#vimmark

[doomedyuri]

EMMRICH VOLKARIN in DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD.

[felassan]

just wanna drop a quick thank you for being so on top of sharing/compiling all the various social media news, i stopped using twt a while back and your blog has essentially replaced that for da news lmao so your efforts are very much appreciated

hello! ◕‿◕ tysm for the nice message!!

[exhausted-archivist]

just want to say i appreciate your enthusiasm for the little things. i share your interest in all the day to day life, natural history, etc aspects of the world and the lore but do not have the capacity to compile and deep dive the way you do, so thank you for every hyper specific post about dragon age you've ever made, sincerely.

Oh goodness, thank you! I'm glad they are able to be of some use to others aside from me. I'm also happy to hear you enjoy them! Thank you for your support and kind words, I hope you will find future compilations enjoyable too. I can guarantee I will lose the plot of Veilguard because there is a whole new area of the world to explore, and I will yell about it.

If you have anything you would like to see in particular, do let me know! I might have it sitting in drafts, or I can see to getting to it if it's not.

Thank you again!

[elluvians]

re: your tags about the factions and specs, afaik they've said there's no restrictions on combos other than no dwarf mages. my understanding of the connection there might just be from a lore perspective in some way 🤔 or maybe who you learn it from for example

I hope that's the case. I really want to play a mage Grey Warden 🥺

[sapphim]

Varric: Tell us about Starkhaven, Choir Boy. I'm sure we're all burning with curiosity about your far-away land. Sebastian: My far-away land? It's inland Free Marches, not on the moon. Varric: And here I was hoping…

Suddenly recontextualizing Varric's one-sided feud with Sebastian in light of this early banter. It's not just that Varric has an immediate psychosexual animosity towards the man that he is not going to unpack. He is also... being belligerently coastal elite about it.

[fereldanwench]

idk what it is about desert landscapes in thedas, but i fuckin love them

[danielnelsen]

it wouldnt be dragon age if there was

[hyperions-light]

The Poison Fruit Ripens

#defendingtheending here we go

First of all mega super ultra spoilers for the ending teaser that Steam says like… 6% ? Of players have seen? So you’ve been warned. No cuts baby, it’s Miyazaki style

Okay, so it’s the Executors, and they’re probably coming across the sea in the next game (if EA doesn’t nuke BW), from what I can gather. I mean, this is fine from a lore perspective. All we knew about those people before is that 1) they are mysterious 2) they are from over there, across the ocean

And now they’re maybe connected to the revealed Qunari lore, which I am ! So excited to have! We already knew that the Qunari fled across the ocean for unspecified reasons, and that going back there was Not A Thing. But now we know that they left because of the (probably metaphorical?) Devouring Storm, which could be connected to the Executors. What are the odds that there are two separate Huge Bad Things Over There that both want to destroy Thedas? Probably is just one big thing— also the title Executor implies they are doing the bidding of someone else, so whatever the Qunari were talking about could be it. (They also talked about being agents of someone else’s will in the Inquisition War Table quest).

So the cinematic shows a bunch of our prominent villains from the previous games being influenced in some way by the Executors. Which I think people are upset about, but I think it’s fine because:

- They did not really specify the manner of influence. I would be annoyed if they retconned Loghain’s decision to leave Cailan on the battlefield because it makes him interesting, but they didn’t say that. They just said they influenced his decisions. They could have done that by stoking his paranoia about Orlais, or by planting Arl Howe to influence him after the battle. He did a lot of OOC stuff while he was King Regent, and this could be a chance to explain what didn’t make sense for his previously established character and was just put in there to make him seem Very Evil.

- They also were around some people doing a blood magic ritual… there weren’t enough of them to be the Magisters, technically, but that is usually what it looks like when we see them in DA art so I’m going to assume that’s them for now. I mean that’s wild if that’s what it is bc that was such a long time ago? Thee guys have really been playing the long game I guess

- The other person they directly influenced seems to be Bartrand, which is really easy because who the fuck gave him that damn map? We NEVER found out who pointed Bartrand to the Thaig! Someone did it, and they probably did it on purpose! It may as well be these guys

- the rest of the villains don’t get guys whispering to them, so I have to assume they mean to imply that they just set up the circumstances that would lead to these people gaining power. I mean someone sent the Carta to the Vimmark mountains, right? And there was like some weird demon there, too.

-So basically they’re just implying that these people have been manipulating events to make sure that shit in Thedas is hitting the fan all at once, which does kind of explain the frankly improbable number of world-ending events that have happened during the Dragon Age. I mean, three Blights, two Magisters, two Evanuris, Antaam invasion, major mage rebellion, Templar schism, and the death of the Southern Divine? It’s only been like 50 years!!! Before the Dragon Age there had only been four Blights since the Ancient Age! Shit does not normally happen this fast in Thedas

I think the phrase itself is pretty direct (also giving Southern Reach vibes). All this chaos they helped sew is reaching its culmination, and now they’re getting ready to cash in the chips. They’re coming to Thedas at the moment that all the great powers are at their weakest, when there’s basically no one to oppose them. Tevinter? Fucked. Qunari? No military anymore. Antiva? Haha! lol, even. Fereldan? Basically gone. Orlais? In shambles. Free Marches? Decimated. Anderfels? There’s like 100 Wardens left in a swamp. Nevarra? I actually don’t know, maybe the lichlords can do something. Maybe Rivain could field some token resistance if they didn’t get hit by the Antaam too badly, but that’s kind of it IMO. This is THE time to come in and conquer(?) the land, or whatever they’re trying to do. Kill everybody?? Turn them into Darkspawn? Who knows!

Some speculation about what could be done to repel invasion:

- shit ton of blood magic

- fix titans, wake them up??? But idk if they’d be into it

- adaari, but idk if there are that many

- people with dragon blood, like the Theirins, are maybe super special and can do things?

- pirates, baby!!! Woooooo!

- I guess Mythal could know something? She can see the future a bit

- dragon army! Dragon army!!

[doomedyuri]

WYTCHWOOD GIFS ➼ [1/?]

Inside + outside of the Hag's Home.

[hyperbali]

After the final battle against Corypheus, Jeanne Amell's newly reunited and fairly eccentric family - herself, Nathaniel Howe, their daughter Dejana, Morrigan, and Kieran - were quick to leave Skyhold, sensing trouble brewing on the horizon.

For several years, they traveled the expanse of Thedas together, the elder three doing their best to raise and mentor their children - and adding yet more to the brood.

In 9:47, when Dejana was a young teen, the family stopped over in a fairly remote part of the Free Marches. Deja, as was her wont, wandered off to explore on her own, finding an ancient and rather foreboding ruin. She was almost drawn into it by a mysterious impulse - and deep inside, she found a most unusual tome.

Though Flemeth is gone from the world, vestiges of her power yet remain; not enough to command or possess, not anymore, but enough to shake. Dejana's head felt as though it were about to split from a sudden onslaught of light and heat and pain--and then all went dark...

Jeanne, realizing she'd not seen her daughter for several hours, sent Kieran to find his sister. When he came up empty-handed, the adults delved into the search. Hours turned into days... then weeks... then months...

Dejana Amell has not been seen again since.

-

In the meantime - a traveler happened upon an unconscious Deja that very eve, thinking they'd found a lost and alone child. When she woke at their camp, she couldn’t remember who she was beyond her given name, or how she got there. Still, she's always been a smart girl - and clearly brimming with magical power. Such things have their potential.

Option One: Dejana De Riva - Spellblade

Madeleine De Riva had been on her way back to Antiva after a successful assassination in Orlais. Though not exactly the nurturing type, she recognized just what a mage with some fairly impressive swordsmanship could be capable of - with the right guidance. She took the girl with her back to Antiva City, and so began the young future Crow's unforgiving and often quite dangerous training.

Option Two: Dejana Ingellvar - Death Caller

Zophiel Ingellvar, a rather accomplished necromancer of the Grand Necropolis, had been returning from an excursion to meet with what remained of the seers of Rivain. They had always been quite shrewd, pragmatic, and perhaps more than a little bit of a schemer. With the girl practically radiating dark magic with barely a blink, they knew it would be best to bring her back to Nevarra. Some of the elder necromancers might have had an issue with it, but, well... nothing some creative memory spells couldn't fix...

Option Three: Dejana Laidir - Evoker

Meenah Laidir, a Lord of Fortune with a fairly obscene reputation and following of her own, had been hoping to shake off hot pursuit from Kirkwall's city guard by way of the Vimmarks after a heist gone awry. Getting stuck with a tag-along had definitely not been part of the plan, but when the girl startled at a noise in the woods and practically called down a firestorm, what opportunist would have been stupid enough to turn up their nose at that? The rest of the crew certainly didn't seem to have any problem warming up to her, at least!

-

Even as the world seems to be falling apart yet again in its latest disaster, and an ever-rebellious Dejana pushes at every boundary and authority she can, she struggles to regain the person she once was. Senses trigger fleeting memories - the smell of warm perfumes, the low hum of an old Fereldan folk song... but still, she tries to stay focused in her newfound life.

But for the voice in her head, the wizened and wicked cackle ever ringing in her ears, and the sudden incredible compulsion she feels once more to get herself involved when she hears whispers of the Dread Wolf...

[dragonagepolls]

*I couldn’t recall if these ones get named and couldn’t find that info on the wiki, so I just named them according to their locations.  • EDIT: Via @commanderofthegrey: #the amaranthine forest is the wending wood iirc

[emmg]

WIP whenever

because @heylittleriotact uno reverse'd me lmfao

bc grading essays is overrated, so here’s a lil��� something from the ridiculous fic I’m forcing my keyboard to suffer through. Plot? Absolutely none. Just Emmrook going on “dates” (and like also… smutty dates) suggested by the other clowns haunting the Lighthouse. This one’s SUPPOSED to end in a coffee date—because Lucanis—but I haven't written that yet lol

Honestly, it’s like… smut-crackfic with necromancy puns that should be punishable by law. I keep saying I’ll write a serious Emmrich one day, but let’s be real, that day isn’t today

Anyway, title? Don’t have one. I'm just throwing a bunch of dashes and slapping a read-more right before it gets too long so it doesn't invade anyone's dash

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

It’s the most absurd scene. Like, truly bonkers. 

She hovers in the doorway, conveniently camouflaged by shadows, because though the cringe levels are searing her soul, she simply cannot look away. It’s like watching a runaway cart barreling downhill, if said cart was cobbled together with blissful ignorance and top-tier ineptitude. 

There, crammed onto Harding and Neve’s favorite tiny sofa, are Lucanis and Emmrich. And they’re... talking? Sort of? It’s the most agonizing conversation she’s ever been subjected to, and that’s saying something. Lucanis is flailing his hands around, using them more than words, trying to drive home whatever point he’s failing spectacularly to make. Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the dignified one, has one leg crossed so neatly over the other that it creates this little triangle of space that she suddenly wants to crawl into and hide from the embarrassment radiating off both of them. 

"You see," Lucanis laments, his fingers forming that universal gesture of the confused and the desperate, “we went for coffee. But she, well, threw it back. Like a shot of spirits. It was not just any brew. This was from the frost-bitten slopes of the Vimmark Mountains. A dark roast with notes of juniper and just a hint of wild honey. You don’t just drink something like that—you experience it.” He shakes his head. “Her focus was all on that new case file, instead. And fish. Fried fish."

Emmrich nods along thoughtfully. “I understand. However, if I may be so bold, Lucanis, have you perhaps thought of discussing something besides coffee? A change of topic might open new avenues.” 

"I did offer to sharpen her knives."

“Knives,” Emmrich repeats, as though weighing the term’s philosophical import. “And… Neve is known to possess a significant collection of blades?” 

“No,” says Lucanis, flat as a pancake. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, offering a sage nod. A wise and knowing “ah,” as if that somehow clarified things. "An unusual approach, then." 

Desperate to claw himself out of this conversational pit, Lucanis asks, “Well, what is it you and Rook… do?” He stumbles over the words, as though simply asking has exhausted his entire social skill set for the year. 

And now, it’s Emmrich’s turn to squirm. She can almost see his moustache twitching, wishing it could detach itself from his face and make a run for the hills. He looks away, frowning slightly, as though consulting some vast internal library.  

They don’t go on dates. Please. Not even the hilariously doomed sort that Lucanis somehow subjected Neve to. For one, neither of them has the time for candlelit strolls with the world about to be ripped apart by blighted elven gods strutting around like they own the place.

Usually, she just pops into his room and fucks him while he pontificates about the finer points of romance. Oh, she always lets him go on for a hot minute, but once her lips are on his throat and her hands start wandering further south, he finally gets the hint, and that highbrow nonsense about “dignified courtship” goes straight out the window.

Emmrich, after clearing his throat, finally answers, "We discuss books."

From her shadow, she snorts. He's not wrong, technically. Just the other night, she had perched in his lap while he was reading some dry treatise on Fade energy attunement and the properties of dawnstone. He’d even launched into a detailed explanation while she kissed her way down his jaw and neck, hardly deterred by the lecture. Finally, when her hand wandered beneath his shirt, Emmrich, after a brief struggle to finish his monologue, allowed the tome to tumble from his grip.

So yes, “discussing books” might be accurate, but it’s hardly the whole story. And yet here sits Emmrich, steadfast in his scholarly pride, while Lucanis looks ready to take a long walk off a very short pier. She’s not sure which of them is more tragic. 

“Hm,” says Lucanis, apparently having reached the absolute zenith of his conversational abilities. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, with all the enthusiasm of someone describing mildew yet also, somehow, managing to sound very polite about it. 

She saunters over to break this pathetic monotony of wall-staring both are currently engaged in.

“My dear,” Emmrich perks up, relief flooding his face as though she’s just rescued him from the depths of some social hell. His voice is full of that charming lilt he uses when he’s desperate to salvage his dignity. 

He makes a half-hearted attempt to stand, all dignified and well-bred, but she waves him off with a lazy hand, signalling him to stay seated. And stay he does. Without missing a beat, she slides into his lap, practically draping herself sideways over him, arms winding around his neck. He tenses for a moment, exhales in resignation, but eventually gives in, one hand resting at the small of her back, fingers just barely grazing the line between respectable and… well, decidedly not. 

“I hate when you do that,” Lucanis snarls from across the sofa, jabbing a finger at her. 

“Yes, it’s not very proper,” Emmrich says with solemnity, though he’s showing absolutely zero signs of protest about her whole backside pressing against him. 

With a serene, mischievous grin, she stretches her legs, casually extending them until they’re firmly invading Lucanis’ personal space. 

“Mierda,” he grumbles, swatting at her ankle with all the fervor of a cat being swiped at by an annoying feather. “Rook.” 

She just grins that beautifully infuriating grin. “Go back to your pantry, Lucanis,” she says sweetly, her tone one of pure, serene malice. “The gouda is getting lonely.” 

Lucanis stalks off, glowering as if he’d chuck a knife at her head if he had one in hand. And she’s fairly sure he would. 

She blows him a kiss. He shows her the middle finger. They’ll have coffee in the morning.

Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the portrait of indulgent patience, looks up at her from his cozy place beneath her with a satisfied hum. “How was your day, darling?” 

“Good,” she sighs, stretching further until her legs are practically colonizing whatever’s left of Lucanis’ side of the sofa. “Yours?” 

Emmrich raises an eyebrow. Makes a contemplative sound deep in his throat. “Enlightening. Lucanis and I were just having… an intriguing discussion.” 

“Oh?” she purrs, eyes glinting. “About what, pray tell?” 

“Courtship,” he says, savoring the word as though it were some priceless artifact he’s just dusted off from an ancient shelf. 

She smirks. “I’m sure you gave him absolutely riveting advice.” 

“I certainly tried.” He heaves a great sigh, even rolls a shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “Though, I fear our preferred methods diverge.” 

“‘Preferred methods’?” she echoes, giving his thigh a playful squeeze. “Do enlighten me.” 

Emmrich gives her a look that’s half-scholar, half-sufferer. “Well, I fancy a touch of romance, some… sentimentality, if you will. And Lucanis…” 

“And Lucanis?” she goads. 

“His idea of a grand romantic gesture involves… knives,” he finishes with a sigh of pure exasperation. 

She can’t hold back the snort that escapes. “I mean, yeah, it’s Lucanis. Did you expect anything different?” She presses a little closer, trouble dancing in her eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I do love talking about books with you… so very much.” 

Emmrich doesn’t miss a beat, a hint of sarcasm curling his lips. “So I’ve gathered.” 

“Tell me more about your books, Emmrich,” she coos, batting her eyelashes with all the enthusiasm of a third-rate actress in a chintzy Orlesian play. 

“If you’re genuinely interested, I would gladly oblige.” 

“Oh, I’m interested,” she purrs, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “In you talking… while you bend me over your desk.”

Emmrich rolls his eyes, his facade of feigned innocence dissolving in an instant. “There it is,” he says, shaking his head, fully resigned, and yet absolutely, unflinchingly unbothered. “Right on schedule.”

She giggles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, laughing against his skin as his mouth curves into a smile. His hand moves down her back, rubbing a little more insistently, as if he’s grounding himself—or maybe just unable to resist the urge to keep her right there. 

And she doesn’t make it easy for him. She drags her legs back, swings one over his lap, and settles herself down, straddling him. For a moment, she just studies him, tracing her fingers through his hair, brushing little gray strands back, pressing featherlight kisses along his cheekbones. She moves to his jaw, his forehead, then teases at the edge of that absurdly high collar he insists on wearing like he’s hiding some grand secret rather than just a very biteable throat. 

He is fine, she muses, is he not? So impossibly precise, so painfully detailed. He’s all sharp angles and sleek lines, with those maddeningly long fingers that look like they could carve through a mountain if they set their mind to it, and legs that seem to go on for days. Tall, lean, graceful, and—she smirks—a touch too verbose for his own good.

There’s a tragic elegance to him, too, a sort of quiet, melancholic dignity wrapped up in age and maturity, like a bottle of rare, finely aged wine that’s only gotten more complex with the years. A shame, really, that he’s about to be thoroughly enjoyed by someone who wouldn’t know a fine vintage from a spoiled ale. 

She’ll savor him all the same, every last bit. 

When she takes his hands, winding her fingers through his, she feels him smile—a real, soft thing, so she leans down and steals it right off his mouth. She licks along the seam of his lips, teasing, before he finally gives in and parts them, letting her kiss him in earnest. 

“I like your rings,” she murmurs as she pulls back, letting their mouths part with a wet pop, a little string of saliva snapping between them. “They make you look expensive.” 

“Not too expensive, I hope,” Emmrich teases. “Otherwise, I fear I’ll meet the same fate as every artifact your merry Lords of Fortune collect. Pilfered in the night, sold to the highest bidder. One moment here, the next—poof. Gone.” 

She makes a show of sighing, voice deadly serious. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d rig the auction, slip in a pretty penny or two, then plant an inside man to bid on you. Coin in one hand, you smuggled back to me in the other. All in one night.” 

He laughs, that rich, throaty sound she loves, and she can feel it rumbling up through his chest. “All that trouble just for me?” 

She leans in, lips brushing his ear. “Consider it my own little courtship ritual,” she whispers, nipping at his earlobe. “Better than dinner and a walk, don’t you think?” 

He chuckles, his hands slipping to her hips, holding her close as if he’s half-tempted to test just how well she could pull off that heist. “Dangerously persuasive, as usual.” 

For a while, she stays just as she is, savoring the closeness, every slow inhale filled with the scent of him, the warmth of his body against hers. She steals little kisses, grazing his jaw, breathing her laughter against his skin each time he starts to smile. She loves the quiet, the intimacy of it all, though she loves his voice just as much. Sometimes, she asks him to read aloud, not for the content, but for that smooth, careful cadence that rolls through her and makes her feel so, so good. She’ll rest her head in his lap, fingers idly tracing patterns on his hands, kissing his knuckles, his fingertips, watching his face as he reads. 

Now, there’s nothing for him to read, but she leans into him all the same, letting his quiet words fill the space. He murmurs, babbles, whispers soft nonsense as he unlaces her hair, fingers brushing through the waves, watching as they fall in gentle cascades over his lap. She exhales, content, her eyes half-closed, perfectly happy just to listen as his voice drifts around her, soothing and familiar. 

She simply listens, resting her head on his thigh, gazing up at the ceiling, fingers trailing over his hands, kissing his fingers one by one, lingering on each touch. Her teeth gently scrape along his skin, letting her tongue follow in a slow, winding path. She feels his breath hitch, hears him stumble over his words as she nibbles down each finger, tracing her tongue along the edge before she takes it into her mouth, sucking just enough to leave him squirming. She lets each finger slip from her lips with a wet pop, savoring the way his composure falters, how he tries—and fails—to keep his voice steady as she drags her mouth over the center of his palm, kissing, licking, leaving nothing untouched. 

He’s given up on this one-sided dialogue entirely, his gaze drifting from her to the room around them—the door, the table, the empty corners where nothing but dust bunnies, or perhaps a few stray Fade bunnies, lurk in silence. 

“Dear,” he murmurs, glancing down at her. “We ought to move.” He gives her a gentle nudge, even tries to rise himself, but she’s not having it. 

“Oh, but you look so good here,” she protests, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “They’re all asleep, Emmrich. Even Lucanis, that kitchen rat, is probably curled up in his pantry right now, snuggling his precious wheel of parmesan.” 

Emmrich lets out a long, put-upon sigh, like he’s reaching deep into his reserve of patience, maybe for some scolding remark, but he finds none. His shoulders drop as he finally relents, letting her kisses chip away at his restraint. She leans in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, detailing exactly what she wants him to do with those hands of his—where she wants those fingers, how she wants them stroking, filling, plunging, curling… 

“Well then,” he manages, and she laughs, a short, wicked little sound, straight into his mouth. 

She slips down his body, her hands already at his waist, working his trousers loose with a grin that says she knows exactly how flushed he’s become. She murmurs something obscene, barely a whisper and almost incoherent, her smirk widening as she leans in closer, taunting, “Come on, Emmrich, don’t tell me no bone was ever… poked… in that crypt of yours, right out in the open for all to see.” 

“It’s the Grand Necropolis,” he corrects, like that’ll somehow keep his dignity intact, “and we most certainly do not… poke.”

She undoes the last of the many - too many - buttons on his trousers before freeing him just enough to take him in hand. And oh, would you look at that, for all of his posturing he's already hard. All that wriggling on top of him certainly led to something, she thinks.

“Oh?” she hums, tracing her fingertips over his bare skin, savoring the way he stiffens under her touch. She leans forward, her lips brushing against his length as she murmurs, “Not even a quick tumble between the tombs? Not a single bone used for inspiration?” 

His restraint crumbles as she flicks her tongue over him, taking her time, drawing out each little shiver, each catch in his breath, making sure he’s utterly undone before she finally lets her mouth close around him, her gaze locked on his as she starts to take him deeper, her mouth warm, wet, greedy. And as she feels him sink back, his hands clenching in her hair, she knows she’s finally broken that perfect composure, and she couldn’t be more pleased. 

Then she pulls back just enough to speak. “So, tell me, is this what you meant by reanimation techniques?”

Emmrich sighs, dragging his free hand over his face as if he could somehow block out the utter cringe tumbling out of her mouth, his fingers twitching, though she doesn’t give him a moment’s peace. She lowers her head again, sucking him in, hollowing her cheeks, before releasing him yet again, his cock slipping past her lips with an obscene, wet pop. “You know," she muses, "I’d say you’re looking rather stiff.”

A sharp exhale escapes him, a half-laugh, half-moan that only encourages her further. She picks up her pace, taking him deeper, her hands braced against his hips as she moves with a steady rhythm, doing that little thing with her tongue she knows he likes, she knows that everyone likes, a talent truly, swirling all the way around, pressing it flat on the underside of his cock, only to suck her way up, breathe hot air against him, before swallowing him again. 

Between every few breaths, she pulls back just enough to taunt him, her voice syrupy with mock innocence. She can barely hold back the laughter as she watches him react, his hips bucking ever so slightly with each tease, like clockwork, so deliciously predictable. “Come on, love. I thought resurrection was your specialty?”

“Blasphemy,” he mutters above her, though there’s no real heat in his voice. 

“No, no.” She rests her cheek against his thigh, stroking him instead with a slow, deliberate touch, her palm warm and slick, her grip firm. “Think of it as… a rather intensive course in raising the dead.”

The absurdity of it hits her right as she says it—her last attempt at an erotic pun officially surpassed—and she breaks, a snort escaping as she buries her face against his leg, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

But then she feels his hands shift, pulling her up by her arms, and she yelps, startled, before giggling as he hauls her up, settling her right back on top of him. 

“That’s quite enough of that,” Emmrich whispers. 

As he catches his breath, she wipes her mouth, grinning at him with all the smug satisfaction of someone who’s just completely dismantled a man who prides himself on his restraint. She feels his fingers on her chin as he angles her face back towards his so he can kiss her and she's not shy, she tangles her tongue with his immediately, tasting as much of him as she can reach, even tracing the edge of one canine before retreating for breath. 

“Think you could, I don’t know…” She waves a hand around aimlessly. “Necromance my pants away?” 

He smiles, curling her hair around his fingers where it frames her face. “No, dear. I’m afraid that is not in my skill set.”

[mourn-and-watch]

sundermount being the tallest mountain in the vimmarks. being located probably not so far from red lyrium thaig. having a mythal altar that is important enough for her it is required to bring her out of hawke's amulet. and also being called well. sundermount. may i ask a silly question. was it a titan once

[amaryllis-sagitta]

So, where is the "secret ending" at?

This shit almost looks like some planetary alignment. We've already had Elgar'nan hasten a moon somehow to trigger the eclipse (???), but originally the gods were waiting for a celestial alignment. They needed the magical properties of an eclipse.

This kinda messes with the series' approach to the role of the hero. So far, we've had individuals rise to the occasion, however they could under their circumstances. That the Executors are actively scheming kinda shifts attention to the Kairos (the critical timing) itself and brings in a more fatalistic feel, through this supposed convergence of events into what comes next.

Yet, if we review the plot while looking at all the slides showing their influence, they mostly seem to have had an interest in the Blight.

FIve (?) priests by an altar with human sacrifice under the image of the Golden City, and the Tevinter sigil on the left - that's supposed to represent the Magisters Sidereal. They broke into the Black City, now revealed as a "quarantine zone" for the Blight. The goal might have been to free it all, but only a fraction of the Blight returned with the magisters to the world as a result. According The Dread Wolf Take You, Fen'Harel has recently thwarted another attemptto break into the Black City.

The Blighted Evanuris, imprisoned in the place of Regret, tried to control darkspawn in the world, gathering them around their Archdemons. Humanity devised a way to kill the Archdemons, and the order of Grey Wardens guarded the secret recipe and carried out the duty. Four Blights were ended with their respective Archdemons' deaths, rendering the bound Evanuris "mortal". As a result, most Evanuris might have withered away in their prison since.

It turned out that Grey Wardens kept Corypheus, one of the Magisters Sidereal, imprisoned under the Vimmark Mountains. They hired an apostate named Malcolm Hawke to renew the wards on the prison.

The Fifth Blight begun, and during the first battle of Grey Wardens aided by Ferelden and the local Circle of Magi, Teyrn Loghain ordered the retreat of his forces from Ostagar. As a result, Fereldan Grey Wardens were almost wept out. The family of THAT Malcolm Hawke was driven out of Ferelden.

Flemeth had to send her daughter and future vessel of Mythal, Morrigan, on a mission to accompany the remaining two Grey Wardens of Ostagar (and, as we learn later, to find an opportunity to carry out the Dark Ritual and purify the Old God's soul through an "Old God Baby". Thought that state was discarded in DATV). With Morrigan's defiance and drive to learn her mother's secrets, Flemeth was killed in her dragon form... or something else happened to her that prompted her "respawn" at the Sundermount in DA 2. In retrospective, there's a feeling that Flemeth being weakened somehow mattered here, and that Morrigan might have been sent away from the Korcarri Wilds as... a means of protection.

Flemeth's weird conversation with Hawke about fate and a leap into the abyss hints that she foresaw Hawke's role in The Plot. Hawke was taken to Kirkwall, where they looked for odd jobs as an immigrant and ended up going on a treasure hunting expedition in the Vimmark Mountains...

The red lyrium idol had lied dormant under the Vimmarks, inside a Titan's corpse, the presumably first discovered vein of blighted red lyrium. With DATV reveals, it doesn't seem like a coincidence that Flemythal checked up on the Dalish who lived in the area and probably also other things.

The Tethras Brothers' expedition with Hawke onboard found the idol and Bartrand stole it, having his mind twisted in the aftermath. Bartrand eventually sold the idol off to a woman who turned out to be Knight Templar Meredith Stannard herself, whose reign of mage terror and paranoia was likely fueled even further by red lyrium. These events snowballed into the doom of Kirkwall and were a major contributor to the outbreak of the Mage-Templar war.

Hawke pursued the trail of their father, and they discovered imprisoned Corypheus. Despite Hawke and Varric thinking they defeated Corypheus for good, he sneaked out, having hopped into one of the Grey Wardens present at the site.

Around the year 9:40, Fen'Harel decided he must re-join the world of living, regain his powers, and tear down the Veil ASAP. He set now-freed Corypheus onto the trail of his Orb of power. Corypheus chose the Conclave, called by Divine Justinia Vth in Haven to end the mage-tempalr war, as his opportunity to tear the Breach in the sky and return to the Black City. With the ritual interrupted by the future Herald of Andraste, Inquisition's events ensued. Fen'Harel joined the Inquisition undercover to grant them resources of his former rebellion and nudge it towards success, as he needed someone else to kill Corypheus and let him close enough to his Orb.

In the secret ending, Flemeth is shown in a slide next to Corypheus and the Breach. And we realize that, once again, Flemythal was weakened. After defeating Corypheus, it turned out that Fen'harel's orb got destroyed, and that he could not recover his powers from it anymore. In the DAI post-credit scene, he admitted his mistake of giving his Orb to Corypheus to Flemythal, and she offered him her powers (the final statuette mural in Lighthouse seems to lend this scene a tone of underlying conflict or reluctant consent on Mythal's part, rather than apology and sorrow). Flemythal with experience of entire centuries was no longer an actor in history, even if Morrigan salvaged her legacy and whatever memories of Mythal she could.

The red lyrium idol, now imbued into the red lyrium husk of Meredith, got stolen. Through trickery described in The Assassin's Tale in The Dread Wolf Take You and the intrigue of the comic books from Knight Errant to Dark Fortress, the idol found its way back to Fen'Harel's agents. It was purified into Solas's dagger, as recognized by Rook's vision of Varric in DATV.

According to Luck in The Gardens from Tevinter Nights, an eldritch being named Cekorax haunted Minrathous at some point. It was neither from "this world" nor from The Fade. It had very Void-y things to say about embracing peace in blindness.

Fen'Harel abandoned the Inquisition after Corypheus's defeat. Ten years of distractions, double crossing factions, planting his agents and work undercover followed to ensure the success of his plan. During a crucial meeting of spies at the Teahouse, he made an appearance in disguise, among agents who want to share intel... about his plans specifically. And an Executor was among them. Fen'Harel killed several birds with one stone: petrified the Executor before they revealed to others what they knew, killed the Carta assassin and the Mortalitasi. The agent of the Inquisitor begged for her life, and Fen'Harel granted it - but not before sending Charter away with a warning about the Executors. He also hinted that a greater threat to "all existence" urges him to carry out his plan no matter what.

Varric Tethras established a new network of connections that eventually discovered Fen'harel's hideaway in Minrathous in the nick of time, just as he was moving the remaining two Evanuris to a new, more stable prison before taking down the Veil for good. Rook, informed solely by Varric so far, makes a quick call to interrupt the ritual while Varric tries to talk Solas down. Events of Veilguard ensue. Having swapped with the Evanuris in the Fade prison, Fen'Harel grants the Veilguard the resources of his former rebellion and nudges Rook towards success, as long as it benefits him. He needs someone else to dispose of the Evanuris for him and get his ritual dagger back.

The Veilguard learns about the origins of the Blight and Mythal's and Fen'harel's involvement in it. In retrospective, Mythal commissioned a weapon that would stop the Titans from retaliating for the elvhen firstborn stealing lyrium to make bodies for themselves. By tearing the Titans' spirit essence ("dreams") from them, Mythal corrupted them, which spawned the Blight. Mythal buried the secret of the Blight and tried to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.

But some people might have found the Void of their own accord and splintered from the Evanuris. These were erased from history and deemed the Forgotten Ones. When Elgar'nan usurped all the power, Mythal turned her back on Fen'Harel to be closer to Elgar'nan instead, where she assessed she was more needed as the gods' Peacekeeper. Ghilan'nain joined the Evanuris in her pursuit of an ultimate transgression. Fen'Harel stepped at Elgar'nan's ego so effectively that the Evanuris wanted to embrace the blight to defeat him???? Mythal gatekept the knowledge again, so Elgar'nan got rid of her. [I'm not sure of this part to be fair, I'm probably missing something. DATV Act 2 was terribly hazy for me]

This prompted Fen'Harel to carry out the Great Betrayal, lock out the Evanuris, and quarantine the Blight in the Black City. The Veil, kept up by the Evanuris's own life force, was established together with the Black City, but it also pulled all the celestial spirit essence to stick to one area, which became the modern Fade. Thus, the Great Betrayal weakened the world's magic and doomed the elvhen race to the Quickening. It seems that Fen'Harel did not expect the full extent of the Betrayal's consequences, and the Veil was doomed to slowly deteriorate on its own anyway. As we learn, the Archdemons being killed in their respective Blights likely led directly to other Evanuris' demise. Fen'Harel feared the Wardens preventively killing the remaining Archdemons in DAI because, before taking all the "precautions" and preparations between DAI and DATV, he must have expected this to abruptly end BOTH "veils" and make the Black City burst open.

The Veilguard slays the two remaining Archdemons and two remaining Evanuris, and no matter the outcome for Solas, he is bound with his life's blood to keep the Veil up - by choice, by trickery, or by force. Wardens near Hossberg hint that the Blight might have started to respond to some other "song", that Antoine sensed underneath the Archdemon/ Evanuris song.

In his "good" ending, Fen'Harel vows to do whatever he can to soothe the sundered Titans' blighted dreams, though he cannot heal it completely. Still, his Dinan'Shiral is far from complete.

CONCLUSION: The Executors seem to show keen interest in the quotient of the Blight in the world, its power, its gatekeepers and its enemies. They might try to snatch control over the Blight once it has started to sing "something else" than the Evanuris. And thanks to a cascade of events that led up to DATV, the Taint is virtually everywhere. Its greatest gatekeeper Flemythal is no longer active and Morrimythal isn't nearly as experienced and competent to fend off cosmic threats. Fen'Harel has been bound to fuel the Veil.

PERSONAL TINFOIL THEORY: The Blight channels whatever is the strongest currently manifest will of the Void. First, it was the corrupted spirit/dreams of the Titans themselves, then, the Evanuris used the Blight as a weapon and made the Archdemons their proxies in the Blight's "song", now it can be the Executors, or the returning Forgotten Ones. Perhaps the Black City has formed a will of its own, even - the Blight eruptions we dispatched across Hossberg Wetlands seemed to be eerily more intelligent than the "regular" Blight.

[ammocharis]

One bit of obscure Dragon Age lore a day until Dragon Age: The Veilguard is released

The Shame of Serault, the lord of a marquisate in a remote western part of Orlais who reigned sometime during the Blessed Age, was an apostate mage. One time he was contacted by the Grey Wardens and travelled with them through the Deep Roads to a place in the Vimmark Mountains where he was tasked with performing a ritual to strengthen bonds that kept a unique prisoner. Only blood could renew these bonds. The prisoner, although not revealed by name, was most likely Corypheus, and the ritual - similar to that performed years later by Malcolm Hawke.

Source: Dragon Age: The Last Court - The Heartwood Feast

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[elvhenwarden]

@omgkalyppso tagged me to make some dragon age couples in this picrew

amarynthia surana × morrigan

zevran arainai × then'taren mahariel

alaois hawke × fenris

solas × cailleach

tagging @mundanewarden @vimmark @fawllyn @waterdeers @the-eldritch-it-gay ♡