERAGE: can’t go wrong with water!

COLOR: dark green

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: neutral good

MBTI: INFP - The Mediator

ENNEAGRAM: Type 4w5 - The Free Spirit

IDEOLOGIES:

- hates when people don’t take her seriously.

- loves when people give her nicknames like varric and isabela did. it makes her feel like she belongs.

- like anders, merrill loves cats and would be thrilled to have one of her own.

- despite having a thirst for knowledge now, merrill was the type of child who didn’t pay attention to her lessons and let her mind wander. she learns best by discovering the world through interaction, though she’s learned to appreciate books now.

- merrill can’t stand the taste of elfroot.

- though kirkwall was dirty and the hanged man’s ale tasted like piss, being in the city-state was the first time merrill actually felt like she was home.

- merrill still has nightmares about keeper marethari’s fate and vows to never let something like that happen again. she’d rather die herself.

[theaologies]

We’ll Continue (to be disappointed) [fic]

Fandom: Dragon Age Ship: Solavellan (implied) Rating: Gen Summary: Charter delivers some news Wordcount: ~1700 Notes: I haven’t written anything in... so long... god. A drabble, some character introspection mostly Read on Ao3

HEAVY SPOILERS for TEVINTER NIGHTS

“Is that all?” Cassandra asks, dropping the bundle of papers that has occupied her hands for the past hour or so on the small, stained wood table their little group stands around.

The basement they find themselves gathered in this time is small and damp, the scent of fish drifting in from the port outside mixing none too sweetly with old ale that has spilled through the floorboards of the tavern above. The cramped space barely fits the four women with their table, which tilts precariously whenever something heavier than a dagger is placed upon it, and Leliana has joked more than once that if Cullen had joined them he and his pauldrons would have had to play door for them.

But this isn't a matter to disturb Cullen with. Not while he's enjoying his retirement and time with his family.

No, this little party is made up only of those absolutely necessary; Cassandra, Leliana, Lavellan, and Charter.

Charter, who is the one who retrieved this information for them.

The Elven woman nods as she watches Cassandra drop her notes, folding her arms across her chest. “That is all, yes. And since I was the only one spared we won't have to concern ourselves with cleaning up loose ends.”

Cassandra sighs, frustration evident in her voice. “I suppose you're right.” She nods, rubbing at her chin, “though I admit my confusion at your survival- he'd kill all those others in attendance, yet not you? Just because you... asked?”

“I had done nothing to wrong him,” Charter tells her, leaning over to gather the papers up once more. “The others had lied or slandered him or posed some kind of risk. I merely sought out information- and it was information he was willing to share.”

“He doesn't want to kill Elves,” Lavellan supplies, finally speaking up for the first time since their meeting began, “he will if he absolutely must, but Solas is... trying not to kill other Elves. He's still trying to recruit them into his army.” She glances up at the other Elf, violet eyes both hard and exhausted at the same time, “you said it yourself- he asked you to join. And it probably would have looked worse for him had you not returned.”

“He wants us to know he can be anywhere at anytime,” Leliana says, “even though we've officially disbanded he knows we're still working against him- he wants us to know just how big of a threat he, personally, is to us. Any of us. All of us.” The Divine, cloaked in a simple disguise, spreads a hand out over the small map of Tevinter tacked down on the table, looking over it dutifully. “We'll have to be more careful from now on- well, even more so than we have been.” She sighs, a frown etched across her lips, “I'm afraid our infrequent meetings will have to become... even more infrequent. And those of us who are traveling will have to do more to cover our tracks. It will be difficult but we can't afford to get lazy now- or ever.” Nimble fingers pluck at the tacks, carefully rolling the map back up before depositing it in a tiny canister. As she straightens she eyes both Charter and Lavellan, “I'm sorry to say, but that means being more careful around other Elves, as well- if he'd go so far as to attempt to recruit a known spymaster-”

“No, you're right,” Lavellan agrees quickly, though she doesn't meet her eye, “anyone could be one of his agents, at this point. There's no telling. Caution must be taken, especially with those Elves coming out of Tevinter.”

Leliana gives a single nod, seemingly pleased with her understanding. “Yes, exactly. We cannot, at the moment, take any unnecessary risks. Now-” her eyes sweep over the other women as she tugs at the hood of her cloak, ensuring her hair is completely covered, “I'm afraid I must take my leave. Cassandra and I must be present later tonight at the Viscount's banquet- there had to be some excuse for use to travel all the way to Kirkwall, after all.”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise from the space by the door as she dons her own cloak. “Politics.”

“Now, now, Cassandra,” Leliana chides playfully, a smirk replacing her serious expression, “I'm sure Varric won't make it too unbearable for you. Perhaps our dear friend will even give you the next copy of his book.”

The dark haired woman rolls her eyes, turning toward the door quickly to hide the blush that creeps its way up her neck.

“Charter, if you wouldn't mind passing this information to Harding when you have the chance?” Leliana requests, “she'll need to know the details of this meeting in depth and what to keep an eye out for in the future.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Charter agrees, tucking the papers away into a leather pouch hidden inside her vest, “I will get this to her as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Leliana says, then turns to Lavellan, “I'm sorry you can't join us tonight,” she tells her sympathetically, “If there were a way-”

But Lavellan just lifts her hand to stop her. “It's fine,” she says, “I spent some time with Varric yesterday- we caught up then. Had lunch. It's no big deal.” She shrugs. “Besides, I'm to start trek toward the Arlathan Forest early tomorrow. Varric gave me information to catch up with one of his and Hawke's friends who's been working on dismantling the slave trade there. Thought I might be some help.”

Leliana doesn't miss the way she fidgets with the hem of her sleeve, though; fingers tugging at the fabric to try to hide the dragonbone contraption Dagna made to replace her missing arm. “You had said before,” the redhead starts carefully, “that you were considering stopping by Wycome on your way. Do you still-”

“I might,” she cuts her off again, still not looking her in the eye, “I haven't decided yet. I know reports have said that some of my Clan might still be out there- but-” she sighs, rolling her shoulders to try to stave off the shudder that threatens to run through her, “I just don't think it would matter if I went back. I doubt they'd want me back, after everything. If they even recognized me at all.”

Cassandra turns back to look at the Elven woman, a soft pity in her eyes, “Inqui-”

“Don't,” Lavellan says quickly, sharply, then deflates, letting the sudden anger rush out of her. “I'm not the Inquisitor anymore, Cassandra,” she tells her with a wavering smile, “let's not pretend I still am.”

The other woman frowns, though instead of her usual frustration it's one of sympathy. “Yes, of course.” She agrees softly, “I- just know- if there's anything you need-”

Lavellan nods, looking up at the human women, a fake smile plastered across her face. “I know, and thank you. But I'm fine. I'll be fine. Truly.”

There's a pause. Lavellan returns to her subconscious fidgeting. Leliana chooses not to say anything of it. “Very well,” The Divine relents, moving to join Cassandra at the door. “We'll be seeing you, then. Just be sure to keep in touch, wherever it is you end up. I've never met Fenris personally but I know he can be... a bit touchy, as Varric's said. And perhaps... don't mention your mage sympathies.” She then looks over toward Charter, giving her associate a nod. “And you know where your duties take you next?”

“Of course, My Lady. I will continue to inform you of any developments in the Imperium.”

“Thank you. Walk in the Maker's Light, both of you.” She tells them, and then follows Cassandra out the door, the dark haired woman giving a nod in farewell to both of them.

The door shuts with a click, leaving the two Elves alone together.

An awkward silence blankets the room as they wait until they are clear to leave. Lavellan has no idea if Charter is one for small talk- they never were more than acquaintances during their time with the Inquisition- but where Lavellan used to be, she's found she hasn't had the spirit to summon the casual lightheartedness that had been so central to her demeanor all her life.

At least not for the past year and a half.

So she lets the silence be. For about an hour the two Elven women simply sit in silence; Lavellan finding a discarded crate and fiddling with the more mechanical components of her arm while Charter perches on the table itself, pouring over a small, well worn notebook. Once, Lavellan briefly catches her sleeve in a joint and curses under her breath, waving Charter off when she looks up in question. It proves to be the extent of their interaction.

At least, until right before Lavellan rises to leave.

“Wait,” Charter stops her, just as she goes to tug her hood over her head. A scarred brow quirks in the spy's direction, watching as she tears a leaf of paper from the little notebook. She looks at it for a brief moment, as though second guessing herself, before holding it out for Lavellan to take. “I don't know that Leliana would... approve of me giving you this information,” she says as the other woman carefully takes it from her, “but for him to have said it...” she hums softly, tucking away the notebook, “he allowed me my life. Delivering it to you- it's a debt paid.”

Lavellan wills her hand not to shake as she looks down at the parchment, a sudden weakness trembling in the pit of her stomach.

“When you report back to the Inquisitor... Say that I am sorry.”

“For all that it's worth,” Charter continues, moving to stand, “it did sound like he meant it.”

There's the silence once again as Lavellan's eyes stayed glued to the page, that weakness trying to decide whether to manifest itself as sadness or anger. It's such a shock, for him to address anything directly towards her after all this time, that when if finally hits her throat it culminates as neither- a tiny, humorless chuckle escapes her mouth instead. “A teahouse.” Is all she can bring herself to say; just a whisper of the word, with an almost unwilling fondness trapped behind her teeth.

Charter smiles- just a little, with just a hint of pity- and lightly claps Lavellan on the shoulder as she slips past her and out the door, disappearing into the quickly setting sun.

[livvywrites]

wip: three birds

so this is an old WIP that i’ve been thinking about again?? it was actually a fanfic when i first started thinking about/writing it, but... it’s canon-divergent/au enough that i want to turn it into my own thing. so i’m still in the process of doing that, but, i’ve gotten enough down that,,, i think i’m ready to talk about.

it’ll be a long time before i write this bc Metanoia is taking pretty much all of my attention but!!! i still enjoy thinking about it & i kinda wanna gush about it, y’know?? so!!

the working title is three birds, though i’ve also been playing around with the last time. three birds is a little more fitting, though. mostly because i want my three main characters to have nicknames after birds.

it’s a romantic fantasy/fantasy romance, more than anything, though i definitely want to add some conflict in there.

under a cut because this is kind of long!! AND tagging two people who showed interest :D

@idreamonpaper & @writinginslowmotion

the main protagonist’s name is Inalyn Keets. she often goes by “Ina” for short, or by “Sparrow,” a nickname who’s origins i’ve yet to figure out. she’s a half elven mage.

the country/empire that she’s from, though, sees mages as subhuman. the government rounds them up as soon as their magic presents it self and takes them to various “compounds” where they’re raised to be used as soldiers/healers for their armies. which, in turn, allows them to expand their borders and gain more power/influence.

her magic presented itself when she was a little older. as did that of her best friend, Corbin Anderson. Corbin, often known as Hawk, and she actually met after both of them had been rounded up and were on their way to the compound. they bonded during that trip. even though both of them were afraid, he made her laugh, and feel so much less alone. they’ve stuck by each other ever since.

Corbin was from one of the countries that her country had conquered/added to the empire. his father had actually turned him into the soldiers, in hopes of getting compensation from the government. (which both he & Ina’s family did get.)

because both of them were older (Ina was 12 and Corbin was 13) they were among the few their age to actually remember what the outside was like. and neither of them ever stopped wanting to get out--to do something other than become soldiers or tools for the government to use. Ina wanted to wait. to get the training the government offered and then slip out, use it against them and hide away somewhere they could never find her. Corbin wasn’t as patient, and he was constantly escaping. and in turn, getting punished for it.

as such, the other friends that Ina made weren’t very fond of Corbin. he wasn’t fond of them either, though he never told Ina not to hang out with them. Ina didn’t really care what her other friends thought, though. Corbin was her best friend--and, when she grew older, also her first love.

unfortunately, relationships are discouraged in the compound. friendships were allowed, as it made for better teams, but romantic relationships (or sexual relationships) were considered a hazard, and so forbidden. that didn’t stop Ina and Corbin from sneaking around, though. (they had rules, though. they were too afraid that romance would make it too hard to keep from blowing their cover; would make it so that staying inside the compound was too unbearable. they swore off saying ‘i love you,��� even though both of them felt it. they kept it light. casual.)

sadly, though they had a good run of it for a while, eventually it got to be too much for both of them. to almost have it, but not quite... it was just. it was a lot. combined with Corbin’s repeated escapes---and then him being dragged back and punished, more and more harshly each time... it was. it was something they mutually decided they needed to wait for. they remained close friends, though.

and then, when Ina was 21 and Corbin was 22, Corbin managed to escape. he escaped for an entire year. it was the longest he had ever been gone, and for a while, Ina dared to hope that he would make it.

he didn’t.

they dragged him back, and decided that this time; this time they would make an example of him. they decided to throw him in solitary, and keep him there for as long as he had been gone.

Ina was horrified. she knew the possible consequences of keeping someone in solitary for a year. luckily, though, during her early days of exploring the compound, she’d discovered a secret passage down to the prisons. she was able to sneak down there every now and again and visit him.

for eleven months, that’s what she did.

and then, she was approached by one of her other friends, Rian. Rian had a problem. he had fallen in love with one of the Wardens--their guards--and she for him in turn. they wanted to escape. to live a life on the outside, where they didn’t have to worry. they had a plan to get out--but they needed a third person to pull it off.

Ina agreed. she told Corbin what was happening, and promised to meet him “on the other side.”

unfortunately, though, both she and Rian had been duped. the Warden was using them to cover up a crime that she and her actual lover (another Warden) had committed--knowing that they would never be believed over one of the Wardens. they were going to be executed, or perhaps locked away in one of the special mage prisons... until one of the Vigilant stepped in.

the Vigilant were an ancient order devoted to protecting this world from evil. right now, i’ve got the “undead” as the main problem they face, but i may change that. they reserve the right to conscript people, & are often used for places that some criminals can get a “second chance.” the Vigilant had come to find recruits for his order... and he found them in the form of Rian & Ina.

on the way to where the army had gathered, he told them that there had been recent sights of a Rift, and that the Vigilant had assembled alongside the Emporer’s army just in case there was something bigger on its way. however, the Vigilant’s numbers had thinned out recently due to some problems in the south, so they were bulking up.

once at the camp, they were introduced to some of the other recruits. both those who had already been initiated, and those who had yet to be initiated.

among those already initiated was Theron “Finch” Jamison. (another name I’m considering for him is Finley/Finn!) Theron had the natural talent of a Warden, who could suppress magic if they focused their will. he hated the lifestyle, though, and did everything that he could to make himself as undesirable as possible. it worked. so much so that when the recruiter came around looking for someone, the teachers told him not to even consider Theron. but, of course, he was recruited away.

he’s been a member of the Vigilant for six months now, and he’s assigned to watch over a handful of recruits--including Ina & Rian.

Ina finds him charming, and even a bit funny, but she’s wary around him due to his past. they get to each other a bit before the initiation, and Ina does warm up to him some, but she’s still wary.

the initiation, though... it’s rough. i haven’t figured out all of the details yet, but it’s something that not all of the initiates survive. Ina survives--but Rian doesn’t. on top of that, she finds herself... changed by the initiation. more sensitive to the dark forces present in the world. more attuned to other peoples auras, able to sense intent. her eyes have also changed. they’re now a shade of gold that almost glows in the dark--much like every other Vigilant she’s met.

Ina doesn’t have much time to recover from the pulsing headache or soreness, though. the grief hasn’t even really set in yet when the alarm bells ring. the people assemble. the Vigilant who recruited Ina & Theron tells them to start rounding up the servants and other non-fighters. they didn’t expect to be swarmed at their own camp.

unfortunately, though, things don’t go as planned. the camp is overwhelmed. Theron and Ina fight for as long as they can--and they expect that to be the end.

but then. they wake up.

they were saved by a mysterious woman who lives in the surrounding wilds. she’s part of a coven of magic users who escaped the government’s thrall & have made lives for themselves outside the empire’s borders. however, the arrival of rifts & the undead has thrown everything into disarray... and she wants to help stop it, instead of cowering in the forests. so. now she’s babysitting a couple of Vigilant.

(why them? they were the only ones she could save.)

& thus begins a long journey. not only do they save the empire & make several friends in the process, but... Ina and Theron fall in love. she resists it, really hard, at first, because she always imagined having a life with Corbin. but... she has something with Theron, something she can’t ignore. and when everything is dark, when everything is burning, when the whole world is falling apart--Theron is there, and she needs that.

when it’s all over, Theron & Ina stand before the emperor himself. he thanks them for saving the kingdom, and he promises them a handsome reward. however, his hands are tied, as many people aren’t happy that it was a mage who saved them---or that a mage is now in charge of the new Vigilants. so. to reward them but also to make the people happy, Ina is awarded a fortress for the Vigilant to build in and grow... but it’s a fortress on the edge of the wilds, near a teensy farming village.

it’s something, though. it’s freedom, really, so Ina is happy with it.

they’re joined by a dwarf named Saeora, whom they met during the course of their travels. Saeora wants to join them and become a Vigilant--a request Ina is happy to grant.

of course, when they get there... everything is in disarray. there’s something out in the Wilds terrorizing the locals; the fortress is half-falling apart; and... well. there’s a disgraced son of the previous lord locked in the dungeon, alongside a pair of elven twins, and a very familiar mage.

after some discussion, Ina decides to induct them all into the Vigilants.

but there’s still the matter of the town to save, and a fortress to rebuild. oh. and figuring out how she’s supposed to manage her love for two different men.

well. okay. Theron has a solution for that third one. polyamory. but there’s still some balancing to be done to make everything work--and Ina is going to do her damnedest.

[o-captain-elcapitan]

Steel Horses - Chapter One

Title: Steel Horses Author: ElCapitan Game: Dragon Age Characters/Pairing: M!Adaar x Dorian Disclaimer: All recognizable content belongs to Bioware

Summary -

Valo-Kas M.C. is not a 1% motorcycle club. The security work that they do is above board, legal and licensed, squeaky f*cking clean. What their clients get up to, however, is none of their business. And their strict “look the other way, ask no questions” policy is what keeps them in business. That is until a new Tevinter client puts the MC in federal cross hairs. Ozet Adaar wants to protect his sister and save his club. When a Tevinter ambassador knocks him on his ass his heart is pulled in yet another direction and there’s nothing more terrifying than knowing that he can’t protect them all. His twin, Ozena, might consider herself “barely a mage” but that’s still enough to damn her if the wrong people find her out. Federal scrutiny is the last thing they need. Maker only knows if they can shake it with their lives in tact.

Read on Ao3

[Prologue]

Ozena Adaar

Six months earlier… 

“Wait, I’m not done.”

River’s sigh was long suffering as they leafed back a page and held the book open with their thumb. She could hear the unspoken,  Maker’s breath , in their silence. 

Ozena supposed she couldn’t blame them. Things were just starting to get steamy and she was slowing down their pace to The Good Part with her slow and steady wins the race reading speed. She liked to savor the smut, sue her. 

She was sure that River’s sigh had nothing to do with how she’d climbed onto the back of the half elf’s bike, draped herself onto their back, propped her chin on their shoulder, and started reading along; out loud at first, until things had started to get good, then annoying River had taken a backseat to the story they were reading. She’d made jokes before when she’d read the title, but Ozena was mature enough to admit when she was wrong. As it turned out Hard in Hightown was a page turner. 

No, her complete disregard for personal space had nothing to do with River’s silent,  not-at-all-vocal-but-felt-in-spirit  grumbling. After almost a decade and a half of riding together, they knew that a little Big Spoon action was the least of Ozena’s mindless affections. This was nothing. It got worse if the mood was right and all parties were willing. 

If she knew River --and after all this time she liked to think that she did-- they just wanted to finish this chapter before Shokrakar and Zet emerged from the clubhouse and led the way to their next paycheck. Ozena was slowing them down. 

The kiss she pressed to their shoulder, and the gentle squeeze of her arms around their waist, was meant as an apology. When she lifted her mouth from the smooth, cool leather of River’s cut, she murmured, “Okay, next page,” and tried to keep up with their lightning fast reading speed.

Valo-Kas had an escort job tonight, the extent of which was mostly to look tough and dissuade any funny business with a head count. It was easy shit, routine shit, business as usual. With four horned giants --three of which were the size of brick shit-houses, herself included-- and a motley assortment of tough as shit bad asses, all armed to the teeth and decked out in matching leather cuts, most people with good sense knew better than to try anything. Everyone else learned that lesson pretty quickly. 60% of the time they got paid to make an appearance. The other 40% was when they actually got to have some fun. 

According to Shokrakar, fun wasn’t on tonight’s itinerary. Their client just wanted a show of force and thought it’d be enough to keep things civil. But there was a saying about the Maker’s attitude on mortals making plans. They’d be ready for anything regardless of how it went down. 

A sense of foreboding made Ozena hold River tighter, an ominous uncertainty that niggled at the back of her neck and the back of her mind. It felt like that moment of near realization. The fraction of a second just before you were actively aware that you were about to fall, an instant of knowing and not knowing, the glide before the tumble. 

Something was going to happen tonight. Good or bad, she had no way of knowing, but her instincts were coiled tight, springloaded to meet whatever the night had in store. 

Her gaze lifted from the page she hadn’t been reading, not out of boredom, but because the tightness in her gut was making it hard to concentrate on the words. She looked around at the other members of Valo-Kas, all milling about, waiting for their President and VP to give them the order to mount up and ride out. A bit of familial warmth chased away the apprehension that had started to cool her blood. These were her people, her brothers and sisters. She’d die for any one of them without a second thought. They were her club, which was more than family, more binding than blood, though Ozet would always be her number one and anyone who accused her of playing favorites was right. 

Ozet was everyone’s favorite. Any claim to the contrary was a fucking lie. 

They were a small MC compared to others around Ferelden and the Free Marches, boasting a total of nine members in all. Val-Kas was the Mother Charter, the Original club, a ragtag group of ex-cons and former military that felt no need to franchise their brand and spread across the map like an STD at a music festival. Small circles were easier to maintain. Besides, she’d bet on her mismatched nine against any club with the call sheet in the dozens. 

There was chill, unflappable River, with their pinstraight, midnight black hair and olive skin. Who leaned so heavily on the elven helf of their heritage that their body was as genderless as their identity. Their build was lean and accompanied by diamond sharp, angular features. Heavy lidded, almond shaped eyes sat under thick, sculpted eyebrows and between a wide nose that gave them the appearance of a cat. They were willowy and agile, and the only thing human about them was their height. 

They were still shorter than Ozena, but most humans were, even the tall ones. 

Ashir, the MC’s Sergeant at Arms, was bulky for an elf. Full elf, not a half blood like River and Eema --technically Nys, too. The wild waves of his dark brown hair was almost always secured into a messy top knot that --without fail-- looked like one wrong move would snap the hair tie and loose his glorious mane. His Dalish heritage was in his ink, the intricate black lines that covered his bronzy terracotta surface all the way from his brow to his knuckles, even onto this feet. Quick as most were to dismiss the Dalish, she’d seen his prowess in combat outstrip trained soldiers. He’d earned that Sergeant patch several times over. 

Their Road Captain, Devlon, was the club’s lone dwarf. His ash blond hair was as long as it was thick, ritualistically braided in intricate ropes, ornamented with gold rings and beads. They made them tough in Orzammar, and Dev was the cream of the military crop. He didn’t like to talk about what brought him topside, and she knew better than to ask. Some walls took longer than others to scale, and then there were those too thick and too tall for even time to make a difference. 

Down the line of motorcycles, Eema and Nysris were both lounging on their bikes, propped onto the seats sidesaddle as one thumbed through their phone and the other amused herself by folding bits of paper and flicking the pieces at the field goal of Vercer’s lifted hands. They were both half elves but, unlike Eema, Nys’ other half was Tal Vashoth. They were night and day in a sense that was a stone’s throw away from literal. 

Where Eema was the warm golds of a cloudless summer day, Nysris was as dark as an overcast night. The vashoth influence on her genes manifested first in her horns, but also in her black skin. Not umber or plum, black like obsidian, onyx, or the vast infinity between stars. When they opened their mouths to speak the real surprise was that, of the two, Nys’ upbeat personality was the one that shone bright as the sun. Eema was quiet and reticent, with a dark sense of humor that took everyone with a clear line of sight by surprise every single time. 

Vercer was Valo-Kas’ only human and newest patched member. Sponsored by Nys, who’d been impressed by his performance in a bar fight, they’d only just voted him in as a fully patched member last night. This was the first job he’d work with a top and bottom rocker instead of the Prospect patch he’d worn for the last year. By the twinkle in his baby blues, the man was thrilled and his excitement was contagious. 

The MC was an outlaw’s trail mix, but they were family and she wouldn’t trade any last one of them for anything. 

Before she could berate herself for being a sap, the clubhouse’s door kicked open and their two unaccounted for members finally emerged from within. Shokrakar was big for a femal, even by Tal Vashoth standards, with a commanding mein that made the President patch on her chest all but obsolete. With her height and build, the intimidating size of her horns, and the facial scars, there was no question that she was the woman in charge. 

Zet also lived and breathed his Vice President patch. He was taller than Shok by only a few inches, wider and bulkier, though significantly less grizzled. His comparable youth was in his musculature, in the well defined, bulging ropes of muscle that hadn’t been sandblasted by time. He had the same dark, coal ash complexion that she did, and also kept his cascading sheets of silver hair nearly as long. He and Shok would have made anything other than their power cruisers look like crotch rockets. 

As they approached, Ozena kissed River’s cheek before breaking the circle of her arms from around their waist and lifting her leg over the back of their bike. She moved to the next bike over, where she was parked just beside them, and leaned back in her seat to wait for the club’s officers to lead the charge. 

“Mount up, you lazy shits,” said Shokrakar as she walked down the line of bikes to where hers was parked at the end. A wink was aimed at Ozena as she passed her. “We’ve got a job to do.”

Zet, who was close on Shok’s heels, his bike in the spot beside the president’s, gave her a familiar look as he sauntered by. There was a wordless,  stay close to me  , in the violet rings of his eyes. Her replying nod was imperceptible and Ozena wasn’t sure if she should be reassured by the silent request. Of course she could take care of herself but, that it was made at all meant that he felt it too; that ominous  something  that made her skin feel tight. Maybe it was just another twin thing. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight tonight. 

The raucous roar of engines filled the night as, one after the other, their bikes came alive. Shok pushed off first, rolling toward the gated exit as the others followed suit, falling into formation behind her once they hit the street. 

There was a refreshing chill in the air and she breathed in deeply. On nights like tonight it was easy to imagine herself riding into forever, not a worry to her name so long as the road stretched on, but then she glanced around at her club, at her family, and the fantasy turned sour. There was no forever without them, and jobs like the one they were riding towards now was what kept them going. They’d be fine. Just like they always were. 

Ozet Adaar

The drive from their clubhouse on the outskirts of Amaranthine wasn’t far from the shipping yard in Seagrave, the location of the client’s meetup. As escort and entourage, they would catch up with the client on the way then accompany them to their meeting, where they were expected to mean mug their associate into rethinking any poorly put together plans involving a forceful renege of any previously established agreements. The arrangement raised some questions that they were paid not to ask. Though that didn’t stop his interest from being piqued. 

He didn’t know much about the client. Next to nothing, actually. Shokrakar had done the coordinating and they’d done enough jobs like this one that Zet hadn’t minded letting the old crone do her thing. This was their bread and butter, routine, business as usual bullshit. Valo-Kas was a well oiled machine and could do this hogtied, blind folded, and swinging from a tree like a piñata. He had the utmost faith in his club. So then why was his stomach so tight his abs hurt like he’d spent the last two hours braced for a punch to the gut?

This was one of those times he wished that Shok would revisit their ‘ask no questions’ policy. Capable as they were, there were things they couldn't prepare for if they went into it blind. They’d survived this long because they were tough as shit, crafty as hell, and had some higher power looking out for them. But their luck was finite. Someday it was going to run out. 

He gripped the handlebars tighter and stopped himself from looking over his shoulder to where Zen was riding. If he had to pick a night to scrape the dredges of their Good Luck Barrel, it’d be the night they did a job for some Vint high roller cruising through town looking for muscle. They’d been hired because the client had no friends, no connections this side of the Waking Sea, and looking weak was how out of town big shots ended up floating onto shore with a bullet hole between their eyes and the back of their head blown off. 

Deductive reasoning and over a decade in The Life made it easy to determine what this meeting was about. If their client had no friends then they had to make some. This was more than a business deal. It was a date, a courtship. Their client was out to woo and the question he wouldn't be asking was: what for?

Zet was trying not to let preparedness turn into paranoia. As VP his job was to think ahead, picture all the possibilities, and prepare for them accordingly. It was a fine line to walk, to not succumb to the anxiety that one misstep could end with members dead or arrested, and the club torn apart. 

They’d done this before. Sometimes shit went sideways. It was part of the job and part of the paycheck. If that was the case this go around they’d handle it like all the times before: teeth bared, guns raised, and hell bent on taking as many fuckers down with them before karma did her thing. 

His sigh was resolute, determined, and the breath that followed as fortified by the night’s cold air. They rode up on a luxury SUV and he recognized the plates. He and Shokrakar shared a look before he nodded and raised a hand to signal the others. Valo-Kas flowed around the vehicle and lined up in front of it. Their headlights and roaring engines guided the way to Seagrave. 

There wasn’t much traffic on the roads this late at night, expediting the drive into the privatized port and shipping yard. The procession drove deeper into the fenced area, between the rusted patchwork of stacked shipping containers, toward the docks. When the SUV flashed its high beams they slowed to a stop. Kickstands were toed out, engines cut, and the few helmets removed as he and Shok both unstradled their bikes. 

The others followed suit but stayed behind as he and their president went to officially greet their client. As they strode toward the SUV a tall, well dressed and groomed elf stepped out of the driver's seat. He started for the back door without acknowledging either of them before pulling it open and offering the person inside his hand. An eyebrow cocked when he noticed slender, jewel covered fingers slip into his extended palm. 

The sharp click of stilettos on pavement were followed by the reveal of a tall, slender, human woman with dark, russet skin, black hair twisted into an elegant bun, and a sleek, black dress with a harsh, sharp, angled design. She smoothed a manicured hand over her dress as cold, dark eyes assessed their approach. Her gaze was guarded, shrewd, ink blots that dressed them down with a single sweep. Face and features as round as hears might have been gentle on anyone else, but she had the indomitable severity of a businesswoman that specialized in the less than legal. Small as she was by comparison to him and Shokrakar, her presence was strangely commanding. 

This was clearly a woman who dealt with their “kind” often. 

Glancing between them, her eyes landed on the older Tal Vashoth and she extended a hand in her direction. “You must be Shokrakar, President of Valo-Kas.” her accent had a melodic elegance to it, the chime of an expensive education. 

Her grip swallowed her hand whole. With a jerk of her chin she motioned her attention toward him. “And this is my VP, Ozet.” When their hands broke apart the woman offered it to him, smile too cold to be pleasant. 

He gave her hand a firm shake anyway, well accustomed to getting greeted with both distrust and distaste right off the bat. Sometimes their clients resented them for the same reasons they hired them in the first place. They were big, hulking, horned bikers that looked more likely to take a lead pipe to your kneecaps than to watch your back. That aesthetic was part of the deal. It was what she was paying them for. By the sharp edge to her stare, he was guessing that she was loathe to acknowledge that fact. 

“My name is Livia Herathinos,” she said, turning on her heel with a look toward her elf driver, a wordless command that had him moving with her toward the back of the vehicle. Without looking back at them, she explained, “All that I require of your club tonight is its presence. Of the both of you, I might request a touch more.”

The driver popped the trunk open and, as they followed her to the SUV’s back bumper, he began to unload some reinforced cases. They were wide and thick, built to survive a beating. One was handed off to each of them and Zet was surprised by its weight. 

As the cases were distributed, Livia explained, “I ask that you accompany me into the meeting. All this requires of you is to stay close behind me and bring the cases when I signal for them. There will be no need for you to say or do anything beyond stand there and look menacing.”

Shok huffed an amused breath and considered the case in her hand. “You want us to carry your bags.”

“If you think you can manage it.”

The laugh faded from her expression and, for several tense heartbeats, she and Livia just stared at each other. It was Shok that backed down first, grunting dispassionately, not because she was intimidated by her but because carrying bags was part of the job. She was a Vint and obviously came from money, maybe even from some influential family too far north from here for them to care, this was just how their kind treated those they deemed beneath them. It wasn’t personal and, so long as she paid, it didn’t fucking matter. 

He and Shokrakar shared another look. At Zet’s raised eyebrow the older female refocused on Livia and nodded for her to lead the way. Her replying nod was satisfied with what she interpreted as submission. She gave her driver a meaningful glance and he shut the trunk and took the space directly behind her as she led them toward the docks. 

Driver and bodyguard. Zet had to wonder if Slave was his actual job description. By the way she was keeping him close, he was guessing yes. That was the way of the Tevinter Elite. 

After signalling for the other members to fall in line with them, the group strode unhurriedly toward the docks, where the crash of high tide thundered in the night. There was a small group of three waiting for them. A pale human man with two others behind him. Zet didn’t recognize any of them, and couldn't see any identifying colors under their shirt collars or exposed skin. Behind him, Valo-Kas fanned out. He wanted to glance back at Nys and Zen and order them to check the perimeter, but they were too close to Livia’s associate for him to take his eyes off of them. He and Shok were supposed to be her growling, drooling mabari hounds. If he looked away it broke the illusion that he was more than happy to kill for her and just as prepared to die for her, too. So he kept his eyes forward and hoped that his twin and Nys knew enough to do a quick check their environs.

The human man at point spoke over the churning ocean’s din with a rough, “Do you have it?” 

Livia motioned for him and Shokrakar to step forward. Once they were close, she turned her back on the humans and approached them one at a time, opening each of their cases to reveal military grade weaponry fitted into the shaped foam interior. When she stepped away it was with an inviting wave. The human at point looked back at his companions before stepping forward to inspect the guns. 

As he removed a rifle, Livia explained, “Today I’ve brought you just a taste of what we have in stock. What you’re holding there is a 7.62 mm enhanced battle rifle. You’ll find a M240L machine gun in the second case.” They watched as the man tested the weight of it, lifted the rifle’s butt to his shoulder, pointed the barrel toward a shipping container and stared down the sights. As he tested the weapon, she explained, “We also have a selection of AKs and semi automatic pistols, depending on demand.”

Lifting his face from the weapon, he grinned like a kid on Wintersend. “May I,” he asked, looking toward the provided ammunition.

Her smile was polite as she gestured toward the case in Zet’s hand. “By all means.”

He picked the magazine out of the case and slammed it into place. Grinning back at his men he aimed again at the shipping container and squeezed the trigger. The thunder of round after round firing off at a lightning fast pace was joined by the flash at the end of the rifle’s barrel. The man laughed before doing another sweep at the container, tearing through the metal like a knife through warm butter. He lowered the gun and turned to Livia, excitement in his eyes. 

“Let’s talk numbers,” he said, and before another word could come out of either of them, the thunder of even more gunshots filled the night.

____

I hope you like it! toss a reblog to your writer, or tumblr of plenty <3

[araminia16]

Illness or Not? (Part 2-First Trimester) Rated T (Not an Illness After All)

“Wait, Rayla. Let me get that.” Callum hurried over to her and lifted the box in his stick-like arms. He struggled a little to put it up on the shelf and Rayla sighed softly in annoyance. She had been with child all of two weeks now and Callum as well as the rest of the male population seemed to think she couldn’t lift but a wee pinky lest she crumble like a castle made of sand. The first few days she thought it was adorable and sweet he wanted to make sure she didn’t overexert herself. Her energy level hadn’t improved with the past two weeks either though the nausea came and went at odd times.

He turned to her and his eyes widened as she took on a green tinge. He had darted across the bedroom to the lavatory as Rayla hurried before she began to heave up the contents of her breakfast. Callum took her pale hair in hand and held it back from her face as he rubbed her back in circles. The motion soothed her as the heaves subsided. He hated to see her sick but knew from what the healers had told them it should pass in a few weeks. “Water?”

“Yes.” She panted out and he handed her the glass next to him for just this situation. It never hurt to be over prepared. Rayla took a few swallows from her seat on the floor and sighed. “This little beast is already going to be punished before it’s even born.”

“It’s not the baby’s fault.”

“No. It’s yours.” She grumbled and stood as he let her hair fall back. “You and your--.” She gestured to his groin. “I wouldn’t be in this mess without that.”

“Excuse me. It takes two to make a child and you didn't’ complain when it happened. In fact I think I heard the words ‘Callum please. I need you.’ So don’t give me that.” He realized he had probably said the wrong thing when her eyes narrowed.

He didn’t wait for her to land her blow to the side of his head. “What did you just say then? I think I misheard you.”

“Sorry, Rayla. I didn't’ mean it. It’s just I’m--.” He dodged a projectile thrown his way as he darted across the room.

“Ya didn’t mean it? Well how about you carry this wee creatures inside ya then? Have it upset your stomach and breasts and make ya feel so tired you can barely keep yer eyes open? I could sit there and spout about how it takes two.” She lobbed pillows and clothes at him mostly until they both were winded. Then after a beat tears began to pour down her cheeks and she wailed. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to try to hurt ya.”

He approached then more comfortable with her tears than her rage. He managed to sit onto the bed and pull her into his shoulder as her body heaved with sobs. “Shhh. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have said that. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He rubbed her back as she wet his clothes and sniffled.

The mood swings were something they were both now used to. Her rage, then sadness, then happiness and nausea were interchangeable at the drop of a hat. Callum could usually navigate them decently well and keep her happy but there were times where he couldn’t.

“I’m hungry but the potions aren’t working to keep me from being ill. I can’t eat and I just want ta sleep but I can’t. I need ta train and keep up watch for Ezran.”

That had been a topic of discussion since her pregnancy had been revealed. Her work as a member of the Crownguard. More than qualified when she came to live in Katolis Ezran had fervently agreed to her appointment and she had more than proved her worth in the past few years to him. She wanted to continue to train and serve and Callum had some concerns about both those things.

“Will you want to guard him up to when it’s born?” He asked quietly.

“Well no, of course no’.” She mumbled into his shoulder, “Just fer now. I’m not even showing and it’s barely bigger than a seed from what they told us. The healer said I could do everything I did before.”

“I know but maybe you should think about taking a few days to rest.”

She didn’t reply and he looked down to find her eyes closed and in a light doze on his shoulder.

Callum bent down to kiss her head, “I love you.”

She mumbled something back to him as he shifted her around and laid back onto the bed with her head still cradled atop his shoulder. At least she slept now.

But as they thought the nausea had improved one day a week later they were proved wrong as every little change in motion, scent or just a stray wind had her at the lavatory. Callum sat at her side and offered her sips of fizzed water with crackers. A remedy for nausea one of the older ladies had given him. Rayla tried to take in the water she lost with each upheaval to her digestion as best as she had been able and they thought they could beat it. The tonics didn’t work and each day she weakened.

Bedridden now at a solid week of nothing but vomit Callum carried Rayla to the physician and once the healer laid eyes on her he rushed over and barked orders to his assistants. Callum couldn’t hear them for the way Rayla’s chest seemed to rise and fall too fast and the thready way her heart beat in her wrist as he pulled it up to his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Rayla croaked out to the healer. “Is the bairn well?”

Callum cared about the baby. Of course he did but the baby was nothing compared to her. Whatever this was would kill her if it kept up. “Let’s worry about you right now.”

“You seem to have one of the worse case of morning sickness I have seen yet.”

“What does that mean?” Callum didn’t mean to sound harsh but he couldn’t help it.

“It happens sometimes to mothers. No one is quite sure why. Something their bodies make too much of is the theory. Most recover with time.” The unspoken end to his sentence set Callum’s heart to ice.

“How do we fix it?”

“How long has she been this way?” The physician pinched up her skin and watched as it tented and fell back into place slowly. He took stock of her eyes, then of her mouth where she bared her teeth at him. “

“A week. I thought we were keeping ahead of it.”

“Apparently not. She should have been brought here on the third day. Has she been eating?”

Callum already felt as if he had failed as a husband and now a father in name only. “No. Of course not. She keeps throwing everything up. Water. Crackers. She’s dry and hungry and nothing comes up but bile anymore.” He half yelled as his fists clenched and the air around them sped up.

The healer put his hands up in placation as Rayla extended a weak hand to Callum to reassure him and he tried to relax.

“There are things we can do. Try hydration, a topical mixture, to attempt to contact Elven healers aside from the one who treated you before.” He trailed off and looked uncomfortable then cleared his throat. “Or the most drastic would be to induce a delivery and your symptoms would resolve after the--.”

“No.” Rayla struggled to sit up and put a protective hand over her belly. “No. I will not do that to my child.”

“You heard her. Now fix her.”

“Surely you could find some way to heal her as a mage, Prince Callum?”

“Healing has never been my strength.” Callum stroked her wrist with his thumb.

“Very well.” The healer nodded. Lycas. That was the healers name Callum remembered now.

“Thank you, Lycas.” He nodded and looked back at Rayla who offered him a smile of reassurance.

Luckily, after he spoke via ravens with the healers from the other kingdoms he crafted a hollow needle and tube connected to a bag of water with components within which should calm her nausea. Callum wasn’t sure what it all was about by Lycas seemed confident it should work.

The first day yielded little in result and Rayla continued to vomit up whatever in her stomach she attempted to eat though the assistants had to keep her arm straight as she moved.

The second day was better. She was able to drink and eat a little. The third even better and the by the fourth she had devoured breakfast, lunch and dinner and wanted more food. Ravenous had been the word of the day while Callum brought her every little morsel of food he could. Ezran came to visit a while on the second day and they joked and played cards. It was a favorite pastime between the two of them he hadn’t had much to do with. It had always been better with the three of them.

Rayla smiled at Callum. Her husband and all the love she felt for him doubled, tripled every day and she leaned over a kissed him when he seemed distracted. “What are ya thinking about then?” Her eyes were bright and her skin a healthier sheen.

“Too much.” He offered with a smile and kissed her back. “You almost died. And I can’t help but think it was my fault.”

“No. Not yours.”

“I thought about it.” He confessed softly. “To sacrifice it to save you. I thought maybe elves and humans were never supposed to have children and this was a sign.” He looked down at his hands in shame.

“I know. I was so miserable I even thought about it for a moment. A heartbeat. There’s always another way and we found it again. We are really good at it. Just look at us. An elf and human. With a bairn that could have pinkoes and horns or even a tail for all I know.”

“A tail?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Well. Maybe not a tail.” She laughed.

Footsteps and a throat being cleared brought their dual attention to Lycas with a smile on his face. “I am going to release you. But if you should feel even the slightest bit like you did before I want you to come here right away. Don’t wait. Until then you must rest and recuperate. I have given strict orders to the King about your well being and he knows about your bedrest.”

Callum grinned triumphantly, “See. Rest.”

She punched him in the shoulder, “Fine. Get this thing out of my arm. I want to go back to my own bed to ‘rest’.” She spat the word out as if it were a dirty thing.

“I love you.” He whispered in her ear as Lycas left after he pulled the hollow tube from her arm and covered it with a bandage.

“You too, my dumb human. Let’s go.”

XxOxX

As requested here’s a part two. I will do four parts. Each covers a trimester and then birth with some newborn stuff. I’m not sure if this lived up to the hype but I just followed my muse. There will be another chapter in a few days so just keep an eye out. :) Second trimester comes a lot more fluff. It’s more fun without all the fatigue and nausea. Trust me. 

[thorofasgard007]

Casting my WIP:  “Blade of Penance Volume I:  Bore of Great Sacrifice”

Haven’t posted anything in a while thought I would put up a fun game for us aspiring authors out there.  My first draft nears completion.  Just a the final fight, “mop-up” and a couple appendices to write.  Hoping to be done this week while I am on vacation. *fingers crossed*

Anyway, I saw a YouTube video posted by an authortuber I follow named Kim Chance where she went through the dream casting of her newest book Seeker (soon to be released here is the video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5Rmhm8HhE8).  I was thinking while I was running some errands earlier today I should do something similar.  If my novel(s) ever get made into a movie whom would I cast as each character?  So I decided to post that here and see what other authors/aspiring authors would cast as their characters.  Name the character, a brief description of them, then the actor/actress and why you would cast them.  

Here are the rules:  #1)  You have to use the actors/actresses as they are TODAY.  No using “Early 80′s Arnold” or Clint Eastwood like he was when he played Dirty Harry.  It also goes without saying you can’t use actors that have retired from acting or passed away.  #2)  If there is a seminal movie/tv show in your genre you cannot use actors from that franchise.  Since this rule can really make things difficult you can use up to TWO exceptions to rule #2.  Since my WIP is epic fantasy both actors from Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings movies and Game of Thrones are disqualified.

Okay here we go.

Dorath:

The father of my hero Kaaldor.  A former general and hero of the Battle of Gos.  The last scion of the House of Dranus who’s progenitor alongside Ka’Reyus The Elven Warrior King lead the Great Liberation against the Dragon Rule of Rab Yangin 500 years ago.  Few either human or elf could match his skill with the blade save maybe one.

At first I thought of The Most Electrifying Man in Sports Entertainment:  Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson.  I even used his physique as a bit of a template when I was doing up his character model.  However in the end I thought he should be cast a bit younger (Don’t hit me with the People’s Elbow Rock.)

Therefore I will use one of my exceptions early and go with Aquaman, aka Kahl Drogo, Mr. Jason Mamoa.

Ka’Reyus:

The Elven Warrior King and Grandfather to my hero.  Unquestionably the greatest warrior alive.  Has gone unmatched in swordsmanship for over 500 years.  Single headedly fought and slew three dragons at once.  Him and Dranus (Dorath’s ancestor) tag-teamed to slay the corrupted dragon lord Rab Yangin to free the continent of Kalis from drake rule.  Is Dorath his equal as a warrior??? SPOILERS :)

For him I batted around a few choices including Liam Neeson and Russel Crowe of course cgi would have to be used to size them down because as an elf Ka’Reyus was only 5 feet tall.

I finally decided on Wolverine himself (aka Jean ValJean, aka PT Barnum) Hugh Jackman.

(Yes this is an older pic... but I wanted one of him as Wolverine :) )

Princess Almelphia:

Mother of Kaaldor.  Only child of Ka’Reyus.  The unchallenged beauty of Elvendom.  All the nobility compete for her attention not only for her beauty but that whomever she chose as her husband would be the likely successor to the elven throne.  She is also is the only member of the royal house with any magical ability, even though it is just limited to reading the memories left behind on things/people that she touches.  While my hero was growing up she always called him her “little champion” and he did everything he could to live up to that title.

She was a tough choice.  If I wanted to use my second exception I would have chosen The Khalessi herself Emilia Clarke but considering Jason Mamoa is Dorath… that may be a little much.  I also considered Miranda Otto (aka Eowyn) but again didn’t want to use my second exception.  Therefore I decided to go with Jenna Coleman aka Clara Oswald from Dr. Who, and Queen Victoria on Victoria.

Here she is from the “Robin Hood Episode” of Dr. Who so you could see how she would look in a fantasy setting.

Ka’Vatch:

Lifelong friend of Ka’Reyus and Elvul Ka’s(the elven nation’s) foremost smith.  Him and Ka’Reyus both learned their weaponry by working his father’s forge.  Growing up Kaaldor learned from Ka’Vatch at the same forge.  To be a great warrior you must both know your weapons and then know yourself.  The weapons part started with Ka’Vatch after an 8 year old Kaaldor hid in his smith from bullies that didn’t like that he was half human.

For him I thought about Michael Ironside.  Granted you usually see him as a bad guy (and he plays a great villain, especially with his voice work... if they ever do a live action version of Darkseid they should have him reprise the role from his voice work on Superman: TAS etc).  However age is a factor.  Therefor I chose Josh Brolin aka Thanos… aka Cable.

Ka’Draoi: (pronounced Ka’ DREE, gotta love Gaelic)

Grand Thaumaturge of Elvul Ka’ and one of the world’s most powerful wizards.  He draws his power from the Blue Flame like all elves and fought along side Ka’Reyus and Dranus in The Great Liberation.  Being such a long time friend of the king he can often get away with breaches of proper decorum and has been known to have a bit of a ...shall we say “unique” sense of humour.

My original choice for this role was of course Sean Connery... but he has been retired from acting for some time.  I thought about Terrance Stamp (aka General Zod from Superman II, my all time favourite movie villain) but decided against it.  I didn’t want to use another exception or to be seen as him being a Gandalf clone so no Sir Ian McKellan.

In the end I chose another James Bond Pierce Brosnan, he can command the regal presence and wisdom Ka’Draoi needs, plus have the comic timing to pull off the sense of humour needed.

Ok.  That covers Kaaldor’s family and the elves.  Now lets move on to some more human characters.

Admiral Jagaran:

He is the Admiral of the Palan fleet (the main villain nation of the story) and in command of its new flagship The Jorgmundr (a ship completely made of dragonbone).  He is a very skilled warrior, especially at see and a cunning strategist.  He always takes the most straightforward path to victory whether it is an honourable choice or not.  However he has been known to let his ego get the better of him.

My first choice was Peter Wingfield.  Highlander fans will recognise him as Methos from the 90′s Highlander TV series.  (As a point of trivia I watched some of Methos’ sword fights on the series to map out some of this character’s move sets).  However he has apparently retired from acting and at last report was pursuing a career in medicine.

So instead I went with Rome’s Ray Stevenson, he has been in many other things but I mostly know him as Titus Pullo on Rome, Volstagg from the MCU and as Frank Castle in Punisher: War Zone (I should dust that one off I haven’t watched it in a while)

Anonyus:

The Mage assigned to the Jorgmundr.  Although he technically outranks Jagaran as he is a mage his role on the ship is similar to that of a “political officer” on the old Soviet ships.  He is your classic sadist that makes King Joffrey and Reese Bolton look like boy scouts.  He prefers to invoke fear in his adversaries of what he may do than to actually inflict the pain.

For him I went back to the MCU and chose Tom Hiddleston, aka Loki.  I just love him as a villain.

(Point of trivia... he originally auditioned for the part of Thor... go fig because he was so good as Loki.)

Armorton:

The chief slave-driver on The Jorgmundr, and a sadist son of a... gun (trying to keep this PG) in his own right.  He takes perverse pleasure in publicly and brutally executing slaves that can no longer work in the bowels of the ship... or just make an example of.  As he is more a hand to hand brute than a swordsman I went with a wrestler/actor for him.  Dave Bautista from Guardians of the Galaxy (gee I am pulling a lot from the MCU) and Spectre, also a former WWE Champion.

Ok... let’s get away from the villains for a bit.

Dex:

The classic dashing rogue.  Thinks he is “the pyres” gift to women and even names his lockpicks after his conquests.  Never met a maiden he didn’t want to hit on.  Or a full coin-purse he didn’t want to cut.  Always ready with a witty retort but also willing to help when he sees something unjust.  Kaaldor sometimes sees him as his best friend... and other times wants to punch him.  But they somehow make it work as they defend the village of Belieret from the warlord Tyv.

This character needs the comic timing that only Ryan Reynolds can provide.  I have been a fan of his since he was in Blade: Trinity (not as bad as everybody says) and he was dead on casting as Deadpool.

Klok:

A Baegian merchant that is one of the few in Belieret willing to learn how to fight to protect his new home.  His own brother betrayed him when the Baegian King became a vassal for Q’Rab The Sorcerer King of Palis and Klok began to speak ill of the new regime.  He couldn’t let hit happen again with Tyv.

I have chosen a bit of an odd choice.  A TV actor named Alimi Ballard.  He has been on many TV shows but I mostly remember him as David Sinclair on Numb3rs.

Ok lets do some more villains then we will go for the Hero and Heroine.

Tyv:

The warlord that is pulling the old extortion racket on the village of Belieret.  He blames Ka’Reyus for ***SPOILERS***.  Little do the villagers know he is just a cog in the machinery of one of Q’Rab’s plans.  In the meantime he plans to take his revenge on Ka’Reyus by sending him Kaaldor’s head.

For this I am going cast Clancy Brown, mostly because he played my #2 all time favourite movie villain The Kurgan in Highlander.  You would also recognise him from The Shawshank Redemption and Starship Troopers.  He as also done a lot of voice work, including Lex Luthor for Superman: TAS, Savage Oppress on Star Wars: The Clone Wars and Mr. Krabs on SpongeBob SquarePants (lol).

Hespera:

Apprentice to the Sorcerer Q’Rab and Master/Mistress to Anonyus.  She suffers no failure and many of her apprentices have felt her wrath.  None have lived to tell the tale.  Her vanity is her weakness and although devoted to Q’Rab for centuries she has been known to have her own machinations to undermine his plans.  You only briefly see her in the first book... but I plan to have her take a much larger role in book 2.

For her... if she is willing to be a redhead my first choice is Wonder Woman herself Gal Gadot.  She can be both regal, the flirt to ensnare men but then switch gears to be something menacing all at once.

(come on I had to choose a Wonder Woman pic... all the world is waiting for you... and the powers you possess :) )

Q’Rab:

Sorcerer King of Palis and has ruled for over 200 years.  He draws his power from the Black Flame and rarely gets his hands dirty himself but is always a Master of Puppets pulling strings from afar.  All under his rule are fanatically devoted to him.  Whenever he is mentioned they finish the sentence with “May his reign be eternal”.   It has yet to be determined who is the more powerful wizard if him and Ka’Draoi were to meet in a duel, and the true goal of his plans while he is at war with the nation of Corlot are ****SPOILERS****.  His origins are ***SPOILERS***.

For him I went with a bit of an odd choice, I needed a classical type of actor but one that wasn’t your standard English baddie.  I went with Alexander Siddig.  While best known as Dr. Bashir on Star Trek:  Deep Space Nine, he also has a long movie and TV career including 24, Gotham on the small screen and Kingdom of Heaven and The Nativity Story on the big screen.  If he can pull off both The Angel Gabriel and Ra’s Al Ghul he can pull of Q’Rab.  (Note:  As he was also Doran Tyrell on Game of Thrones... he is my second exception)

Ok... you are saying enough with the villains.  Fine lets get to the main event.  My hero and heroine.  First the Heroine:

Renna:

Daughter of the captain of The Divine Lady, the ship that Kaaldor is a passenger on when The Jorgmundr strikes.  While able to fight for herself knows when she is out of her depth and instead fits into the facilitator role to get Kaaldor what he needs to win.  She can also act as the diplomat to Kaaldor’s brute force as she knows not every problem can best be solved by the right amount of smashing.  She is not the damsel in distress like Lois Lane that always needs a Superman to rescue her, but she also knows she doesn’t have to be Xena to be strong either.

This one was a hard choice... The aforementioned Jenna Coleman was a strong contender at one point.  I also considered Rosa Salazar (loved her in Alita Battle Angel) however in the end (maybe because I just did a binge watch of Cobra Kai over the Labour Day Weekend) I chose Mary Mouser (Samantha LaRusso on Cobra Kai).  Her look is the right combo of innocence, beauty and strength which is what you need to play Renna.

Finally.

Kaaldor:

The hero of the story.  Half-elf and half human.  Trained by his grandfather since he was eight years old to be a warrior without equal.  He was even able to fight Ka’Reyus to a draw.  Though of the elvish royal family very few fully accept him as part of elvish society.  He can never let an injustice stand and sometimes gets himself deep in a bad situation by acting without thinking.  But still is the one willing to act when others are too scared to.  In the end he must complete his quest to ***SPOILERS***

For him I originally thought of Daniel Cudmore, I best remember him as Colossus in X-Men 2 and X-Men 3 (boy did three SUCK).  However in the end thought a Hemsworth was a better fit.  Not Chris (Thor)… but Liam (Expendables 2, The Hunger Games).  (Note:  He will probably have to bulk up a bit as when I wrote the character I was thinking “Early 80′s Arnold”)

Well There you go... It was a lot of fun going through this.  For all you authors/aspiring authors out there... lets see your own lists.  Use the Tag below. :)

[lord-archon]

Ascension, Pt. 1, Chapter 2: Awry Expedition

“Oronaar Collapse was where the last party was sighted, Archmage,” a Lightforged Dragoon said in what Shakiena discerned to be a needlessly valorous and pompous tone, though for all of her experience with these particular former denizens of Argus, they -all- seemed to speak that way to anyone and everyone. Fortunately, this particular Dragoon wasn’t speaking to her, but to another of her cohorts that had recently ascended to the rank of Archmage, and was then deemed more worthy of a leadership position than herself. Not that she particularly minded or was even jealous of the fact, it meant less responsibility, and more time for her to spend in social functions when they came about or Vaedanis and Leor decided to throw one on their weekends. The magus that was heading the expedition Shakiena would embark on gave the Dragoon a respectful nod, and directed the forces accompanying them in the direction given to them.. and away they went, with Shakiena taking a position somewhere in the middle, in keeping with a long since discussed tactic among her and the other mages in order to best protect their group in case of attack.

“See you on the tail end, rookie,” Shakiena said to Vaedanis in jest as he moved on from where he stood next to the arcanist, giving a rude elven gesture in response much to the amusement of the Archmage, chuckling under her masked countenance as she gave him a dismissive way on his way past. “Rookie my perfect ass,” the pyromancer said in addition to his gesture, slapping his own rump to accentuate his crude language and eliciting another laugh from the arcanist. All three of the magi present were then tasked with conjuring rations for the expedition, creating several small yet no less magnificent tables for all of the Lightforged Draenei and Azerothian champions to take what they needed. Once all had had their fill of rations and packed some away, the Expedition started off at the sound of a majestic and musical horn that had subtle hints of the wind-chime crystal melody of the naaru.. followed by the rhythmic clopping of draenic hooves as the forces of the Armies of Light and Azerothian Champions started their march under the westernmost arch of the Triumvirate’s End, and towards the ruins of the ancient Eredar village of Oronaar.

It was an uneventful trek, by and large, with the footsoldiers of the Armies of Light and Azerothian Champions performing most of the hand to hand combat with any disturbed spirits or haywire constructs that would deem their host a worthy target, leaving the magi to be relatively well protected amidst the masses away from wherever combat took place. This.. wasn’t exactly ideal for Shakiena, but she understood the necessity of it. She was particularly skilled in hand to hand and close quarters combat, even in spite of being a magus of Dalaran. She’d trained for physical combat for several years in her youth prior to being given lessons in her family’s longstanding tradition of practicing magic.. which she of course excelled at as well in her efforts at the time to live up to expectation set on her by her family’s reputation among the elite of the magi of Dalaran. Still, Shakiena’s purpose here to begin with was to recover magical artifacts from the ruins in Mac’Aree, being as it was still strangely intact compared to the rest of the fel saturated world, and still possibly contained numerous relics belonging to a race so ancient and magically inclined that the Kirin Tor would be -fools- not to salvage whatever they could while the way to Argus remained open.

“Set up a perimeter, spare none of the darkfallen!” came a stern order by the company leader of both the Azerothian forces and the elite Lightforged accompanying the expedition, and on that order, many set out along the first set of ruins in Oronaar, weapons drawn and spells flaring on the fingertips of the lesser sorcerers as they scoured the initial area of life that was even remotely potentially threatening to their efforts before allowing the few Elite Kirin Tor magi to spread about the ruins under watchful eyes and protective details. The darkfallen, as the Lightforged had referred to them, were nothing more than mindless husks feeding on dark magics that drained them of their sanity and enslaved their minds. “I find it hard not to pity them,” Shakiena said aloud to one of her guardsmen, when coming upon one of many bodies of the krokul that lay slain. “Why for, magus?” came the reply of one of her nearest guardsmen, who she’d not bothered to take the time to learn the name of; “Such careless exercise of dark magic.. so juvenile to think anything good could come of it,” she’d say in response, clearly not aware of what her future held as she looked down on void tainted membranes with her ocean blue Quel’dorei irises.

The guardsmen simply shrugged, and grunted, returning to their post outside the building that was just recently cleared and made available for the Archmage to inspect and rummage through for potential items of magical quality. There wasn’t much in this particular hovel, mostly scrolls that detailed in the ancient language of the Eredar lists of what Shakiena could only imagine were supplies and parts needed for the repair of Augari Vigilant Constructs. Not particularly what the Kirin Tor were after, but the use of arcane magics to bind souls to constructs was something that had always intrigued Shakiena following her time among the Kirin Tor forces that were sent to Draenor following the Iron Horde invasion. She snapped her fingers, not even bothering to look back towards the assistant she was assigned by the ground forces as she wordlessly demanded a case to place the scrolls she’d stumbled upon in. The Draenei she was assigned was an oddly frail sort. Young, and not just by Draenei standards, but by all standards; a boy, essentially. A gifted one, and one who was in the running among several others to become a student of hers should she find them worthy of her time.Yearning to please, the boy eagerly fetched not one, but -two- cases for the Archmage, which was just.. one more than she needed. “The fel am I supposed to do with this?” she asked the young draenei male, holding up the second case with an exasperated expression hidden beneath her mask, but far from masked in her voice. “Sorry! I’ll put it back, Archmage!” he said immediately, practically fidgeting as he took the surplus case out of the Archmage’s hand, and placed it in the pack he was burdened with carrying for the magus. Shakiena paid the boy no mind, as mentioned, she’d not even bothered to remember their name, and hadn’t exactly blown away the arcanist’s expectations for them as a potential student either. “Archmage Stillwater, what is it that you’ve found anyway?” he asked, once he’d calmed himself, swallowing heavily before inquiring with the magus on the subject matter of what she’d found. “Construct parts list.. rather droll, but.. could yield something of interest,” she responded, before returning to scanning the ruined shop for any other potential artifacts to abscond from the planet for study, and giving very little attention to her helper otherwise.

“Mooooooove ooooooout!” came the expedition leader’s call, followed shortly by the signature horn’s blare to further signify that their time in this part of the ruins of Oronaar was up, and that if any remaining artifacts remained, one would have to return of their own accord to continue on their own excavation.. which.. Shakiena considered as she packaged up the scrolls she’d found, and handed them to her nameless assistant and potential student for carrying, before they’d head onward to their next set of ruins, which wasn’t terribly far, fortunately. So short of a trek it was, that the columns and organization that were utilized during their initial departure were completely forgone, leaving several stragglers following the arcanist and her potential protege in meager attempts to keep up. “Come on now, no need to be getting left behind, time isn’t something that can EVER be wasted!” Shakiena barked to the scurrying hoofsteps of the prospective student, which.. very oddly, did not come.

Having shamefully forgotten their name, Shakiena refrained from barking the order again, cutting loose a heavily exasperated sigh as she assumed her student had either let their curiosity keep them, which.. she of course didn’t actually find to be a terrible thing for a prospective mage.. but what little she thought of them led her to assume the worst, and that they were simply dallying about and getting nothing done while in an area littered with dangerous pockets of void magic and addled creatures. “Come!” she barked again.. then stopped.. as a wet sound resounded from the abode they’d just exited, and the sound of gnashing teeth and low guttural growls.. and.. whispering..

“No.. no..” the words came out, as she beheld the scene.. the creatures had not noticed her.. yet.. as they were far too enticed by the obliterated corpse of her former protege.. whose meat hung from the twisted maw of two void twisted krokul. “No!” the arcanist shouted, at last garnering the attention of the malformed creatures.. gore dripping from their twisted maws as their placid empty eyes fixed on the arcanist..

[laufie]

A stranger;

I wanted to start writing about Rhapsodie’s and Anghae’s meeting and developing relationship. So this is a bit of a time skip in her story. In short, she went on a very long journey to reach Rohendel - her homeland, to help with a demonic influence there. Although it’s affecting many parts of the world, Rhapsodie’s heart could not ignore Rohendel, because it is her homeland, but mostly because she doesn’t want to risk the land of so many magical scriptures and study perishing.

Rhapsodie stood outside her new apartment complex, savoring what felt like the first calm moment in the past two days. The air was filled with the salty smell of the ocean, accompanied by soft traces of flowery fragrance, from all the bushes that seemed to be scattered all over the town. She inhaled as deep as she could, feeling the breeze fill her chest, and upon exhale cleanse her like an old book of its dust. The sound of rustling leaves softly surrounded her, masking the seemingly carefree chatter of the cheerful townsfolk. The moment seemed so magical and fulfilling to her - after the long journey sailing across the ocean from Bern, meeting with all the people who were expecting her, and settling in her small apartment. It finally felt like she could relax her shoulders and have a moment for herself. Orientation for her relief group was scheduled for a later afternoon, so she had some time to explore and take in the Land of Magic - her home world, Rohendel.

Although she was born here, she has no memories of it - her parents moved to Bern when she was only 3 months old. The young mage always harbored pride for her Rohendelian heritage growing up - having roots from a renowned land of magic gave her the confidence she needed in her studies of spellcasting. However, now that she was here in the flesh, she felt no more than a foreigner. No one else noticed these things, but she felt out of place due to her looks, despite being an Elf. Draped in a short robe made of Bernian silk adorned with stones and shimmering silver ornaments felt like a big contrast to the fashion choices of Elven women here who preferred simpler designs with elegantly long skirts and flowery motifs, almost always maintaining nature-inspired earthly tones. A change of wardrobe was certainly on her to-do list, however not a number one priority. She had a few hours to herself, so her natural curiosity drew her to a nearby library.

“A normal girl would have visited a cafe or a shop instead of a library”, she thought, poking fun at herself.

Rohendel was the land of magic after all, and Rhapsodie is a powerful Mage who is dedicated to her craft, so it’s a natural spurt of curiosity for a mage to visit a place that would have scriptures and tomes covering magical practices that could not be found anywhere else. So she made her way there, with confident steps forward, occasionally stopping to ask for directions, and receiving a few friendly compliments on her unusual attire. People here really did seem carefree to her, radiating constant happiness and optimism with their words and actions, much in contrast to the stoic and serious residents of Bern.

The library was a grandiose building with intricate Elven designs and two massive wooden doors for an entrance. Rhapsodie politely greeted the clerks and inquired about a section that contained information on sound magic. The thick smell of wood, dust, and books reminded her of Bern. She frequented libraries back home to work on her research papers, and schoolwork while pursuing her degree. She was filled with an anxious feeling of giddiness. Like a child in a candy store, she saw boundless shelves stacked with tomes towering above her, a dizzying amount of untapped knowledge. She took a liking to how the library stored scrolls and scriptures - enchanted by simple magic spells they simply floated in designated areas, protected from getting decayed or damaged by weight or time, for that matter. Lost in thought of where to even start, she reached out for the first book her gaze fell upon - she figured had to start somewhere, and the time was limited. As she was about to grab the tome her hand collided with someone else’s.

Startled by the touch, she quickly jerked her hand back and looked over to see a tall and somewhat slender figure. Before her was an ordinary looking Human man with messy black hair, dressed in all black and wearing a surgical mask covering most of his face. Despite his slightly puzzled expression, his eyes emanated tiredness, with heavy half-closed eyelids and dark circles underneath his eyes. Within a moment’s notice however, his expression reverted to neutral, further emphasizing the apparent sleep deprivation.

“Sorry. You can have it.”, he said in an assertive tone.

Just as he was about to walk off in an opposite direction, Rhapsodie let out a giggle. She had realized how cliche the situation would seem to an outsider, and couldn’t help but laugh. The mysterious man stopped in his tracks, turning around to face the laughing stranger and narrowing his eyes in confusion. Hoping to avoid the awkwardness of explaining the reason behind her laughter to the poor confused individual, Rhapsodie insisted on him taking the book instead.

“That’s alright!”, she exclaimed, “I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Here!“ - she hastily slid the book off the shelf and extended it towards him, quickly catching a glimpse of the title. “Firearm enchantment with sound magic seals”. Pausing for a moment to look at the book offered to him, and then at the woman holding it, the tall stranger reluctantly took it.

“Are you sure?”, he raised an eyebrow. She only nodded in agreement. He seemed like a quiet and polite person. His body language showed a hint of shyness and stoicism, and the way he dressed was, perhaps, a way to not stand out from the crowd. He was the first genuine interaction Rhapsodie had with a stranger since coming to Rohendel, so she was a little more excited at meeting him than usual. She scrambled for a way to keep him around in her head, but slowly a realization clicked that she has been zoned out thinking about it for a good few seconds while the man looked at her. Snapping out of it, she said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m Rhapsodie! I’m new to Rohendel, although technically not really, because I was born here. But I’ve never been here before!” - she rambled in a shaky voice, ending her sentence with an awkward laugh.

The stranger blinked at the sudden introduction, and after a short pause his eyes narrowed indicating a slight smile, despite half of his face being covered by a mask. He let out a small laugh covering his already masked face with his palm.

“Thanks for the book, Rhapsodie. See you around.” - he tapped the tome handed to him by the elf, and walked off quite briskly. Rhapsodie gasped in an attempt to ask him for his name back, but she could never let herself raise her voice in a library. Her physique slumped, as though the weight of the disappointment at letting the man slip away without even getting his name was crushing her shoulders. Internally she was a bit bitter at herself, especially at how easily scattered she gets when trying to scramble to keep a conversation. Spending most of her time around books and not people due to her introverted nature didn’t help her much when it came to socializing. She shook her head as if trying to rid it of the anxious thoughts clinging to it. Letting out a sigh, she pulled out a book right next to the one she gave away to the stranger, found an empty seat and got to reading.

[etaeternum]

The War Room

Mother of Griffons 

Ch. 6 War Room. (find it on AO3!)

King Alistair meets the Inquisitor to discuss the use of his army. 

If you want to start from the beginning, you can find all the chapters on tumblr here. 

Her pink, luscious lips opened and closed, attempting to form words, but no sound came out. Her cheeks reddened as she stared at him. The ability for Caoilainn to form a complete sentence, let alone a thought, had been completely compromised by her state of shock. Her eyes were wide, like a deer caught in a snare.

The moment dragged on awkwardly and Alistair let it, at least until he was satisfied with his level of amusement. "Well, we'll just have to sort that all out later, won't we?" He dismounted his horse and handed it to an Inquisition scout. The scout bowed and walked the horse to the stables. "You should introduce me to this Inquisitor Alanna… Lavellan, is it? That's elven, yeah?"

Caoilainn nodded. "Uh huh," she stammered dumbly before attempting a smile that did not remotely hide the shame written across her face. "This way… darling." Damn it! Caoilainn cursed herself internally. She never called him darling; it was so rigid and proper.

Muscles stiff, she mechanically turned to walk toward Skyhold's great hall. But before she could take her first step, she heard a familiar male voice call from the gate. "Do you have any orders for me to give the Wardens, Commander?"

Caoilainn froze. Well, shit, she thought, before turning to face the source. Nathaniel stood at the gate with a mixed expression of concern and amusement. She deducted that his question was a last minute attempt at aiding her in her current predicament.

Caoilainn nodded blankly again, this time to Nathaniel, before walking over to the gate. Alistair's eyes followed but he did not interrupt. Patiently, expectantly, he waited with raised eyebrows.

Her voice professional and authoritative, Caoilainn gave orders to Nathaniel. "Yes, Lieutenant. Give the directions for training: I want the mages strengthened and I want extra attention on the new recruits." Then she lowered her voice and hissed, " …and leave me alone." Her hand formed a fist, then it rose to her chest to salute.

Nathaniel's lips twisted into a tight smile. "Yes ma'am," he forced out as he mirrored her motion. Then he coughed and hissed back lowly. "You two should decide who outranks who on your way in. Best to avoid awkward introductions."

Eyes large and face red with rage, Caoilainn took a deep breath to stay her anger. Nathaniel snorted, turned, and walked back to the Grey Warden camp to give her orders. Stunned by the insolence of her Warden, especially in these unique circumstances, she took another deep breath.

Chin up. Tits out. That's what Morrigan had taught her. Caoilainn shook her head to clear the jumble of incomplete thoughts that had collected and returned to Alistair to escort him to the War Room to meet Inquisitor Alanna.

Armor clinking with each step, King Alistair strode through Skyhold's great hall. It took effort to retain his grin as he watched the inhabitants scurry out of the way of their processional. Some people seemed to recognize him and bowed in awe as he passed, others just stared in confusion. Finding entertainment from these situations was all Alistair could do to make them bearable because in actuality, he was tired. Tired from traveling, tired from ruling- especially from doing so alone- but most of all, from all the attention. Celebrity was incredibly draining. The least he could do to save from loathing it was to find humor.

Caoilainn walked just ahead of him. She was distant, literally and figuratively, as she avoided his gaze. Alistair debated as they walked whether to throw her to the wolves or not. Ratting out her abuse of power to gain influence within Skyhold would certainly be a harsh slap of reality for Caoilainn, and it would do nothing to strengthen their relationship, nor would it represent the unity of the Ferelden crown in front of the other political figures.

The duo, followed by a collection of Ferelden guards and advisors, entered the War Room of Skyhold. Buzzing with activity, the Inquisitor was surrounded by her War Council, Inquisition members, and some ambassadors of allies aiding the movement. The room fell silent, and the small crowd parted, as Caoilainn and Alistair stepped toward the War Table.

The Inquisitor greeted them with a nod. "King Alistair?" Alanna asked with a hint of confusion. The petite elven woman looked strong and willful; magical energy vibrated off of her but she looked tired, he recognized, relating to the exhaustion within himself. Yet, Alanna appeared determined and as though she had an inner force to be reckoned with. "We were led to believe you would not be able to join us." Alanna's eyes darted to Caoilainn who stared back guiltily.

"Yes, well, that…" Alistair smiled charmingly and intervened the accusing eye contact. "I did not think I would have the opportunity to join this cause, but when my lovely Queen requested our troops, I just knew I had to uphold my duty to the Wardens and Ferelden." His subtle use of sarcasm with the words 'lovely queen' was barely noticeable. "I cancelled all of my meetings at once."

Alistair left out the fact that he was already on his way to Kirkwall for the summit meeting. That was until a concerned advisor, whom he had ordered give him notice immediately upon any word of his wife, sent a messenger to his convoy. Alistair turned the entire fleet around right away.

His eyes moved to Caoilainn as he spoke. He saw two things:

First, Caoilainn had moved from his side to stand along the ambassadors, finding a spot at the head of some other Grey Warden representatives.Predictable. He noticed that the lieutenant from the yard had stealthily found his way into the War Room and was standing behind her, looking smug and self-satisfied.

The second, in the back of the room, was someone he was not prepared to see. In fact, someone he had been told from the source he would never see again.

Morrigan.

She looked as annoyed as ever, an unamused eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for him to stop talking. Alistair's stomach twisted and he had to catch his breath before looking back to the Inquisitor. "So…," he added, regaining his center. "When shall we go kill the bad guys?"

Eyes narrowed while attempting to stifle a smile, Alanna wondered: Is this man joking in my War Room? Alanna had quickly deducted who he must be. The dashing, slightly cocky man, stood tall, emblazoned with royal regalia. He was quite kingly and had a horribly timed sense of humor. That in itself was amusing to Alanna. Insightful to a fault, and adept at reading the energy of others, Alanna could feel the tension between the King and Queen the moment they walked in the room. The flustered look on the Warden Commander's face, with a trace of anger and embarrassment contrasted Alistair's ruthless gaiety and wit. Alanna wondered what was going on between Caoilainn- who had written her, offering the largest donation of armed soldiers of any ally thus far- and the King, whom she had ensured would not be joining. It was ultimately irrelevant to the needs of the Inquisition, Alanna thought, shrugging off the couple's discourse. Though, she noted, the lack of communication could be problematic in the future. A humble smile found its way to her lips.

"Pleased to meet you, King Alistair. I am Alanna Lavellan." Her eyes shifted back to the War Table. "We were just looking at the map of Orlais to coordinate a mission in the Arbor Wilds." She glanced at Alistair to check his reaction.

Alistair had written to the Inquisition when they were little more than a ragtag band of survivors from Haven, offering condolences to their purpose and asking for a favor regarding communications with Orlais. The rigid neutrality of the Inquisition could easily conflict with the history between the two countries.

Now, the King's offer to help would require him to step foot in the mask-wearing rival's land. It would be a test of allegiance and commitment.

Lovely, Alistair thought to himself sarcastically… Orlais.

Apolitical and allied with no crown, the Inquisition had freedom to move through the borders of both Ferelden and Orlais without limitations. A large band of Ferelden soldiers, on the other hand, may receive some pushback. The Grey Wardens had more leeway as they had no political affiliation, though the different chapters of Wardens were mostly autonomous. They all served the First Warden in Weisshaupt; their only purpose to destroy darkspawn and other demony-type things. Alistair missed his days as a Warden and it hurt when he recalled how this whole mess started. If he could have guessed when he met Caoilainn, he would have predicted himself as the future Warden Commander, not her. A tinge of jealousy burned within him.

"Alright then," he said in reluctant agreement. "Though I doubt the Orlesians will be thrilled by a fleet of Fereldens marching right through their empire, if we are under the Inquisition banner, I suppose we will manage." His statement was made with a shrug and air of defeat but he bounced back quickly with a smile. "I can assure that myself and my men will be on our best behavior while in service to yourself and the Inquisition," Alistair winked.

Caoilainn stared hard at him while he communicated with Alanna, praying to the Maker and Her Beloved Andraste that he did not say something stupid in the process. Having held her breath through his response, she exhaled when he finished talking, relieved by Alistair's tamed playfulness and nearly adequate tact. Such a flirt, she thought with annoyance.