#this is a long game of proving the circle and mages’ as a whole’s value that ultimately leads to the trust between he and Gregoir that can

[villainanders]

One thing is that for all the times Irving used his influence to protect Anders there were even more times he didn’t protect apprentices he was either less personally invested in or that he didn’t think had talent that was worth investing in. At least on some level Anders is very aware that is survival in the Circle has been hinged on one authority figure finding him likeable and/or useful

[vaguely-concerned]

Before all of the everything with Jowan happened, Sophia Amell was SO ready for her step up into adulthood to be about basically properly becoming Irving’s second in command/right hand gal/well not semi-official heir exactly that’s not how these things work in the Circle and she’s still so very very young of course ahaha (...unless?). Her readiness to be the Dragon carrying out all the dirty work and be in on ALL the mostly-benign (?) machinations as a trusted co-conspirator and equal finally, unreal. She feels such an immense depth of gratitude, and such a desperation of loyalty (and love, which she finds harder to find the right space and gestures for) to Irving as the closest thing she’s ever had to a father, and as a teenager it pained her for the longest time that she couldn’t really pay him back for any of what he’d done for her. (Sophia had a real rough time in her early teens, and Irving is probably the only reason she survived it.) But aha! now, once she’s a full mage and not just a promising student, she’ll be the most terrifyingly useful lieutenant that ever — what the fuck do you mean you’re sending me away to join the wardens dad. Dad. what. What does that mean. I — thought we had a plan here, was that not… was that not what I was meant to… Did I do something wrong? How badly did I fuck up for it to be so easy for you to discard me? Did I mean so little to you, when you and your regard mean everything to me?

And it makes me feel all oofie doofie inside because it takes her the whole game and maybe a bit more to really unpack and understand that what Irving is trying to do is to save her, not get rid of her. Because ultimately he values her chances for greater freedom and happiness in life more than he does her possible utility to him or even her company, and staying cooped up in the Circle much longer with all her power boiling right under her skin without purpose or outlet might have killed her. The Taint is going to kill her eventually, sure, but staying in the Circle would end in her devouring herself in desperation much sooner than that. 

(Having a protégé in the Wardens who proves a national hero for the ages is certainly not a bad political outcome for him or the mages in the end lol, but he could hardly have known the insane line of events that had to spin out for it to end like that — if that was his main goal, he would surely not have wasted someone he’s invested so much in on such a wild and uncertain gambit, even if he did believe the first whisperings of a new Blight and that the Wardens were about to regain some long-faded prestige. And yet… that image of the Blight entering her bloodstream as a consequence and proof of precisely love. We poison our children to save them, no matter how much we try to avoid it. Hhhhhhhhhngh the metaphor of it all I’m in pain) 

He sent her away to walk out of hell, and he won’t let her glance back at him, not even once, until she’s all the way out into the real world and can never go back to where she came from. Because he loves her!! that’s his CHILD!!! (the way Uldred taunts him with his little apprentice being back for the slaughter… ough! The way he keeps telling Surana/Amell that the Circle (he) will always welcome them, but doesn’t need them — I made as much freedom for you as I could figure out how; go live your life, child.) The love is there, the love is THERE and it’s vast and it’s mutual, and yet it has to be kept small and hidden between the lines to stay safe, it takes so many rounds of decoding and unveiling and retracing all the hidden meanings and obfuscations that the social conditions of the Circle (as well as their natural psychological tendencies as individuals) enforce to see the message written out cleanly and simply. But they do understand each other on this eventually, and they keep up written correspondence even during the times Sophia has to leave Ferelden on missions. (You are never too old to write home to go ‘hey dad I mean first enchanter hope everything’s fine at home. now what the fuck is this glyph I’ve copied down I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it before’, and to be able to do so is a great comfort even when you’re the warden commander of your nation and not so secret power behind the throne lol) 

And all of that is probably why Sophia is the way that she is (affectionate). Diagnosed with chronic heritable allergic-to-saying-everything-I-really-mean disease. hey Alistair I made you king. please infer that it means I trust you more than anyone in this world or the next and that I would not put the fate of myself or my people in the hands of anyone else alive. I would lay my whole being at your mercy. also I love you forever and would die for you. btw.

(In the end she does end up having that sort of partners-in-crime, co-conspirator, absolute trust, in it until the end, ‘I’ll be your strong right hand and protector’ relationship she so badly wanted with Alistair, which does provide a more equal power balance between them at least in private than what could have been possible with Irving. and with alistair she eventually does learn to be straightforwardly honest and unfiltered because she knows she will always be welcomed, and thus the family curse is broken. So. You know. You never know where personal fulfillment might yet be found, I guess! Fry some darkspawn, make your man/best friend king, be the Merlin to his Arthur and make it real horny, see where that takes you)   

[crossdressingdeath]

Okay yes I will ask your thoughts on Anders :D

Well, to start with something simple (and I assume not particularly controversial): the sequence of events we’re given for how Anders ended up in Kirkwall makes no fucking sense. I mean, it makes sense that the Chantry would ignore the Right of Conscription and try to drag him back to the Circle, but where the fuck is the Warden in all this?! If memory serves in some piece of the canon it’s implied or outright stated that the Chantry went over their head to get Templar agents into the Wardens, but they’re still the Warden-Commander? We’re expected to believe that the Warden, someone who will in most saves count Anders and Justice as dear friends and can be adamantly against the Circle, the Templars, and the Chantry as a whole, would just let a bunch of Templars run the two of them out of Amaranthine? The Warden would permit the cat they gave Anders to be taken away from him without so much as a fight? They may have to answer to Weisshaupt but even so! If Weisshaupt was interfering in the running of the Ferelden branch that much I’d expect it to be at least mentioned! If you played your Warden as someone who cared about the people under their command Anders and Justice getting forced out by the Wardens makes no sense. Honestly even if they don’t give a shit about their people Anders has friends! At the very least there should have been some mention of how exactly this was allowed to happen (maybe the Warden and the Awakening companions minus Anders and Justice were called away for some extremely long mission or something), or preferably Anders and Justice should have been chased out of Amaranthine through means entirely unrelated to the Wardens; you could have a bit about Anders being scared that after merging with Justice he’d bring trouble down on the Wardens that they couldn’t weather, it would be good and give him an element of connection to the people we spend the entirety of Awakening watching him bond with, and most importantly a connection to the previous player character that both Oghren in Awakening and Varric in Inquisition get but he doesn’t. Like, think about that for a second; Oghren obviously already knows the Warden and Varric pretty much waxes poetic about how great Hawke is every time they come up, but Anders doesn’t even react to learning about a fucking assassination plot against the Warden! Give me some friendship points for dealing with that, at least! And when you run into Nathaniel if memory serves Anders doesn’t even ask about the Warden, who Nathaniel is presumably still serving under! He doesn’t ask Zevran about the Warden either, even if you romanced him in Origins! Basically just the fact that DA2 doesn’t acknowledge your approval value with Anders even while remembering such things as whether or not you slept with Isabella in the Pearl irks me. This is your carryover companion, Bioware! Try a little harder to remind us of that!

Anyway, moving on. Honestly so much about Fenris and Anders’s dynamic bothers me? I remember seeing a post about how maybe actually after a while they settled into actual discussion and learning from each other but Varric decided to spice it up by keeping them super aggressive in his storytelling, which I do like better, but in the canon story? I mean, they’re just playing hot potato with the misery poker at this point. And do not get me started on the guy with the spirit of justice in his head approving of selling someone into slavery. I don’t care how much he hates Fenris, Justice disapproved of having a pet cat in Awakening! And Bioware seriously expects us to believe that the guy with, again, the spirit of justice in his head would wave off fucking slavery because “mages have it worse”? I do not buy that. It makes far less sense now than it did in Awakening, where Anders had spent most of his life in a tower where elves were at least nominally on equal footing with humans and was only just getting out in a way that was likely to be permanent.

And of course, the big one: the whole thing where the narrative flattens Anders forcing a confrontation by blowing up a building that’s closed at night and only really has a couple people in it even during the day to kill the woman signing off on the mass slaughter of innocent people with the expectation that if the Templars are really interested in justice they will execute him instead of killing the mages of the Circle to just “crazy mage blows up a building and kills huge numbers of people to force everyone to go to war” pisses me off. This is a series that allows you to justify abandoning an entire town to be killed by skeletons! In this game you can sell your friend to slavers! And yet there is no serious moral discussion about Anders’s actions. It’s bad, case closed, no possible justification for it. And... other people have made this point more eloquently than me, but it seems pretty obvious that they made it a big, dramatic (and incredibly nonsensical, what the fuck is even happening with that explosion, was the point not to do it without magic, why did it look like that) explosion to set off that knee-jerk “explosion = terrorism” response that most people have; a public killing didn’t have to involve blowing up a church, now did it? I don’t believe for a second that a man who could plant a bomb in the Chantry without anyone noticing despite being a known apostate couldn’t find a way to get Elthina out of the Chantry and into a public area where she could be killed dramatically and without any risk of collateral damage from his own actions, especially with the situation reaching the point where she was having to directly interfere to keep the chaos from going too far. Hell, even burning it down would’ve been better (and honestly more satisfying I think, given how much time every other part of Kirkwall spends in flames)! Note also that in Trespasser, which would’ve been written well after 2 came out and people started talking about how Anders had a point, they have a bit where Varric talks about massive death tolls and enough rubble to change tidal patterns in a port city. The destruction of one building cannot do both those things! I don’t actually think it could do either given we’re shown that it is practically empty when it goes up, but it certainly couldn’t do both! We were not supposed to actually... think about this explosion. We were supposed to conclude that Anders was wrong because explosions are Bad and then when people didn’t come to that conclusion they crammed in a bunch of nonsensical bullshit about death tolls and tides without considering whether that made any sense from a logic standpoint in an attempt to push us to stop questioning it. And... in a series that put so much thought into complex morality in the first game, that was just a massive disappointment and step back in the complexity of the morality. And almost certainly the first step towards Inquisition’s “Well actually in this conflict where one side wants to be allowed to imprison and torture people and the other side wants to not be imprisoned and tortured both sides are just as bad as each other” bullshit, which just makes it even worse.

Basically at the end of the day Bioware took a complicated character with every reason to hate the Chantry and a brilliant plan for exposing just how uninterested the Templars are in justice (a plan that works, may I add; the Circles didn’t rebel because the Chantry blew up, they rebelled because the Templars proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would use anything as an excuse to murder their charges even if they had the actual perpetrator of whatever they were using as that excuse right in front of them) and flipped the narrative to “crazy terrorist mage who killed infinitely more people than logic would suggest was possible while still doing all the other shit they claim that explosion did”, and I hate that.

[impossible-rat-babies]

Prompt: [I found you] 43. watching me while I sweat from exercising

1737 words | fluff | pavellan

—

The training yard was too full for it being only mid-morning and Dorian cursed, winding his way around the lot of it, peering through others hard at work. He was grateful he decided to wear something simpler, the ground only half as dry as it looked, squelching underfoot. The snow and rain had finally abated long enough from Skyhold to allow the grounds a bit of reprieve and it seemed everyone was enjoying it. 

He spied several groups of fresh faced recruits in their jumbled practice stances, eyes still wide with curiosity, holding their weapons like they barely knew which end was the pointy bit. Their time in Halamshiral bolstered their forces with old warriors from the civil war and many green recruits still fresh to what laid before them. Maker, it was going to be a tough one for them.

Dorian looked away, nose wrinkling. He was starting to sound like Darva when the warm jokes about the atrocious state of dress of the soldiers ran dry and only the cold reality of their predicament was left staring them in the face. The state of dress equal to their lack of funds, the dangers of the situations, how quickly they ran through uniforms, blood and life slipping through the chainmail. A thousand lives and deaths within stacks of fabric. Dorian never liked seeing the way his ears dip low with his shoulders sinking too. It was far from a good look for his already potent doe eyed sad face he conjured, but more importantly it was watching a sunshine of a man turn from optimism to realism, to look at just how horrible things were. How much worse they were going to get.

He trusted that Darva knew exactly what the costs were and how his bleeding heart treasured each sacrifice, but it still hurt to see how that wore him down the wire, down to snapping if there was just one more burden on his fragile shoulders.

For the sake of himself, Dorian hoped it would never come to that. And maybe he reserved a bit of that hope for himself too.

He sighed, pausing his investigations briefly. His fingers drummed on his chin, tweaking the curl of his mustache. He had held out hopes that the sunshine rays of the Inquisitor would have appeared by now. Darva did say how he was keen on getting his usual training in, with or without Dorian. He hadn’t the time for it earlier, still nose deep in his research on old Tevinter bloodlines to discover something ancient on Corphyeus. But the recent chapters were proving beyond aggravating on account of poor record keeping and some inane change in the system. Measuring things by maternal or paternal surnames? He hadn’t the slightest clue which one was being used at the time and he hadn’t the patience to decipher the asinine system right now.

So the research had been abandoned to his dusty little table and had gone searching for the Inquisitor.

He scanned the groups sparring once more, a sudden yelling pulling his attention to the opposite side of the yard. How he had failed to notice the gathered spectators, all keen on watching what is happening in the small ring, was beyond him. Dorian sighed nonetheless and made his way over, glancing back once or twice just to double check.

He didn’t need to, the man he had been looking for before him in the ring, sparring with a man twice his height and weight. It was hardly fear that hit him, but the resignation of “of course he would decide to spar with one of the largest soldiers around.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips, but he didn’t turn away. It was exasperating, yes, but worth watching.

Darva always had a way about him in the heat of battle or a spar; his eyes would grow focused, narrowing as his lips curled in a smirk during a spar, and a sneer at a real enemy. He wasn’t a mage, but he moved like he had electricity in his veins.

The soldier wielded a blunted sword and shield, Darva armed with blunted daggers as was always his choice. Dorian watched him parry a blow from the sword with one hand, quickly disengaging from a swipe with the shield. He ducked around the soldier, poised on the balls of his feet, moving swiftly. In the mid morning sun, Dorian eyes caught the sweat down Darva’s face and across his tattooed arms, breath deep and even in his chest. His hair a wild mess atop his head, curly strands all about.

They had to have been at it a while, neither having gotten the better of the other. At the least the soldier was doing well at keeping his wits; most took Darva at face value, but it was a mistake many didn’t see until it was too late. Spars hardly held the same stakes, but Darva wasn’t one to skimp on raising them if possible.

Darva’s brows furrowed in thought, lips curling, still keeping his guard up as he stalked around the circle. A sign that the soldier was learning enough to put him on edge. But Dorian knowing Darva, he always had his hidden little tricks. He was an assassin by trade and necessity with all the demands that came with the profession. Dorian had hardly lied when he said he could take the trade to Tevinter if he so wished. He could rival the best of the Antivan Crows if given cause.

Darva swung the blunted dagger around in his hand, shifting his main hand to backhand. Dorian grinned, knowing that look across Darva’s face. One that meant he was getting the upper hand, how he could almost see how things were going to play out. A chess master five moves ahead of his opponent. 

He charged the soldier, brandishing a blade with a sharp intent, sending him off to the defensive. He parried Darva’s off handed blow, shield raised, blade skittering off. But it was enough time for Darva to counter the force, eagerly slipping his off hand towards the space between the shield and body, right under the ribcage. A blow Dorian knew could slipped up under the ribcage, up through the lungs. Certainly one that would have killed a enemy if it was a real fight and not a spar for fun. 

“Match!” 

He pulled his daggers back, straightening himself up. The soldier slumped, hands on his knees to catch his breath. A mix of boos and cheers came from the crowd, but Darva shooed them away with a few short words. It was nothing if not harmless fun, a good way to interact with the soldiers; Dorian may have seen a few coins passed back and forth, but all harmless fun for everyone. Maybe it would be enough that they would see Darva as more than Herald, just a man willing to stand against the chaos. It was always easier for people to see themselves in each other, not in a deity.

Dorian watched the crowd shuffle off and Darva clapped his sparring partner on the back, ushering him off. Darva breathed out and slipped the daggers back into the holsters on his hips, turning on his heel to Dorian.

“How long were you watching?” A cheeky grin filled his face, approaching Dorian with his hands on his hips.

“Long enough to be exasperated by your actions.” Dorian replied dryly and Darva laughed, picking up a rag dangling out of a bucket of water beside Dorian.

“I can’t have a little fun with my spar?” Darva’s brow raised, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck and down his arms.

“Oh yes you’re more than welcome to go sparring with me twice your height for the fun of it. As if our current occupation didn’t lend itself to enough of a thrill.” Dorian droned, his tone painfully dry, watching Darva wipe the sweat from his face and push his hair from his face.

“I can't very well go off cheating at card games and swindling people for that sort of thrill now can I? I adore Josephine too much to put that stress on her.” Darva snickered, discarding the cloth back to the bucket to let the breeze dry his skin, leaning against the fence.

Dorian clicked his tongue.

“Tsk, tsk, imagine her having to explain that scandal.” Dorian leaned his back against the fence, side touching Darva’s hand. His tattooed fingers lightly pressed against Dorian, an acknowledgement, something neither of them would have thought to do before this. Before them. Dorian wouldn’t have dared to stand so close, to not move away from the casual touch, the smallest movement that would put them too close for comfort. There would be too many  eyes to watch them, too much to be read from their contact with each other. A thousand swirling anxieties in his head, but now they were silent as Darva laughed, a smile blossoming across his face.

“Like I said, I adore our ambassador far too much to put that scandal on her. She deals with enough.” Darva shook his head even with a smile.

“True enough.” Dorian happily conceded.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here watching. Your books lose your attention?” Darva asked and Dorian let out a long groan, head falling back.

“The insufferable system of family lineage is what pushed me away. Whoever wrote it deserves a job at the ass end of Thedas.” He complained.

“What if they did have the ass end job of writing down family lineages? Maybe they enjoyed it. A wonderful job transcribing old family lines.” Darva grinned, arm casually wrapping around Dorian’s waist.

“Well it was either spectacularly boring enough for them to throw the whole system into chaos, or they were just that asinine about the whole process.” Dorian grumbled and Darva chuckled, watching and listening as Dorian continued on with his rant. His face twisted with each emotion that came to him, no longer the guarded mask Darva had known for so long. It was like there was nobody but them in the world, each allowed to be themselves as they stood before the other. Darva would never wish for Dorian to be anyone but the person he was, the one before him, so different from the man who he had found back in the Redcliffe chantry, the one now unafraid of his affections. One not so afraid as he used to be to show his face to the world.

Dorian’s hand came to rest near his waist and Darva slipped his hand into his, holding on gently. The smallest and quietest affection always meaning the utmost.

[magicbound-a]

Maceron [Rewrite]

This is a rewrite of an old prompt done almost three years. I had been requested to write something about Orsino and the previous First Enchanter, who we had gotten very few details about in World of Thedas 2. 

WORD COUNT: 2,880

   All ways except literal, First Enchanter Maceron was a ghost. Unseen, unheard, and whispered of like he was an age gone by. There were rumors and conspiracies. A few daring ( but still low ) voices theorized he was nothing more than an illusion, made by the Templars to pretend that someone somewhere cared for them. Maceron died years ago, the Gallows had no First Enchanter. The Circle worked as intended, no need to pass down a title still claimed, the Order justified.

   This was just one of the popular stories.

  In the final years of his life, he seemed to be such a myth that mages of all ages would switch out with servants to bring him a food tray. Even those with graying hair, old enough to know better and remember the time Maceron was real. For them, it was a matter of seeing if he was still alive or if an old friend passed on without his people knowing.

  Orsino was one of these curious mages. Not old enough to remember Maceron's presence ever being consistent, but not young enough he believed the endless exaggerations of apprentices. His frustrations made him see red at times. It was hard to tell what the source was, as much that was ongoing in the Gallows vexed him. Even when narrowed on a subject like Maceron, there was a web around the center. 

   Was it the apprentices who stirred a sense of dread and panic with unrealistic wonders? Perhaps, had he fallen for it just like the other Seniors? Even with that, he could hardly fault the apprentices. There may be a specific feeling of dismay when one witnessed conditions worsen, but being brought into the worst life has been in the Circle does not cultivate optimistic minds. To them, the Order could do anything. They had never witnessed a time when Templars as a whole had standards.

  So, no. He was sure he was not frustrated with the apprentices. He never felt angered by his peers, not truly. At most, it was his own fault for letting their paranoid seeds root into the field of his worries. In the end, as it has been for a very long time, his anger laid with Maceron and the Order. The first for abandoning his people. Orsino imagined that one could only have malicious intent clinging to a role they could not even fulfill to the bare minimum. As for the Order, it was too long of a list. This was just another lapse in judgement and neglect of duty. Knight-Commander Meredith downright abused the fact that Maceron interfered little to none, she would not see him switched out. 

  Maybe she was why he hid.

  On a day Orsino felt particularly bold, he slipped a servant a few coins to negotiate the switch. When he changed attire, it was almost sickeningly degrading how no one batted an eye at him. With his head held low and tray in hand, he looked like every other elven servant that scraped by on the Chantry’s “merciful” wage.

   During the trod there, Orsino thought of every transgression that he wanted to unload onto the First Enchanter. Of all his years spent in the Gallows, never once had he seen Maceron intervene. Not even when mages were unjustly abused and got on their knees to cower. His people whipped until they bled and tried to beg forgiveness for their sins, even if they never had any. It was hard to ask for mercy through tears and pain. Orsino would know. His negligence almost felt worse than the atrocities Templars committed.

  To think of another mage in such a way almost felt damning. If they did not have each other, what hope lied upon the horizon?

 It wasn’t until he stood outside Maceron's chambers that Orsino rose his chin with dignity. Using his elbow, he nudged opened the door and marched in with a air that belonged to someone who was everything but a servant.

  The stale air almost choked him. The room was dark with fabric hung over the windows and didn't allow the eyes to travel easily. However, his sight adjusted quickly and the layout of the room was greedily judged. 

   If he didn't know better, the chamber could be mistaken as a storage room instead of a First Enchanter’s living quarters. Letters upon letters were piled up on a desk with dried inkwells and broken quills. On some surfaces, dust was layered on belongings that probably once held sentimental value. Even some trinkets had monetary purpose once upon a time, but now their worth looked as bleak as the sky before a storm. No shine.

 On a disheveled bed sat Maceron in underwhelming glory.

  With everything that was expected to come with the status, First Enchanter proved to be a misnomer. Except for a slight shift of his head, Maceron barely acknowledged Orsino’s presence. His head hung as if his neck was broken, dangling farther than Orsino would ever allow himself to submit. His shoulders sagged beneath imaginary weights. He didn’t wear his designated robes. They were carelessly tossed over a musty seat and looked to be untouched for a long time. Instead, Maceron was encased within a heavy sleeping robe and a quilt with decades old patchwork.

  The longer Orsino stared at the scene, the more his hands shook and rattled the delicate glass on the tray. This was their First Enchanter? The person who was supposed to speak on their behalf? All he saw was SLOTH. Carelessness. Disregard.

 Abandonment.

   He couldn’t resist breaking the silence. In fact, he shattered it. The elf slammed the tray down next to the morning tray never moved. Maceron was taken back by the noise, head retreating slightly into the lump of covers like a turtle. Snapped out of the haze he wallowed in. He watched with caution and even an out of place degree of calculation. Orsino stomped his way right to Maceron’s bedside. Finally, the older man lifted his head to cast a weary look and leaned backwards to recreate a bare semblance of respective space.

  Orsino's expression was easy to read. He saw no reason to mask his anger. Nostrils flared and brows furrowed, his chest moved with heavy and deliberate breaths as he stared down the First Enchanter. Maceron's shrewd eyes narrowed with a glare, no enthusiasm with whatever was about to come his way.

  Now that the moment of truth was here, Orsino found he could not speak. Too much was locked inside, it couldn't fit through the open door. Harder, his teeth clenched as he encouraged himself to begin more and more without any place for the energy to go. With the silence he held, it wasn't going outwards.

 “Well?” Maceron spoke first. The word was blunt, loud, and dropped like it was heavy. Orsino jumped when it was plunked into the storm of his mind. Now, he was annoyed that he allowed Maceron to begin first. Finally, the dam broke beneath all his thoughts and came out in a flurry. All his questions came first, sharp and pointed right at the First Enchanter. No introduction or anything softer to precede it. 

  "Why do you hide? Why have you never tried to help us? Do you not care for your people?!" Orsino vented without regret. Every sentence was a little too loud, too angry, and too desperate. Hands that hung by his side curled into fists, balled up just like the emotions in his chest.

 Maceron heaved out a dusty sigh. He turned his head away, any interest in the conversation and elf before him gone. Orsino was not worth his time. “Don't tell a man how to do his job if you don't know what it entails, boy.”

  "Do not call me a boy," Orsino corrected out of spite.

  "Respectable men don't pay off servants and throw temper tantrums," Maceron countered like he's been through this before.

 The disrespect only urged Orsino further. His patience creaked like a bent twig. “And you must be worthy of respect, then? Here, when you could surely be doing something besides--- besides--!" his arms flung into the air to gesture towards the whole room, “this! Hiding! Sulking! Whatever you call it!”

 A wheezy laugh was spitefully given in return. Maceron sounded like even his lungs brimmed with dust. His head shook. "So you believe it easy then? Being First Enchanter. Just a big goddamn hero to the mages, eh?"

  "You haven't tried to be anything like that. Or anything we need!"

  "Oh, so it's I haven't tried!" Maceron exclaimed like a realization and let out another dusty chuckle. His behavior was unsettling and reminiscent of what is more appropriate when a game is being played. "Unless you happen to piss peaceful revolution, nothing works like you think it does. What have you seen of me?"

  Orsino was stunned into silence, caught off guard by either the distasteful vulgarity unfitting someone like a First Enchanter or the fact that Maceron actually had a fight in him.

  "Here. If it's so easy, then you can be First Enchanter after the Order's finally sucked the rest of my life outta me." 

   The scowl that instinctively formed on Orsino's face at the thought told Maceron all he needed to know. He gave a mocking burst of laughter. "That's what I thought, boy." 

   A hand dotted with age spots and wrinkles reached out to a glass of water off a bed-stand. He took a gulp before continuing. "I know who I swore to protect. Had the fire for it too, just like you."

     Without thinking much of it, Orsino's feet shuffled backwards with horror at the consideration. Like the concept was a plague in danger of being caught and becoming the truth if he felt anything except fear for it. “We are nothing alike,” he stubbornly rejected with an unpredictable force. “I swear to that. First Enchanter or not!" But his words were ignored. Maceron continued his own train of thought like he had never been interrupted.

    "They'll snuff your flame quicker than any maleficar. There's only room for one sun and they'll make damn sure it's theirs."

    For the first time since it got heated and Maceron's interest waned, their eyes made contact. It chilled Orsino to the bone. Too much was seen in Maceron's depths, far too much that he hadn't noticed at first. He recognized that particularly look.

   "And when you have no power and even children beg for you to do something, you'll be thankful you have a fucking chamber you can't hear their cries in!" The First Enchanter's volume peaked and cracked like glass.

   Orsino, unnerved and frightened, turned on his heel and fled. He dashed through the door as quickly as possibly and slammed it behind him, not wanting to hear another word nor spend another second looking into those eyes. He reached the end of the hall before he sunk to the floor, back against the cold stone. Breathing was difficult. The muscles in his neck strained to swallow nothing but a bitter reality. The moment their eyes met played again and again like a hated lesson.

   Their eyes had met.

   Their eyes had met and he knew that absence of light.

   Orsino was reminded of Maud.

   He grimaced. His expression could only be described as utmost dismay. Where he had believed sloth and malice to dwell, depression made its home. How far back did it echo and how further will it be replayed? A long time since he last had, Orsino grieved for his friend. It had been a harsh and unsettling reminder. First Enchanter Maceron was not a man who cared little for his people. He was a man that cared too much and the Order choked him with his own chains because of it. They forced him to pay the price as he drowned alive in his inability to help. There was no being of sloth in that chamber. Only a man who had his heart carved out with a sun-soaked blade and filled to the brim with depression.

  Despair. It was always DESPAIR.

  Maker, did Orsino pray for mercy that such a thing never happened to him. Balled in the spot where he collapsed, his hands clasped in prayer. He prayed for his will to never be weak to despair, and he prayed that he would never meet a fate like First Enchanter Maceron's.

   Orsino had a lot of time to think about him the following months after he paid off the servant. He admitted that he would have liked to dug into his mind more than he did, instead of blanching before a withered soul still putting up a fight. Still too sore and scarred, he was not matured enough to deal with the reality. After that, he never had the bravery or the want to return to Maceron again. Some truths were better left unheard. 

   After all, reminders of Maud always upset him. 

  One conclusion Orsino came to was that Maceron must have spent a lot of time justifying his inaction. His responses had been quick and as sharp as Orsino’s questions. It was perhaps the one thing he felt he could still have fire over, or many others had asked the same thing Orsino had. Being able to feel at peace with his own room was the last thing Maceron felt entitled to. 

   Even now, Orsino’s unsure if Maceron was and is worthy of any respect. He’s tragic and detestable. What could have been weakness innate to his soul was justified as inevitable of the position. Unless he became First Enchanter, there was no way for anyone to know.

    Maceron was scarcely glimpsed at a few more times before he was found dead in his chambers several years later, still wrapped in that musty quilt. Hard to say what took him. Old age, depression, or a sickness he never sought to better. Weakness from too many food trays gone ignored or the Order finally drained the last of the life he had... the fact was that he was dead. More peacefully gone than others. 

   An undisturbed passing and a quiet room the greatest mercies he could be given.

  There was a funeral, of course. Not many gathered in service--- at least, what was expected for a First Enchanter. Most of the assembly of people was done out of respect more for the title than the man. There were a few who only wanted to catch a glimpse of the First Enchanter for the first time ever, even if he was now laid out cold and deceased. Then, there were the people who had to be there like Senior Enchanters, templars, and chanters.

  Only the eldest gave eulogies because they were the only ones who remembered he had someone before he was First Enchanter Maceron. Orsino learned the quilt was the only belonging he had from home, so there was sudden meaning in seeing him wrapped up in the fabric as he was laid out on the pyre. The chanters said their final prayers to guide his soul to the Maker's side. Right there in the Gallows, they burned his body with the last remnants of a true home.

  Age lines and grey hairs were self-consciously prodded at. Only a few years in, First Enchanter Orsino looked at a reflection of himself with sunken eyes. All the other times spent in front of the mirror had been normal, yet today he was preoccupied with his visage. He could not say why or what caused the train of thought, but something about his appearance reminded him of poor Maceron.

  "I wonder what he would think now, knowing the boy who yelled at him actually became First Enchanter," he casually conversed to his image as he did his morning routine. He brushed his thinning hair backwards and kept it in place with a bit of sap-like fixative. "Probably look at my grey hairs and tell me he told me so!"

  Orsino laughed at himself, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with his smile. The awkwardness of talking to the mirror set in. He sighed.

  Maceron was proven right about a few things. Being First Enchanter wasn't easy. Not at all. The Order, just as expected, also tried to snuff him out as well. But just as Maceron was right about a few things, he was also wrong about others. Orsino forbade the Order from dousing his spirit. Healthily, his embers still burned. If he must forever burn without peace, then so be it. As long he kept despair at bay and light the way for his people, he surpassed Maceron's efforts. It must drive Meredith crazy for him to be three times more unyielding than the previous First Enchanter could have ever hoped to be.

  Things were not better. They were worse, in fact. Tragically laughable how he considered the time he spoke to Maceron to be the worse the Gallows had ever been. Yet, Orsino continued on. It must drive Knight-Commander Meredith insane. 

   He wish he could show Maceron that he had been wrong. 

   Probably would have laughed that off too, Orsino thought before tightening his gloves to leave his chambers for the day. There was much to do. 

[sleepy-sunlight]

I’m so happy to hear that I made your day❤️This is gonna be a long one, sorry about that😂 But I have a few prompts in my mind and since I lack of time and inspiration, I thought I could share them with you so they wouldn’t go wasted😂 You can write them if you want, but no forcing of course😄 1-Dorian and Varric playing matchmaker to get Cullen and Inquisitor together. All of the inner circle have bets on who is gonna kiss the other first. So, all eyes are on them until they do.

Hi!! Thank you so much, that’s so incredibly sweet of you to say!!

As for your requests, yes!!! I’ve been so excited to do requests so thank you so much for sending them in!! I’ll be doing the others in separate posts (Because of the multiple prompts/requests stated) but I’ll be sure to tag you in them so that you’re aware!!

Anyhow, thank you again and have a splendid day!! Enjoy!!

———————————————————————————————————–

“You haven’t seen them like I have Sparkler,” Varric remarked, tipping back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. “I knew them way before you showed up with the whole mage fiasco.”  

“Well, it doesn’t exactly take a genius to know what’s going on there!” Dorian scoffed, hunching over the table. “The Inquisitor arrived while we were playing chess and the commander’s face became redder than my wine! I thought he might remove me from the game himself.”  

“Then you should’ve seen it in the very beginning,” Varric exclaimed, stifling his laughter. “I swear to the very Maker after we went to the Hinterlands they actually asked me if the commander was ‘unwed’.”  

Dorian nearly choked on his ale, clamping a hand over his mouth.  

“You’re kidding!”  

“I wish I could make things up like this!”  

“Well I think as the Inquisitor’s best friend I ought to-”  

“Wait – you don’t really think you beat me in that competition,?” Varric scrunched up his nose, doubtful.  “I’ve been with them since the start.” 

“Oh, I don’t think – I know so.“  He puffed out his chest with pride, his brows raising. “We’re practically - and literally family!” 

“Willing to wager a bet on the better friend then?”  

“Of course~.”  

Varric cracked his knuckles, a thought almost instantly bursting into his head as he peered closer to the mage.  

“Alright, whoever can get them together first then. We’ll know with ‘true love’s kiss’.” He sneered, a pettiness laced in his voice that could only honestly come from Dorian.  “that’ll settle this.”

“Get ready to eat your heart out sparkler.” 

“The same to you, dwarf.” 

From then on, it only really seemed to spiral out of control. 

Once Varric knew, so did Cassandra.

Leading to Leilana, Josephine, Blackwall, and so on.

To put it lightly - the entirety of the inner circle, knew and relished in this bet. 

Leiliana had more than once offered to stir the pot, bringing up ideas such as ‘mysterious letters from a secret admirer’ to wring jealousy from the commander.

Josephine even had suggested more than a few rumors to etch out the nervous, hesitant pair from hiding. 

“I think the commander ought to make the move first,” Blackwall had confessed during one of their first ‘meetings’, a few of them huddled up within the barn. “you can see how clearly he wants to.” 

“Cullen?” Sera snickered, kicking the side of his seat playfully. “The man freezes when the Inquisitor smiles at him!” 

“He didn’t become commander by freezing up,” The Iron Bull noted, clicking his tongue. “He’ll step up when it counts.” 

“And you don’t think the Inquisitor will?” Cassandra scoffed. “I’ve seen them tear down a giant - a man shouldn’t be an issue.” 

“We’re not talking about killing here Cassie,” Bull snorted, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he saw how the woman shot up in outrage at the nickname. “You don’t need to pick the dwarf’s side because he writes your favorite ‘novels’.” 

“They both want to,” Cole murmured, fiddling with his hands sheepishly. “His heart lights up when he sees them, and their head is always full of thoughts of him.” 

Bull pointed at the rouge, as though that proved his entire point. 

“I stand by my word, The Inquisitor will-” 

“I will what?” 

They all had froze as you strode in, your arms setting on your hips as you looked to all of them. 

Sera scrambled to her feet, giving a small, meek wave.

“That’s my signal to go-” 

“Sera…” 

“Hey…lovely seeing you innit?” She chuckled quietly, clearing her throat awkwardly as she sat back down. “Right I know - sit back down - you got it.” 

“All we were doing was betting on how long it’ll take you to beat Corypheus’s ass,” Bull simpered, tipping his head back to meet you. “don’t worry boss, we’re all thinking he’ll be down in five seconds flat.” 

You crinkled your nose, amused as you pat his shoulder lightly.

“I’m flattered, but I really don’t think that’s possible-” 

“You’re right,” Cassandra stood up, shooting Blackwall and Bull steel gazes before glancing up to you, smiling softly. “It’ll take three.” 

You couldn’t quite describe the confusion that overwhelmed you then, your brow furrowing as the warrior gestured to you to follow.

“Inquisitor, if you would?” She asked. “Varric was hoping he could talk to you.” 

“Oh,” You tried to hide the hint of bewilderment in your tone. “Of course.” 

The others burst up from their seats in an instant, Blackwall and Bull erupting in a flurry of concerned whispers, as Cassandra led you to the main hall.

“…Why couldn’t Varric just come get me himself?” You found yourself asking. 

“He had a surprise, and he asked me to bring you to him if someone found you,” She came up with abruptly, a lump growing in her throat. “He asked just about everyone in Skyhold.”  

You nodded, unable to truly believe in what she told you, still resigning yourself to follow your friend as she brought you to him.

Varric had never beamed so brightly as he did before when he saw you, clapping his hands as he shot up from his seat. 

“Ah! Your Inquisitorialness! Always a pleasure.” 

“You…you wanted to speak with me?” 

“That I did!” He glanced to Cassandra, giving her a small wink before she left, trying to stifle his laughter as she groaned. 

“Here, sit down,” He tapped the rim of the seat across from him, setting himself up. “I need to talk to you about someone.” 

Your legs crossed as you situated yourself, your lips shifting into a frown. 

“Who?” 

“Curly.” 

“Cullen?” 

“Your Commander~.” 

You scoffed, your stomach fluttering as though enveloped in clouds at his mention.

But his tone hid something that left you uneasy.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about-” 

“The leader of your armies of course!” 

You had never felt such relief.

You prepared to steady yourself, suddenly halted as he bent down, smirking smugly than you thought it might be possible for a person to. 

“And how obviously he fancies you.” 

Electricity shot through you in an instant.

“W-What?” You had to quiet yourself from yelping, grabbing tight on to the ends of your sleeves. “What’re you talking about?” 

“You don’t have to hide this sort of thing from me you know,” He retorted. “According to Cassandra, romance is kind of my thing.” 

“Cullen is a very commendable leader and valued member of my advisors,” You scrambled to maintain your cool, failing miserably. “Yes, I may appreciate his dedication to our cause, his growth as a person, and maybe how when he is passionate how he’ll ramble and light up like a fire and-” 

You stopped yourself, letting out a heavy sigh as you held your face in your hands. 

“Andraste’s sake…” 

“It’s alright,” Varric hummed, grinning. “He’s head over heels for you too! All you gotta do is tell him!” 

“How do you even know that?” 

“Just about everyone in Skyhold and their grandmothers have seen how you two look at each other. The moment you both start talking to each other nobody knows if it’ll be a day of a year before you’re done!” 

He pointed to you almost accusingly. 

“And don’t you dare tell me you don’t adore Curly’s locks.” 

“That’s…that’s kind of odd Varric.” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“I won’t answer that.” 

“I didn’t even need an answer to know,” He shrugged, that familiar smugness from when you first met him ever so obvious. 

“Listen, the point is - you should tell him,” He softened his tone, sincere. “I knew Cullen long before this whole archdemon asshole Corypheus and I have never seen anyone do what you do to him.” 

You yielded, letting out a deep breath. 

“You honestly think that?” 

“I never thought I’d see the man smile - let alone laugh. Those are just about the most common things happening with him when he’s around you,” Varric assured you, genuinely kind. “He’s actually happy when he’s with you. I never even thought ‘happy’ and ‘Curly’ would go together.” 

“You’re only going to lose this chance if you don’t take it.” 

You jabbed him at his dramatic words, however much his support legitimately meant to you.

“Alright, alright fine,” You melted just a bit, beaming kindly at him. “Thank you Varric.” 

“That’s what friends are for.” 

You stood up, taking in a deep, nervous breath as you prepared yourself to make your way to the commander’s tower.

Only stopped as you ran into the man himself.

With Dorian. 

The mage suddenly stopped speaking, nudging Cullen closer to you with a prideful glint that perhaps could’ve been his signature by then. 

“Oh - um…Inquisitor,” He coughed embarrassedly. “I uh - I was just on my way to find you-” 

“Can we talk?” You blurted out, your mind racing quicker than you thought possible. “In private?” 

“Yes - I’d like that,” He muttered, heat trickling onto his cheeks. “I’d like that a lot.” 

The two of you disappeared through the endless rows of doors shortly after, Varric and Dorian nearly splitting at the seams as they paced and waited anxiously. 

Only to be met with an answer as they watched the two of you along the barracks later, hands ribboned together as you came to the stairsteps. 

And you kissed him.

It was tender as you held his face in your palms for just a moment, Cullen melting into your touch that he appeared to hang onto you as you parted, a smile stretching from ear to ear on his expression.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dorian grinned, seemingly warmed by the affection. “guess that means I lose?” 

“You bet your ass it does,” Varric smirked, shoving his fists into his pockets. “Inquisitor’s lucky though.” 

“How so?” 

“They’ve got a pretty great friend in you,” Varric admitted, glancing to Dorian. 

“Even if you’re still second to me.” 

[allisonperryart]

The Business of Art w/ Jeremy Cranford (Blizzard Entertainment) @ The Art Institute of California Inland Empire (7/29/17)

Special thanks to Jeremy Cranford and Thomas Brilliante for making this event possible. For more updates on future events like this in the southern California area, please consider following Inland Arts on FaceBook. (Text-only version of this document available on FaceBook)

James Cranford’s life

Humble beginnings: migrant parents, food stamps, etc.

Attending college was difficult because of finances, but he ended up studying graphic design because he got a scholarship

After doing graphic design for years, he got an art directing job with "Magic the Gathering” and working in games/illustration since 1996

Worked on “Metal World” style guide for “Mirrodin” set (2002)

What would environments look like on a metal planet? Rust, things hovering with magnetism, rolling silver plane, big metal spikes, mercury seas, retina green forests

Environments help you solve what the humanoids/creatures will look like in the environment

The humanoids/creatures? Enamel/scabs is replaced with metal, big metal bracers on humanoids

Also worked on "Spirit World” style guide for "Kamigawa” set (2003)

Started with the desire to help MtG sell better in Japan, which was a challenge because traditionally MtG is based on Arthurian lore/visuals

Unsure about just having American/Western artists riff on Japanese imagery, so he hired some Japanese artists to create more authentic content, which resulted in a very different feel

Example of a brief he didn’t like that he turned around into an engaging project

Also worked on “Ravnica” style guide

Brief: “overdeveloped urban fantasy setting”

Mountains = smelting buildings

Lead was very against having buildings on land cards, but this is an example of Jeremy challenging convention… why could land cards have buildings!?

Risked his job on this point because he really believed in it, and it ended up being a great decision

The creative solution may be an uphill battle, but it will always win out

Plains = created by the tops of buildings, inspired from looking out at the city from the World Trade Center

Swamps = city sewers, obviously

Forest = where they grew their food

First set when they started mixing colors (which are like “cultures” in MtG lore), which was an awesome opportunity to expand and develop new ideas

Blue/green = technology elves

Black/green = voodoo elves (inspired by New Orleans)

Black/red = fire demons, obviously

White/black = basically Catholicism

Red/white = military

Blue/red = mage + technology

First set to have a promo video (inspired by game cinematic trailers, intended to introduce the world)

Began working on World of Warcraft at Blizzard when they released a trading card game

Style was a bit of a learning curve (less realistic, more stylized)

Soon after, started working on miniatures game, which taught him a lot about manufacturing and allowed him to travel to China, etc.

He took a risk and left Blizzard to start a start-up with his friends called Solforge

It was fun for about 6 months, but he never regretted the experience because he learned a lot 

Goal was to push things more sic-fi (nuclear winter world) 

His philosophy over the years has been to take risks, embrace junctures in life, and have faith in the direction you’re going

Every time he took a risk, the pay off ended up being worth it 

The universe has a way of showing you the path that’s most right for you 

He says most of what he’s tried never works out, and he just ends up doing the next best thing - which turns out to be his career 

Doesn’t always know what he wants to do, but definitely knows what he doesn’t want to do 

Always wants to challenge convention 

“Don’t try to make the art you do what you think it should do, rather let the art take you where it wants to go.” - Ben Thompson 

“Leap, and build your wings while you’re falling.” - Ray Bradbury Finds inspiration from Borge Ousland (first human to go from Russia to Alaska)

Saw people’s discouragement as feedback/critique 

Constant failures for 10 years, but learned a little every step of the way that led to his eventual success 

Stick with it

Also finds inspiration from Richard MacDonald (inspirational sculptor, experienced a lot of misfortune, embodies the blind faith Jeremy talks about)

Advice for mastering your craft, building a portfolio, and being a professional

Being an art director is like being a coach - if the product isn’t performing well, the company looks to replace the art director 

It may take you longer to master your craft than 4 years in college (DaVinci took 7 years)… be patient with yourself! 

When he looks for an artist, he looks for a professional

Master your skills

Master drawing, anatomy, and rendering light onto form

Go to life drawing regularly… even if you’re not in school 

He oftentimes looks at the hands

Master design, not just drawing realistically

Creaturebox is a great example 

Large, medium, small shapes 

High density detail (busy) vs. low density detail (rest)

Master painting and color theory

Nathan Fowkes is a great example 

The best color is not always the most “realistic” colour

Master composition, eye flow, value groups, and negative shapes

Wayne Reynolds and Frazetta are great examples 

If you’re struggling, check out Edgar Payne’s book on composition 

Have a plan before you paint and add all your detail 

Jomaro adds “working in threes” is a good idea - working in twos becomes “equal” and too “balanced”

Master story, emphasis, mood, and point of view

Ian McQue's work in the “John Carpenter” art book is a great example 

Just because your rendering is perfect doesn’t mean people will care about what you’re drawing 

What are you trying to communicate? Write that down and make sure you execute it! 

Creating without a clear objective is a waste of time

Don’t cheat yourself - if you’re trying to hide your flaws… fix them!

Don’t use effects/tricks to hide your shortcomings

After you master your skills, target a market and advertise yourself (ArtStation, DeviantArt contests, etc.)

Send out cold-emails 

See if you can get current employees to refer you to art directors 

If you get rejected, evaluate your work and actually assign yourself tasks to improve on it

Pro life tips!!

Don’t be a drunk (why party when you can improve your skill?) 

Dedicate yourself to your career/something higher/something you love 

Have some range (in your portfolio) - never say “that’s not my style!”

Consider: reality vs. fantasy (in content), realism vs, abstraction (in style)

“I’m on it!” Never be an emotional tax on your team/leads - art directors will always go back to the artists that make things easy

This doesn’t mean be a pushover

"Show me the Money!” Think about how much you’re being paid and how many hours you’re putting in… are you even getting paid minimum wage?

If you’re being paid less than you’re worth/less than minimum wage, it’s not worth it… and you’re hurting the whole industry! 

You’re better off investing in yourself - work at Starbucks and build a strong portfolio at night/on the weekends

As your skills go up, the money goes up (you need to go from good to great if you’re going to make it) 

Do you know why you do what you do?

If it’s for the money… maybe you should just go into banking, because this isn’t really a path to make money 

Jeremy does it because he simply enjoys it, which takes the pressure off

"You’re okay, I’m okay”

Growing up, Jeremy had a lot of depression because he was seeking external approval 

If you get your approval from within, you aren’t giving the power to others to put you down 

You’re the final authority on how you fell about yourself, how you treat others, and what you love and want to do

There’s beauty in diversity - just be good to each other and celebrate your differences

Question time!

Where should I go to school?

Depends on what you want and how your learn best - really successful people have not gone anywhere and really unsuccessful people have gone to great schools 

Maybe consider non-traditional schooling like GumRoad and New Masters Academy 

At the end of the day, you need the skills, and however you get them doesn’t really matter

How do you manage your time to develop range and show that range in a portfolio?

When you email an AD/recruiter, consider attaching 3 images that highlight what that contact is looking for in the email… and then lead them to the rest of your work if they’re interested

That’s all you need for “portfolio geared to a company” - you don’t need a full portfolio geared to a portfolio if you have 3-5 images you can attach to an email

Keep your portfolio updated! Don’t leave up bad work from a long time ago! 

Even when you’re not asked to, following up on feedback from ADs/recruiters with new work is a great way to stay in contact and establish your worth 

If you gear your portfolio towards one company and you can’t get into that company, you might have trouble getting into other companies 

However, if you have a very rangey portfolio, sometimes all you need is an art test to prove you can execute the style 

Know your stylistic limitations, too - if you know you can’t do something, don’t waste your time and the AD/recruiter’s 

Having trouble focusing? Set an explicit goal for yourself/make an assignment for yourself… and set a deadline for it (or else you’ll never finish it)!

How do you connect with an AD without being annoying but also not getting ignored?

ADs are busy people, at the end of the day 

Consider joining a forum/contest… sometimes your peers are better critics for you than an AD 

Develop a circle of trust (people you trust to give you good feedback) 

When you do meet an AD, remember “everyone is people…” don’t be weird about it! 

Don’t be embarrassed/ashamed of negative feedback… own it and be fearless! 

Remember: it’s normal to ask ADs/recruiters to look at your work… just ask for permission, give them an opportunity to say “no,” and if they do say “no,” offer to follow-up or leave your email/card 

Also remember to maintain relationships with professionals, because they might be keeping an eye on you and hire you in the future… address their feedback, explain how you improved, etc.

How do you form a good narrative in a painting?

“Create a picture that has a gap for the viewer to fill in”/“Don’t answer/render everything” (Jomaro adds - “like a trailer!”) - Frazetta is a great example of this 

Engage the viewers curiosity and get them to want to know what’s happening 

Maybe look at storyboard artists/sequential artists 

Also maybe identify a feeling/single word/etc. that embodies your piece… and strive to communicate it fully! 

You can execute a complex idea in a very simple way

Do ADs judge you on your backlog/old work?

Always be producing work, or else you’re stagnant! 

Always update your work with your newest stuff 

ADs love seeing jumps in quality! 

ADs aren’t gonna judge you for old work they find in a deep-dive, but be sure to put your best foot forward and have that easiest to find

What can you do to stay in touch while you’re waiting for a response on an art test?

Once you submit the test, it’s out of your hands 

If it’s been a week, try following up with HR asking if there’s anything else you can do 

If you get radio silence, it’s not the end of the world - be positive about your experience and open to future opportunities

Do you need to master digital/PhotoShop/ZBrush/etc. just like you master anatomy/colour/etc.?

If you’re skills and design are good, they’ll show through in any medium, but at the same time, not knowing PhotoShop at all can get you dinged when working in-house

What was your favourite project to work on and what did you learn from it?

“Ravnica,” because he struggled with self-doubt and had to put his job on the line for something he believes in 

HearthStone has also been a blast

Is there anything outside of art that helps you as an artist?

Everything he’s told you not to do, he did himself, which is why he’s trying to help you avoid it 

Letting go of the idea that his self-worth was determined by how other people saw him… compete only against yourself 

It helped to stop taking himself so seriously and just have fun… eliminated the pressure and lets the creativity flow

Stop trying to get everyone to like you and your work! 

Don’t just be a theory expert… put things into practice! 

The biggest thing people are lacking is the mileage

Don’t get deflated by feedback… actually integrate it! 

Don’t get discouraged by people who are better than you that have been doing it for longer… that’s normal!