#they are the personification of mash's muscles

[books-are-my-life-stuff]

The musical stage play version of Mashle is starting the performance today! Here are some clips of it that I can find!

(Will be updated whenever I find more unless I hit the video post limit!)

[kittynomsdeplume]

OC Name Meanings

Thanks for the tag @alyssalenko

Rules: Google and post the meaning of your OC’s name (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! bonus if you can find something for their last name too

I had a chuckle about this task at first, because so many of my OC's just use the default name assigned to them in game 😅 With a little think about it however, I realised that I have a few original names after all - mostly all the elves.

Tagging: @knuttydraws ; @inky-does-art ; @blackwallmancer ; @shanaraharlyah ; @thedastrash ; @dreadfutures ; @rosella-writes ; @spicywarl0ck ; @okami-zero ; @amarmeme ; @khajiithasnowares

Sulahnean Lavellan - just a mash of elven, sulahn - song, and ean - bird. Songbird essentially. Inquisition friends have shortened her name to 'Lani', but Dorian's nickname for her is 'Birdie', which is a nod to him understanding some elven.

Brianna Cousland - apparently Brianna means 'strong'. The reason I chose the name however, was to honour her father, Bryce, as she would have been the apple of his eye from the moment she was born.

Eludysia Lavellan - lifted directly from FenxShiral's Book of Names. In elven it means 'she who is lucky with a secret'. Her friends mostly call her Dysi however. When I first developed Dysi, she was the protagonist for a planned Steampunk AU, in which, in her role as the Inquisitor, she was responsible for tracking down illegal magical artefacts for the Chantry. When she receives the Anchor in an accident, she becomes the very thing she has always hunted. At first it seems she's quite unlucky with her secret, but it ultimately leads her to Solas and long-forgotten truths about the elves.

The Champions

My ancient elvhen OC's predominantly possess the names of their original spirit aspect. They belonged to a minor pantheon, known as the Myth’tunamis - The Champion's of Mythal, or more literally, 'Mythal's blades of justice'. They were essentially her muscle during the height of the Elvhen empire. More colloquially they were called the 'Wolf Pack', seeing as Fen'Harel was their undisputed leader, and amongst the nobility they were generally held to be arrogant and wild, heeding only the commands of Mythal. Though they are no longer spirits, they remain very much the personification of the values they once embodied.

Eolas - Knowledge. Eolas was the first to follow Solas from the Fade and is loyal and steadfast. He is the one the others come to if they need to know details about anything, and he generally handles all the logistics.

Sileahilan, 'Lea' - Ingenuity. Solas' right hand and the most feared warrior of the Champion's. She was a darling of Elgar'nan's court, being beautiful, bold and possessing a sharp wit.

Darasil, 'Dara' - Cunning. Lea's soul twin, her dark shadow. Arguably equal to Lea in terms of skill, but he was more dour and private, and had nothing but disdain for his contemporaries. Where she was bright and charming, he was always content to lurk unseen.

Enastarin, 'Rin' - Vanity. Naturally, the most beautiful of the Champion's and an uncannily gifted shapeshifter, being able to perceive and reflect the true nature of any living creature. He is deeply envious of Solas, and has always resented the fact that Mythal favoured Solas over all others.

Avanathe, 'Ava' - Curiosity. The youngest of the Fade-born Champion's, she was often reckless in the pursuit of their goals. She was captured and slain by Anaris toward the end of the war between the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones. Her spirit returned to the Fade where it eventually reformed as dual spirits - Studious Curiosity and Childlike Curiosity.

Vanarodha, 'Vana' - Audacity. Unlike the other Champion's, Vana was not a spirit that once resided in the Fade. She was born of the people, belonging to a clan pledged in fealty to Falon'Din. When she learned that she had been chosen for the dubious honour of serving Falon'Din directly, the spirits of the forest she had befriended, urged her to seek the aid of Fen'Harel - whom they held in high regard. Impressed by her boldness and her unusual affinity for spirits, Fen'Harel snatched her from Falon'Din's domain and brought her under the protection of Mythal, where she was renamed Vanarodha.

[goreverine-archive1]

She's the last of them, standing on nothing but open air as her hair bleeds into the scant darkness of a New York night. *Tap!* go her knuckles against the glass. At the slight impact she stills, gazing down at her own hand. (Realization.) She lifts her head, blank-eyed stare cutting past grime and the blackness to HIM. Her fist strikes the window again. Again, gathering strength with each successive blow. Crack! (Natsumi.) Crack! (Mother!) CRACK! (FOOL!) She *shrieks*. Glass shatters.

concluding from here

A pregnant, dead moment.

For the first time in a week, Daken’s apartment has lapsed into silence. There are no ghosts or zombies or skeletons or whirling sprites of cinders, none of the three digits worth of dead women seeking his suffering or torment. None are here. He’s alone, all alone, truly alone. (Forever?)

The only noises, other than that of his out-of-control breathing, are those of the patter of the rain on the window, and the low crack of thunder rumbling from the distance. Lightning periodically illuminates this dim place, highlighting the black-red-green slick that has settled as a creeping layer on the walls and on the floor he lies on. Sticky and stinking, it coalesces with the mass of hair that has found its way onto every surface. Hair of all colors and textures, in torn clumps and woven braids. Hair he remembers. Hair he does not remember. The most innocuous part of a corpse, the last to go outside of bone.

Daken is rotting, isn’t he? Maybe not outwardly. He’s beautiful as ever, like a synthetic flower. He’ll lie here amidst the pulped remains and shed forever, and he will never change as the world dies around him.

Yet -- no. Not forever. Maybe an hour, until something hits his window. A bird, probably, caught up in the storm. He doesn’t move, until there’s another loud smack! Then, he physically picks himself up, even though his self-worth lies where he left it on the floor.

Another woman, out there, shrouded in the rain and the darkness. Tangible, her delicate fist thumps against the massive pane of reinforced glass, the only thing keeping the apartment held together on its exposed location of the twenty-third floor. As he approaches this window on unsteady, slippery steps, he thinks he knows this form -- hair undone and kimono flapping and wet from the wind and rain -- a woman, neither old nor young.

For a clutching, ecstatic moment, he imagines this to be Itsu, of whose womb he was torn from. A gasp tears from his throat in elation, tears bead in his eyes of joy. Mother, mother, mother. I’ve been waiting for you.

Lightning illuminates the form, and then him, and then back to darkness. Thump! Thump! Thump!

For a clawing, horrific moment, he knows this to be Natsumi, who he tore asunder. A gasp tears from his throat in panic, tears bead in his eyes of anguish. Mother, mother, mother. I’ve forgotten you.

The window cracks. The crack grows. It spiderwebs. Then, the ragged scream of her eternal agony: A mother that lost her firstborn.

Everything shatters! The world caves in following the explosion of glass! Whipping wind and torrential downpour, the day he cut his mother down! The day he left her newborn to die of exposure! The day he lost the name Akihiro! The day where he birthed himself, and let the beast take him!

The storm rips through his apartment, the meager hovel that used to be beautiful being paper to the elements. Around him, custom-made furniture slides across the floor and falls off of the edge to alive itself to Manhattan. Artwork worth the six or seven figures flies like a gum wrapper out of his pocket. His life is flying out the window. He’s anchored only by his hand grasping out for a nearby fixture, the mantle to a fireplace that is non-operable, only there for show.

Natsumi’s hair and clothing whip around her, but her body remains unaffected by the supernatural weather, gliding towards him with her hands outstretched by her sides. She is the personification of feminine rage, the break after the threshold of indignities suffered breaks. Her heart bleeds from where his claws first sunk home, the third kill in his life -- as a child, killing children, killing mothers. Her expression is that of the day she charged him with a bayonet, inconsolable grief, hate, resolve.

Remember her expressing her terror of you, the realization that you will only grow more cruel. Remember her desire to throw you out of the home she opened the doors to. Remember her love and happiness at the conception of your replacement. Remember the look on her face when she realized you took that away.

Daken remembers how much he hates her, too.

“< Mother! >” It’s hard to hear himself over the howl of wind, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. His claws are out, his hand reaches for her -- to hold, to maim.

“< Never, never, never. >” Natsumi’s voice is a barking death rattle, as if she were speaking with his claws still stuck in her chest. She’s here. His claws sink into her chest, and she does not budge. Her nails flay his flesh as they trace across his arms to his back. Bone deep, shreds of muscle dangling like a zipper undone. “< I should have left you. >”

Daken is weeping like a child in this abomination of a parental embrace, shoulders shaking, his fists pulling back to stab through her torso like butter -- ignored. A toddler throwing a tantrum, slamming their hands across their parent’s static chests. “< You had a son to cause me harm. I was just a boy... >”

“< Demon boy. >” Her eyes are so wet and dark, black sclera extending as rot that clings to her eyelashes, as if it rained on her until she washed away. He is looking into the end. “< Akihira was the fool to put his trust and love into you. You were the unworthy child. >”

Natsumi scoops him into her arms without a semblance of effort, his claws stuck between her ribs not an impediment in the slightest. She floats towards the barrage of rain captured by the shattered edges of the window, into the wind.

This is his end. Daken wails with anguish, cannot struggle his way out of his arms. He can only weep and plead, and uselessly eviscerate the woman whose generosity he abused.

“< Mother, no! Please! No, no, no! >”

“< I free myself from you, demon boy. > ” Her gaze fixes over his head, no longer paying him any attention. A smile spreads across her face. Catharsis.

“< Mother, please! I beg of you! No! >”

Natsumi lets go, and doesn’t watch him plummet to the earth. She rises above him, ties severed. Not by him. By her.

Daken doesn’t die when his body whips against the pavement. His connective tissue holds his mashed mass together, enough for him to build back from a near-smear. Something else inside him will stay irreparably fractured.

culminating in this