#who THE FUCK is tempted to be on the templars side

[lystring]

I WANTED TO DO A FUCKING TEMPLAR ALIGNED PLAYTHROUGH JUST TO SEE WHAT ITS LIKE BUT THEY'RE MAKING IT DAMN HARD FOR ME TO DO SO

[tieflingkisser]

Stop Trying To Defeat Racism With Logic

There's a black samurai in the new Assassin's Creed game, and it has made some people mad. You simply don't have to argue about it.

The new Assassin’s Creed game is set in feudal Japan, which is cool. It stars what appears to be a female ninja and a black samurai based on the historical figure Yasuke, which is also cool. Anyone who tries to argue about whether or not that’s cool is just not worth your time. In case you haven’t been paying attention for the last ten or twenty years, video game culture tends to be a repository for the most tedious people on Earth. You know the type—these are the kinds of people who don’t consider mobile games to be “real games,” or who harass women who use their mics in online multiplayer games, or who argue about “historical accuracy” in a video game that has dragons or elves in it. These kinds of people show up in a lot of nerdy hobbies, like tabletop gaming or whatever it is people do on Letterboxd or even enjoying Greek and Roman history. From the moment that the key art for Assassin’s Creed Shadows depicted a black man in samurai garb, I knew that this particular brand of person was going to get ripshit mad. Just look at the replies to this tweet. It’s absolute nonsense in there.  The most amusing replies are the ones that take into question the, of course, historical accuracy of this character. It may be tempting to try to argue with these people, for a lot of reasons, most of all that history and facts are on your side. This character appears to be based on Yasuke, a real guy who actually existed in the historical record. He was an African retainer for warlord Oda Nobunaga, meaning that he was indeed a samurai. Yasuke is a well known enough figure that he’s the subject of a Netflix anime that is named after him. He’s also a character in Nioh, which was developed by the Japanese studio Team Ninja. You can repeat those facts until you’re blue in the face to people who are determined to be angry about a black man having a leading role in this game, but it won’t matter. You should just save your breath and look forward to seeing whether or not Ubisoft fumbles this very easy layup. Racism isn’t a logical position, so you cannot defeat it with logic. Facts just don’t matter to a racist, especially not the tedious kind of racist who makes their home in video game culture. There will always be a new hair to split, a new way for this kind of person to object to a black man being in this video game. You can bring up the other fantabulous aspects of the Assassin’s Creed franchise that clash with history: the existence of the titular Creed and the Knights Templar; whatever the fuck was going on with the Apples of Eden; the series’ depiction of Karl Marx as a devotee of democracy rather than advocating for an armed revolution of the proletariat. It does not matter because the people who are mad about this have already made up their mind.  To them, Japan is a place that does not and has never had black people live there or make their homes there at any point in time—especially in history. The anger about “historical accuracy” is just a slightly more reasonable smokescreen for their real objection: having to see a black person at all. Unfortunately, blackness and black people have always been inescapable, both now and in the past. I’m not going anywhere, and I won’t be dragged into an argument about the value of my very existence.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Olivar's Entry

Author’s Note: This is the start of a mini-arc in which Cedric will be (trying) to patch up injured Primaris Black Templars as they appear on Ancient and Holy Terra! For other adventures click here and here. Next in the series: here. Thank you @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for allowing me to borrow Hura, Zariel and Ramiel! @kit-williams Arnault and Roland are briefly mentioned

Tagged:  @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34

Warnings: non-consensual drugging, physical restraints for medical purposes, wounds, blood, needles, ask me to tag something if it bothers you/I missed it

Summary: Olivar has no idea where he is. But like hell is he going to surrender to these Death Guard Traitors. 

“Stay back, traitorous scum! You come any closer and I will kill you!” The Primaris Black Templar threatened. He was missing half his armor and his arms were shaking from the weight of the chain sword in his hands. 

The trio of Death Guard who had found the badly injured Scout-aged Templar kept the twenty-foot distance as they waited for Chief Apothecary Hura to arrive, as the ancient marine had been able to semi-domesticate two Primaris Black Templars, and it was likely that he would be able to get through to this one as well.

Darsas spoke out “Easy, young one. We mean you no harm. You’re badly injured, and swinging that sword of yours has worsened your wounds.” He was tempted to try and use one of the Gifts that Grandfather had given him, but Ancient Terra made using psyker powers incredibly difficult under ideal conditions, and in the middle of a city park against an actively resisting feral Astartes was far from ideal.

“Stay back!” The Scout hisses, swiping at Darsas as the Psyker took one step closer. His legs were shaking and he was leaning on his left side, which likely meant that his right leg was injured.

“How did you get this badly injured, little scout?” Mucinus asked, trying to rumble soothingly at the anxious young shithead. 

The Son of Down bared his teeth and growled at him before coughing, blood splattering his lips “Fuck off to whatever Warp-cursed hole you came out of! I need not explai… Explain myself to you.” The world spun unpleasantly beneath his feet and he had to plant the point of his chainsword into the soft, fertile ground to keep standing. His everything hurt from the beating that Chaplain Captain Petras had inflicted upon him for his failures. 

“You better not be riling up - oh! Hallo young one. It’s alright. From the look on your adorably stubborn face, you’re not going to let me patch you up, are you? But you’re in a bad way…” Hura cooed, walking up to near where the hissy young Black Templar was swaying, not breaching the twenty-foot radius of distance that his Brothers were keeping around the stubborn young Astartes. 

“I would rather die than let you touch me, foul heretic! I will not allow you to cor… Corrupt my body or soul with your obscene practices!” The Scout growled, taking a half-step back as he glared up at the large chaos marine. With considerable effort he heaved his chainsword up, about to press the button to let it start roaring when -

Cedric appeared out from behind the Death Guard Apothecary. He was in clothing that Olivar did not recognize. “Olivar!” His Apothecary Brother called out, running to his side, one arm coming up to brace his shoulders, his other hand plunging into the bag he was wearing. 

“C-Cedric! You’re here! Wherever… Here is… I thought we were in the Temple Monastery on Elandrich Seven…” Olivar mumbled. He wasn’t sure how or why Cedric had come to be wherever here was, but he was glad to see him. He spotted one of the Death Guard trying to creep closer and pushed Cedric behind him, pointing his sword at the bastard “Stay away! I-I will kill you! Or… Or at least banish you back to the Warp, where filthy traitors like you belong!”

“Olivar… You need treatment, you’re bleeding heavily, and -” Cedric started, pulling out a syringe filled with something, a worried frown on his face.

“But… But traitors! Heretic scum!” Olivar protested, glaring at the three… No, wait. There were four of them now, where the fuck did the fourth one go? Death Guard trying to advance on the two of them “They’ll kill us or much, much worse. I can… I can take them on. Once they’re dead, you c’n patch me up.”

“Vie… This is for your own good. Things are different here, and I hope that you’ll forgive me for this one day.” Cedric sighed, making absolutely no sense.

Olivar felt the sting of a needle and he blinked as he saw the fluid leave the syringe in Cedric’s hand, entering his bloodstream. He could taste the sedative on the back of his tongue and blinked at his Apothecary Brother in a mixture of shock and betrayal “But… But traitors.” He slurred as the sedative took its effects.

“I know… But we’re no longer in M42, and the situation here is much different.” Cedric answers, a guilty but determined expression on his face as the darkness claimed Olivar’s consciousness and mind.

~

Olivar opened his eyes and immediately regretted that decision. The hum of the artificial lights was vexing enough, the bright white glare of one of them directly into his eyeballs was a misery that the young Black Templar hadn’t been expecting. Which was why he immediately closed his eyes again. He breathed in through his nose slowly, catching the scent of antiseptics, clean bandages and wound-cleanser. The surface he was strapped down to was firm, but not uncomfortably so, and someone had draped a blanket across his body. He could hear the steady beeping of a medical monitoring device and could feel the stickiness of the spots where the machine was attached to his body.

He could taste a mixture of salt and sugar on his tongue, which likely meant that along with whatever else was in the IV hooked into his left arm, he was getting a mixture of water, salt and sugar to help with the fluid volume loss from the blood that he had shed earlier. He did not smell the fetid rot and decay of the Death Guard. While he was in pain, it was muffled, and his wounds had clearly been bandaged and probably cleaned as well.

“I know you’re awake, Scout… Or rather, you’d be an Apprentice, wouldn’t you? Being a Black Templar.” The… Ultramarine? Apothecary? Spoke up.

Olivar opened his eyes and looked in their direction. From the accent, to his looks and the armor he was wearing, the other sure looked like an Ultramarine. But considering he’d been surrounded by Death Guard and someone who had taken the shape and voice of one of his Brothers… “Where… Where am I?” He asked, his voice shaking a little more than he wanted it to. He wanted to sound demanding and fierce…Not nervous and unsure. “Where is Cedric?”

“You’re in Stoneflame Base, specifically in the medical bay. Cedric is closeby. He’s just worried that you’d be mad at him for how you ended up here, considering that he had to drug you against your will, so that he could move you to a place where you could get treatment before you died of blood loss.” The Ultramarine explained. “So I volunteered to watch over you, and to start to explain things, once you were awake and coherent enough to understand me.”

“I want to see Cedric. Which planet are we on? I don’t hear the thrum of a ship’s engine, nor the slow-pulse of a space station, so we’re planet-side. Or moon-side. What about the Death Guard? There were… Four of them? Most of them were heavily mutated and-” Olivar began in a rush. Cedric probably thought that it was best to get him to relative safety… Especially since there was apparently a base nearby, and older cousins to deal with the Foul Triators. Although he really wanted to know how the fuck he’d suddenly been brought to this world.

“We are on Terra.” The Ultramarine lied.

“There hasn’t been plant life on Terra in millenia! Except in a couple of highly climate-controlled gardens within the manor grounds of some of the HIgh Lords of Terra! Where are we really? Is this some sort of trick of chaos? You will not break my mind, nor my will. Drop this illusion at once, foul heretic!” Olivar growled. There was no way that he could possibly be on Holy Terra right now. The very thought of Traitors being on Terra without being immediately surrounded and pummeled to death was horrifying.

“We are on Terra in M3.” The Ultramarine explained “I myself was brought to this era on Terra from M37, from a world trillions of light years and many decades of warp-travel away from Terra. There are Astartes from many chapters and even some legions from just after the creation of the Terran-born Legionnes Astartes at the tail end of the Unification Wars, to you, who comes from M42 and are a Primaris Marine.”

Olivar wanted to deny the ludicrous words coming out of the clearly mad Ultramarine’s mouth… But the more he talked, the more that the young Black Templar realized that this son of Guilliman… Genuinely believed every word that he said. Furthermore, despite the sheer impossibility of this being possible… He found himself believing what the other was saying. “But… Why was I brought here? What purpose does it serve?”

“None of us know the answer to those questions, young one.” The Ultramarine murmured, moving closer and gently patting Olivar on his uninjured shoulder. “Cedric asked me to remind you that all of your injuries have been patched up to the best of our abilities, and that you will continue to receive proper medical treatment for them.”

Olivar swallowed hard. Cedric knew from whom these injuries came from, and the protocol that he was supposed to follow. “... I’d like to hear that from Cedric himself, please. And to speak with him. Privately, if that’s allowed.”

“Alright.” The Ultramarine responded, sending a message off on his wrist-mounted vox.

Cedric was in the room less than a second later. He looked equal parts relieved and regretful “Olivar, I’m glad to see that you’re awake. It was a little touch and go there for the first few hours after I got you to the base.”

Olivar tried to reach out to his Brother, but the restraints on his arms and wrists kept him from moving very far “I… Is the Ultramarine telling the truth? About where and when we are?”

“Yes. Yes he is.” Cedric answered, tears shining in his eyes as he knelt down next to the other’s bed, gently squeezing Olivar’s hands “There is… Much more to explain to you. About how things are supposed to work in this time period on Holy Terra, but that can wait, until after you’ve healed up, fully.”

“May I please be let out of these restraints? I promise not to make a break for the door. I’m not sure how quickly I could move right now, anyways. The-... I think all four of my lower leg bones were fractured during the… While I got my injuries.” Olivar asked. He noted that the Ultramarine hadn’t left the room, and he didn’t want to admit out loud how he had gotten his injuries. Not when it was abundantly clear to Olivar that Cedric had hidden the truth from them.

Probably so that he could tend to his injuries without them both being punished more. Which would be incredibly risky, if they were still in M42, and could be found by him or one of their harsher firstborn older brothers. 

“Sure thing. The others were worried that you might be fighty when you first woke up, given how I had to bring you in. You promise not to make trouble on purpose if I undo your restraints?” Cedric explained, an apologetic note in his voice.

“Yeah, alright. I promise to behave.” Olivar murmured “The… The Ultramarine implied that there were other Primaris Marines in this time and on Terra… Do you know who any of the others are? Or how many of us there are?”

“Including you and me? As far as I know, there are six Primaris marines in M3 Holy Terra.” Cedric answered as he carefully undid Olivar’s restraints. He paused for a moment before continuing “There’s Ollie, who’s an Ultramarine, Jophie, who’s a Blood Angel, Claude who was sent to a Raven Guard Successor Chapter, and…” His voice caught for a moment, blue eyes knowing and sad “Ramiel.”

“As in… As in Judiciar Ramiel? Fellow Black Templar?” Olivar asked, keeping his voice calm and neutral. He didn’t blame Ramiel for the part he’d been forced to play in his punishment.

“Yes.” Cedric answered, still watching him closely. 

Olivar reached up and gently tapped all-clear on one of Cedric’s hands, hoping that the other took it to mean that he didn’t blame Ramiel, nor was he upset at him for what he’d been forced to do. “Hey… S’nice to know that there are other Black Templars around. What about Firstborn Brothers?”

Cedric relaxed fractionally “This base is a mix of Salamander and Imperial FIst, actually. Though there are some Ultramarines as well. Like Apothecary Zariel for example. There are a couple of firstborn Black Templars who live in the city as well, but most Black Templars roam around Holy Terra in small groups, which they-we call Crusades, but everyone else calls Warbands. Both Bruder Roland and Bruder Arnault - the Emperor’s Champion - are wonderful! Very kind and patient.”

Olivar gasped a little at that revelation, his eyes going wide with surprise and hope. “Oh… I… Do you think that they would be amenable to meeting me, when I am healed up? It would be an honor to meet them both.”

Cedric’s smile brightened and Olivar could tell it was a genuine one, free of the usual nervousness of meeting Firstborn Brothers “I will ask them but I am  quite sure that their answers will be an enthusiastic yes. They are both very caring older bruders.”

Olivar blinked back tears. The pain relievers that he’d been given must be wearing off, which was why there were tears in his eyes. Relief and hope filled his hearts “I… I look forward to meeting them. Is Ramiel nearby? I’d… I’d like to talk to him, if he’s not too busy. The last conversation I remember having with him was… Fraught, and I’d like to apologize for being rude.”

Cedric’s smile shifted into something sadder, but understanding. “I’ll go get him. He’s been wanting to talk to you too, since he found out that you were here.” He stood up and Olivar grabbed one of Cedric’s hands.

“I… Can’t you vox him, asking him to come here? I’d… Rather not be this hurt by myself, bitte.” Olivar asked. He did not trust the strange Firstborn marine not to do anything strange, either. 

Cedric sighed a little before answering “I don’t have a vox, actually. I arrived on Ancient Terra in my sleeping clothes. But-” He turns and addresses the watching Ultramarine “Zariel, would you please vox Ramiel for me and Vie?”

“Sure thing, Cedric.” The Ultramarine responds, sending off a text message.

Seconds later, Ramiel bursts through the doors, skidding to a halt in front of Olivar’s bed. “Vie! You… You’re… I-I’m-”

Olivar cuts him off before he could say something that might get all three of them into shitloads of trouble “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Rami. I was the one in the wrong, during our… Argument, earlier. I shouldn’t have escalated things to the point they got to, and I’m glad that you did what you did to try and alleviate the situation. I’ll do my best to work on my temper, while I’m on Holy Terra. I hope, in time, I can earn your forgiveness, though I know it’s not something you would ever owe me.” He means every word of this, and, with effort, heaves himself up into a full sitting position and grabs one of Ramiel’s hands, squeezing gently. “What happened was not your fault.”

Ramel’s eyes widened and he clambered up onto the bed, burying his face into one of Olivar’s shoulders, silently sobbing into him, hugging Vie as tightly as he dared to, making sure not to agitate his injuries further, whispering “Th-thank you Olivar… I… Still… I’m so sorry…” 

“As I said before, what happened wasn’t your fault, Rami. I forgive you.” Olivar murmured just as quietly, holding his distraught brother in as tight a hug as his badly injured arms could manage. 

Cedric was standing so that his body was physically blocking  the Ultramarine’s sightline as Olivar and Ramiel hugged. His voice was a bit louder than it needed to be as he asked “I do have a couple of questions, Apothecary Zariel. When do you think it will be time to release Olivar from the infirmary?”

“That depends on how quickly he heals up. We Astartes are hardy and heal much faster than baseline humans - and from my anecdotal study of you and your fellow Primaris marines, you’re able to heal faster than us, somehow, given how badly he’s injured… It’s going to be at least a month before he’ll be allowed to leave the med-bay.” Zariel pointed out, a small frown on his face. He continued his assessment “Two of his lungs were punctured in several places, and both his Oolitic kidney and secondary heart sustained crushing damage. With careful monitoring and proper nutrition he should recover fully, but it’s going to be a long process. It’s remarkable he’s as coherent as he is, given the serenity of his wounds.”

“I’ve told you before that we Primaris marines are very hardy. We were built that way by the Mechanicus.” Cedric answered, shifting a little. 

“Yes, you have. But what you haven’t told me, if how he got those wounds. From the way you lead his initial treatments, you knew exactly how much damage he had taken and where he had been critically wounded.” Zariel pressed, frowning a little.

Cedric tried and failed to suppress the flinch before deciding to answer the question without actually answering the question “This is not the first time I’ve seen him with these exact wounds. It’s just… The first time around, we were both in M42 and I was unable to save him with what I had available to work with. Here in M3 not only was I better provisioned, I had your help and the help of several other highly qualified and experienced Apothecaries to save his life this time.”

Zariel’s gaze softened a little at his words. “I see. Well, I have paperwork to do. Please monitor our injured patient for me, hmm? I’ll send one of the others to relieve you in a few hours. And you will be relieved so that you can sleep. You’ve been awake for over 72 hours and that’s no good for anyone, be they Astartes or baseline.”

Cedric sulked at Zariel, huffing “I can go much longer without sleep without being detrimentally affected! … But I do understand that sleeping regularly is optimal for one’s mental and physical well-being.”

“Good lad. If you weren’t going to see reason I was going to involve Ash’val or sic Hura on you.”  Zariel hummed, heading for the door.

“Noooo! You don’t need to get Hura involved! You know how much he enjoys terrorizing Black Templars.” Cedric protested, sulking a little, keenly aware of how he’d handled those pushy Firstborn Black Templars a little while ago, and worried that his presence might wind up Olivar more than he would be helping.

“Then sleep properly, and I won’t have to.” Zariel threatened with a gentle smile before leaving the medical bay, allowing the trio of young Brothers to reconnect in relative privacy.

[sol-consort]

Well, Solas and Gaia kissed (I locked in the solas romance), and it was good, and now he calls me "my heart" occasionally and I like that but I'm still waiting for him to crack my back like a glow stick and shove his magic staff up my coochie wizard style. But also, I feel guilty because I'm planning an "exit strategy" by flirting with Cullen in case things go bad so I can rebound with Cullen in case anything happens. I mean, everything's going good rn (almost too good 🤔) but, I've seen so many people saying that the Solas broke them and even you warned me about him so I'm scared, like I'm extra sensitive I cry watching max and ruby, I cried when Ashley and Shepard reunited in me2, I cried playing Andromeda becauseit was set 6000 years after the og mass effect trilogy. My point is I get heartbroken really easily, so I'm worried, I'm shaking in my boots, I'm clutching my metaphorical rosary, waiting for something to go wrong. If I was smart, I would probably leave at the first sign of trouble, but knowing myself, I will probably stick it out for the angst and then complain about it later.

AN EXIST STRATEGY i can't

honestly, I'd be lying if I said i don't do the same thing. Always keeping a side hoe in case things go south with the main babe. That was Jacob for me in ME2, I went as far as his romance allowed, broke up with him, then dated Garrus as far as his romance allows, broke up with him, then finally locked in with Thane. Man, that is one awkward ship crew I tell you.

I'm trying to like Cullen but it's...eh. Like a human noble is his ideal partner and guarantees the best ending but I'm not getting the appeal about him. He's like Any other frat fuck boy, except his frat is the templars with a strick moral code. You can go to any bar during football season and spot 7 of him there.

Maybe I just don't know him enough well? Josephine's comment stuck with me, the law of instrument one "If the only tool you have is a hammer, it is tempting to treat everything as if it were a nail."

Also, because it's EA and Bioware, I'm lowkey worried his romance will have reinforced gender stereotypes, and I'll be treated as The Wife™

Kaidan romance didn't have that problem, but he was soft and into stronger women, Idk if it's applicable here. I swear Cullen's insta following page would be filled with those "alpha" type pages who post about "cultured men" and "embrace your inner sigma" I also installed a mod to give his face a slight tan bc he looked like uncooked raw chicken breasts. And shiny new armour.

For now, I'm flirting with Casaandra and having the time of my life. The flirting is basically me gawking at her swinging swords so powerfully and her getting flustered and saying nonono it's nothing special. She's an idealist with a kind heart I'm on my knees. Also new armour mod.

Josephine might be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and her cleverness. Oh my god. I want her biblically. I installed so many pretty dress mods for her! I cycle through them and feel my soul heal whenever I visit her. She's the one I like most so far, I might lock in with her after taking a spin or two around.

[fandom-geek]

anyway just realised i completely forgot to make a post abt completing the first part of the arl of redcliffe quest and the broken circle, so thoughts!

...i had completely forgotten that alistair does know who his dad is.

on that note, alistair does say that duncan also knew, but it's not entirely clear if alistair told him (and duncan pretended not to know already), if the reverend mother told him (and he pretended not to know already), or if duncan was actually transparent about already knowing but just didn't say how.

alistair also gave me the quest about finding goldanna, which again makes me think abt fiona. when he eventually finds out that his mother is actually an elven mage who is alive, he's gaining a living mother and losing a sister who... doesn't want anything to do with him (from what i recall), but is still alive and has her own kids. which isn't necessarily much, but when alistair's spent most of his life thinking that she's his only relative, that's some complicated grief to have. especially if he finds out that duncan did know abt him and promised to look after him secretly (as per the calling).

anyway - back to the quests!

defending redcliffe was. a pain. the mayor did not survive, despite me turning on easy mode. i was tempted to try a few times to get the cutscenes for "you saved everyone" but i hate the long walk between the two fights so fuck that. rip mayor dude, you were decent.

the redcliffe sideplots! hi bella and kaitlyn! i not-so-immediately showered them in gold so they can both yeet away to denerim. apparently i may have fucked up getting kaitlyn's "marry bann teagan" ending by not buying the sword, but i also gave her a ton of money so who knows. we'll see when i get to the epilogue. also yeeted the blacksmith's daughter back to her dad, so i've finished all the redcliffe side quests i actually care about that are the most significant.

you know how i was complaining abt veilguard because of eurogamer's review of the press demo the other day? there's a good chance that plots like bella and kaitlyn will be non-existent there given the "can't really interact with any random city npcs". so. that'll be a fuckin tragedy if that's the case. same for the whole of redcliffe, actually - even if they're not questgivers or lack extended dialogue, it's a town that actually feels like a town thanks to the variety of npcs you have.

redcliffe castle wasn't too painful to get through, and it's actually pretty interesting in hindsight of the later games. connor, unlike wynne (who we shall meet shortly), cole and anders, is kinda our foremost example of an abomination actually living up to their name. and the boy is creepy, even if him making bann teagan dance is lowkey hilarious. sorry teagan.

i had completely forgotten how alistair goes from "he's an abomination, we must kill him D:" to "...we can save him? oh thank fuck". it's pretty interesting that despite being raised as a templar against his will, he'll repeat the chantry's stance at first but he's immediately pretty glad if you offer a reasonable alternative - no matter how much it stands in opposition to the chantry.

broken circle time!

it's very funny how your introduction to the templars is "all the mages are corrupted and lost to demons.... we must kill them" only to immediately go through and realise they've managed to clear a section, courtesy of wynne and her spirit of faith. i reblogged a piece of meta abt this a while ago, but this quest is nowhere near as morally grey as some ppl make it out to be. the templars are practically buffoons (with some having the excuse of being tortured) who do literally nothing to solve the situation, while the mages are actively risking their lives to save each other. cullen is just... urgh. it says something that wynne is willing to defend him by saving he's been tortured, and the fucker doubles down on his "murder all mages, even the kids" rhetoric. i really hate that bioware retconned his endings from da:o.

it's kinda a shame that despite alistair telling you that the templars are addicted to lyrium, it never actually comes up in the broken circle. cullen being tortured and in withdrawal would be a bit more interesting to explore, but idk. would it be insane of me to draw a parallel between a tortured cullen thirsting for blood and a contemporary usa jumping to indiscriminate warfare over 9/11? .... yeah? ok, fair enough

wynne, my beloved! i hadn't realised how blatant it is almost from when you meet her that she's been possessed by a spirit to help her keep working past her own literal death. she also immediately adds a much calmer adult voice to the party, even if i wanted to yeet morrigan into the abyss with the "survival of the fittest [and none of the circle mages are it]" bullshit she kept spewing when we first met wynne. darling, please get over your elven-god-mother's brainwashing some time this game, it's deeply frustrating

(also, morrigan gave me her quest to steal flemeth's grimoire while murdering her mum! wooooooo!)

the fade is the fade. mildly less tedious with a guide in hand, but annoying as hell. i conceptually get what bioware was going for - the companions' nightmares and the shapeshifting are both fascinating narratively and gameplay-wise, but the trudge to get there is frustrating as hell. there's a line btwn purely linear levels and forcing ppl to slowly backtrack a ton, and this doesn't achieve anywhere near the balance it needs. though it does reinforce that the mages are significantly more willing to save each other, regardless of the risks to themselves.

oh, and it always cracks me up how much weisshaupt looks like ostagar. i know they only had so many tilesets for decorating, but the main part looks practically identical to the raised platform/lower hall where you meet alistair and later having the meeting with loghain/cailan.

i burnt through health poultices like no one's business on this level, so the final boss was fun. not actually that bad, but i had to seriously micromanage the party's healing post-fade onwards. plus preventing him from corrupting the mages is hilariously easy once you've got the litany.

managed to run into zevran on the way back to redcliffe (and stopped by honnleath too), so now i've got another rogue and shale. i get there's plenty of worldbuilding reasons for you to have less mages than rogues/warriors but with my poor cousland also being a rogue, this party feels insanely rogue heavy.

camping was also pretty funny, bc wynne basically threw a ton of her major dialogue conversations at me back to back. alistair also snogged my cousland despite much teasing, so that was fun. speaking of things i had forgotten, i had definitely blanked on zevran's backstory in the crows frequently involving torture as a training method. wonder if they'll include that in veilguard since one of your companions is the grandson of the head crow (i fucking doubt it).

back to redcliffe - not much to say except the fade section here is pretty interesting. it's heartbreaking that saving him means damning him to the circle but hey, at least he's only stuck there for the next seven years! given his age, he probably doesn't even go through the harrowing before the circles dissolve.

[mywitchcultblr]

Coryphaeus x Inquisitor. Winners takes all. NSFW. Proceed with caution

Throne sex, fingering, public sex. Trans!Inky

Alternative universe where Francois (rebel mage Inquisitor was taken to Kirkwall circle when he was 15 and then YEARS LATER when he's 24 he accidentally freed Coryphaeus when he was on the run from templars. The chantry's brutality backfired on them as Coryphaeus won the war )

"Daddy, would you fuck me in front of those clerics? On the sunburst throne? I want them to watch as I cum on their precious stupid chair. Please please please."

The mage begged, white eyelashes fluttered and fair cheeks burned with desire.

Francois's desire knew no bounds, sometimes, even Sethius couldn't keep up with him.

Poor thing, he desperately needed carnal pleasure and any other hedonistic self indulgence to keep away those dark, disturbing memories from destroying his fragile mind.

Nine years of suffering in Kirkwall circle would be enough to drive anyone into the brink of insanity and self destruction. It was only Francois's unbroken will to free the mages and many other people that kept him going.

Such willpower and and passion... Tempting.

Coryphaeus smirked a bit, eyes scanned the room. Several grand clerics and sisters were huddled together on the floor with chains and shackles binding them to the pillars,watching him and Francois with a horrified expression

Their fear and despair were delectable, the sweet taste of victory. The atmosphere was so thick with fright and emotional turmoil, choking him and touching his soul. Coryphaeus threw his head back a bit, groaning in pleasure.

Oh... How he loved to feed on those pathetic mortal's distress. Coryphaeus climbed the stairs and sat upon the cracked and broken sunburst throne, then patted his lap. "Come here."

Francois grinned, blue eyes glistened with manic joy as he rushed towards the man who had saved his life from Alrik and the templars. He sat on Coryphaeus's lap, dangling his legs like an overly excited child waiting for a sweet treat. Indeed, a sweet treat he shall have soon...

Coryphaeus untied the silk sash around Francois's waist, ripped apart the belt and then told the younger human to take off his trousers which Francois was more than happy to do, exposing his private area for all of the defeated chantry people to see. Francois chuckled at the Horror... Disgust and lust that crossed the faces of his enemies, his former slavers.

The rebel mage raised an eyebrow.

"What? None of you have ever seen a cunt before? I thought clerics love to diddling young mages without their consent because we are 'worthless maleficar' right? Especially you Abenth and Sister Gertrude. Oh... Don't cry it's too late to feel any kind of shame."

A former knight-commander from Ferelden spat on the marble floor, his half burned and bruised face contorted in rage.

"You are a monster, disgusting! I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

Francois threw his head back, laughing while leaning against Coryphaeus who was as equally umused by this morbid situation.

"Oh! You should have tried harder! Our last fight was terribly boring." Francois spread his legs apart, exposing his entrance which dripping with desire. Beads of clear fluid leaking from the throbbing folds, begging for stimulation.

The knight-commander tore his gaze away, unable to bear witness to this senseless voyeuristic and blasphemous display anymore.

"How could you? I thought you were on our side."

Now, it was Francois who blistered with rage. He leaned forward a bit, ready to pounce end the former templar in front of him but Coryphaeus grabbed his arms and pulled him back. "ON YOUR SIGHT?! AS IF TEMPLAR DOGS LIKE YOU AND THE FUCKING CHANTRY ARE EVER ON THE MAGES AND OTHER PEOPLE SIDE'S! YOU ARE AN IDIOT FOR TRUSTING ME SO EASILY! IF YOU WANTED TO BLAME ANYONE FOR WHAT HAPPENED, YOU SHOULD BLAME THE CHANTRY! NOW SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

The Elder One rolled his eyes, he adored Francois's fury and passion but it wasn't the time for yet another storm of rage and shouting, they were supposed to enjoy this sweet sweet victory after nearly a year of war.

Coryphaeus slid a finger into Francois's vaginal canal, rubbing the sensitive flesh in a slow circular motion which made Francois gasped and bucked his hips. The Elder One pressed his thumb on the clitoris and Francois cried out as loud as he could as he arched his flexible body, eyes rolled back in pleasure. "S-Sethius!"

"I thought you wanted to desecrate this throne."

"Y-Yes! OH YES YES! LET ME RUIN THIS STUPID PIECE OF JUNK! I WANT TO DESTROY EVERYTHING ABOUT THE CHANTRY AND THE MAKER! OH! HARDER!"

The former magister smirked before he bit into Francois's neck while his finger continued to rubbing and flicking his lover's clitoris. The younger mage panted, milky-white thighs trembling, barely able to support himself anymore. His vaginal muscle spasmed as he clenched around Corypheus's long finger.

"Pathetic, one finger in and you are already acting like a beast in rut."

"Oh! Darling! Darling! I-I mean it's yours! It's you who are doing it to me! In public nonetheless! Can't you even blame me for lacking in control?"

Coryphaeus grunted, the corner of his deformed lips twitched into a thin smile.

The former magister plunged his finger deeper into Francois's entrance, exploring it's depth and rubbing the soft flesh as if there was no tomorrow. "Squirt for me. Do it."

Francois was barely coherent, the thrill and joy from subjugating Orlais was still raging within his heart and now he and Sethius were desecrating the symbol of Andrastianian religion. Two 'maleficar' ruined the sunburst throne with sexual fluid and blight reduction

It sent him into a frenzy of pleasure and unbearable joy! It was better than when he decapitated Gaspard's head and cut Justinia in half! Francois tweaked his own hard nipples, pinching and pulling on them as Sethius continue to rub his vaginal walls, the rebel mage cried out, louder than ever as a large amount of clear liquid squirted out of his entrance, dripping into the broken throne.

@imavillainsimp

[satanic-fruitcake]

OK, so here are some more questions for your Xavier Lavellan! :D

What is his character development like over the course of the game? I am eternally curious :D

And some more from the OC asks:

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

Does your OC have recurring themes in their nightmares?

What demon would your OC be most susceptible to and how would the demon best tempt/manipulate them?

What is your OC’s proudest moment?

Thoughts on the mage/Templar conflict?

Thoughts on the Dalish?

I am looking foward to your answer! But as always, if there's any question you don't feel like doing or something, no pressure at all! :) Hope your playthrough with him is going well!

Hi again! Thanks for the ask! :D Answers below since I feel like you’re the only person interested who follows me and I don’t wanna clog up anyone’s dash :)

Character development

Ah, you noticed the differences! The Zav (his preferred nickname) I described in the most recent ask was him towards the end of the game, when he was happier. And at the beginning he was more like how I described him in the Introduction Post. He had never even met the happy, fun side of him before joining the Inquisition and his found family, and he’s very grateful.

Does he have reoccurring themes in his dreams? He sees his younger sister a lot, she is always around the age of 10 in his dreams, even though she’s only 4 years younger than him. Also nugs, for some odd reason.

Does he have a reoccurring theme in his nightmares? He relives the night angry, racist humans attacked his clan often. There were no deaths, thank the Gods, but the screams were still fresh in his mind. One of his friends was injured, as well, it wasn’t lethal but she never walked the same.

What demon would he be most susceptible to? How would they manipulate him? Desire, probably. Embarrassing as it is to him, all he ever wanted was to loved. They would have him easily if they said the right thing, and he knows it. He’s glad he isn’t a mage, or the threat would be much worse, he’s sure he’s be an abomination by now, if he was.

What’s his proudest moment? Closing the breach? Or perhaps the fact that he was chosen by the Keeper to go to the conclave in the first place. Or maybe the first time Sera called him her friend :) Im sorry, this question has me stumped!

Thoughts on the Mage/Templar conflict? He doesn’t get it. He barely knew anything about Templars before leaving his clan! He can’t wrap his head around how ANYONE could think it’s ok for mages to be locked up their whole lives.

Thoughts on the Dalish? He obviously didn’t have a negative opinion on his own people, but he sometimes felt like most of them were too serious. Sure, history and tradition are important, but for fucks sake, some of them needed to move one and think about the future instead. Reminiscing for a time they weren’t even alive for made no sense to him.

[ragingbookdragon]

Enemies To Lovers To Married

A Haytham Kenway x Reader One-shot

Word Count: 1,730 Warnings: Explicit Language (A lot lol), and kinda saucy?

Author’s Note: Straight up was tempted to call this, ‘Watch Your Profanity’, not gonna lie. Enjoy! -Thorne

“Aye, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to do a speech.” The Irishman chuckled nervously, glancing at the crowd. “I don’t know if I’ve got a good one prepared.”

           The crowd laughed with him and a voice piped up, “Do your best Shay. I’ll fill in where you lose track.”

           Another ripple of chuckles sounded through the audience and Shay looked down at the woman dressed in a beautiful white gown. “That you will, (Y/N).” His eyes drifted back to the crowd and he quipped, “You know, I expected to be Haytham’s best man, but I didn’t count on having to be my best friend’s maid-of-honor too.” Howling laughter spread through the room and he eyed the couple who were almost in tears at that point; Shay smiled. “I guess I should start with the moment the two of them met.”

***

           He let out a long sigh, relaxing into the chair as the spiced wine warmed his body. A snort sounded beside him. “Comfortable, Shay?”

           His eyes opened and he lolled his head enough to see the man sitting at the head of the table. “Aye, Master Haytham…I am.” Shay crossed a heavy leather boot over the other. “I feel like it’s been years since I sat down and actually enjoyed a drink.”

           Haytham hummed in agreement, taking a sip of his own wine. “I concur. It’s been awhile since I haven’t had so much to take care of.” His steel eyes drifted to the Assassin-Hunter. “You’ve taken on quite a load of work since joining the order.”

           Shay nodded, crossing his arms comfortably across his chest. “Aye. I know Colonel Monro must’ve spent a great deal of resources to get me in. I’d like to repay it back.”

           “You seem to keep the opinion that you owe everyone something.” Haytham regarded him with a knowing look. “Keep that mentality, and it’ll be the end of you.”

           “I don’t know about that sir. I seem to—”

           His words were cut off by the tavern doors slamming open against the walls, followed by an enraged voice. “Where the hell is he?! I know he’s in here!”

           Their attention turned to the entrance and they saw a young woman entering, eyes wildly following the crowd until they landed on the two Templars.

           She raised her sword to them, no, Shay and shouted, “You absolute fucker!”

           The Irish Templar rose, partially elated, the other half shocked. “(Y/N)! You’re back!” She started after him menacingly, and immediately he backpedaled, shifting until Haytham was between the two of them. “Wait lass, I know you’re upset! But—”

           “Upset?!” She howled. “I get back from a three-year deployment in Europe to find that you’ve fucked off and joined the Templars! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” His mouth opened but she pointed the sword at him again. “Don’t answer that you jackass! It’s fucking rhetorical! I already know what’s fucking wrong with you!” Her eyes momentarily drifted to the Grandmaster sitting rather bewildered between the arguing two. (Y/N) smiled, rather politely saying, “Afternoon, Grandmaster Haytham.”

           He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Good afternoon.”

           (Y/N) looked back at Shay. “When I get a hold of you—”

           “Just let me explain!” Shay shouted, hands raised in defense. Before she could reply, he speedily stated, “Long story short, the Assassins are meddling with Precursor temples and causing devastating earthquakes and they won’t stop! I tried to leave with the information, and they shot me in the back and left me for dead!”

           Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you lying to me, Shay Patrick Cormac?”

           He shook his head. “Never.” (Y/N) lowered the sword and Shay cautiously stepped around the table, though his hands were still raised defensively. “You know me, (Y/N). I’d never lie to you.”

           She stared at him for a moment then dropped the sword and jerked forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. “God, you fucking idiot.”

           Shay smiled, wrapping his arms around her back. He buried his face in her hair. “I know, I know.”

           “I was so fucking worried about you when I got back. Achilles and Hope and Liam, all of them spouting three different versions of the same story and you were nowhere to be found.”

           “Aye,” he murmured, heart hurting at the mention of his old friends. “I know.”

           (Y/N) pulled away and grasped his shoulders, staring him straight in the eyes, before inquiring seriously, “Is this the best path for you, Shay?”

           His expression turned solemn and he said, “It’s the only one I can now walk.” She watched him a moment then pulled away and reached down, undoing the sash that carried her Assassin symbol on it. “Lass?” he questioned.

She didn’t say anything, simply walking over to the fire, the people moving out of her way instantly, and threw it in, watching it burn. (Y/N) took a deep breath and let her shoulders fall, before moving back over to him. “Then it’s one I’ll walk alongside you.”

           Shay’s eyes went wide and all he could say was her name. “(Y/N).”

           Her eyes drifted to Haytham and she nodded at him. “Permission to be assigned to the Morrigan, Grandmaster.”

           Haytham regarded her with a suspicious look. “I don’t know if you’re trustworthy yet. But before I even get to that, your language is utterly deplorable for a lady.”

           Shay’s jaw dropped and he looked at the leader of their order. “Sir, I wouldn’t—”

           (Y/N) leaned forward, swiping Haytham’s wine glass from it’s resting table. She downed it in one go and set it back down, retorting, “Then I guess your tight-ass should get used to it.”

           “Excuse me?” Haytham dared.

           She nodded. “You’re excused bitch. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

           Shay put his head in his hands, deadpanning, “Oh dear God.”

***

           “And honestly, I’m entirely surprised the two of them managed to even form a relationship, because she made Haytham so angry that he challenged her to a duel less than ten minutes after that. And I still don’t know who won it!”

           The crowd roared with laughter, looking towards the couple who were sitting with their heads in their hands, shoulders shaking with humor. (Y/N) was the first to look up. “I can’t believe that’s what you started with!”

           Shay shrugged and a grin crossed his lips. “What else was I supposed to start with? The time you two got into a fistfight over social etiquette?” He gestured to the two of them. “I swear to God the two of you turned to love through hate.” His eyes went wide, and he looked at the audience, gasping, “It’s an enemies to lovers story!”

           The crowd went wild at that and Haytham looked up, his cheeks tinged red with embarrassment. “Don’t you have any other story to tell?”

           The Irishman looked at them and smirked. “Oh, I’ve got loads.” He turned to the crowd. “Let me tell you how (Y/N) proposed in the middle of a hurricane while we were fighting another ship.”

***

           The door shut behind them and before he could even ask her how she was feeling, she was faceplanting onto the bed, a muffled groan resounding from her. Haytham chuckled and sat down at the foot of the bed, unlacing his shoes. “Tired, darling?”

           (Y/N) made no effort to move save for turning her head to look at him. “Mhm…and drunk.”

           He smiled and pulled a boot off before toeing the other one in suit. “You did drink quite a bit with Shay.”

           “Irish tradition.” A smirk crossed her lips and she playfully quipped, “Why? Jealous?”

           A rare snort came from him and he looked back at her. “Hardly.”

           “Oh ho?” she dared. “And what makes you so confident?”

           Haytham laid back against the bed, gazing into her eyes. “Because I’m the one who holds your heart in my hands.” (Y/N)’s mouth fell open and she simply stared at him; he reached up, the back of his fingers brushing her cheek as he admitted, “I never thought I’d meet another who understood me like you do, (Y/N).” He sighed. “I…am not the easiest man to be with. Your life will be difficult as my wife. Not just with the elite, but with the Order. We will sometimes have to make difficult choices. Ones we would regret for the rest of our lives if we had to do so.” He met her eyes once more. “And yet…I can’t bring myself to admit that I would willingly choose them over you.” He rolled on his side, cupping her cheek with his hand. “You change…everything (Y/N).” A tear fell across his thumb and he wiped it away. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

           (Y/N) shook her head, shutting her eyes as more tears fell. “No,” she murmured, “I’m not sad.” She opened her eyes and brought her hand up, cupping his cheek in a mirrored movement. “I’m just…” Her words fell short.

           “Just…what?” Haytham inquired.

           (Y/N) swallowed thickly, admitting, “I’ve never been so loved before.” A smile grew on her lips. “I’m simply overwhelmed with emotion.”

           “Good, I hope?”

           “Always.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, murmuring, “Or maybe you’re just super fucking drunk and sappy.”

           Haytham pulled away and barked a laugh. “Now there’s the (Y/N) I know.”

           (Y/N) giggled and pulled away, beginning to undo the laces of her dress. “You were just waiting for me to use profanity, weren’t you, Haytham?”

           “You wouldn’t be you if you couldn’t say fuck.”

           Her head whipped up from her unlacing, a shocked look on her face. “I am shocked and scandalized, Haytham Kenway, did you just say what I think you said?”

           He offered her an innocent look. “I don’t have the slightest idea about what you’re talking about, (Y/N).”

           She scoffed and forwent her laces, climbing onto the bed beside him. “No, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You just said fuck.”

           “I would never.”

           “Bullshit.”

           “Such profanity from my darling wife.”

           “Oh, you haven’t heard profanity yet, my darling husband.”

           Haytham’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he leaned towards her, but she fell back against the pillows. He followed her, trapping her beneath him. “Oh? And when will I hear such profanity?”

           (Y/N) grinned and raised a hand, tipping his chin up as she retorted, “When you fuck me.”

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

who did u romance in DAI?? i usually do the iron bull 😳

Okay, let’s talk DAI romance~

So I finally got into Dragon Age this year. Pi kept trying to talk me into playing it, I kept saying “pssshhhh DA’s for nerds.” 

Funny enough, all it took was gifs of The Iron Bull for me to go “.......and I am a nerd, tell me more of this age of dragons.”

I mean, how could I resist? He's big and he has horns and he's voiced by fucking Freddie Prinze Jr?? He's an entire package and then some, and I was excited to meet him along with the other potential love interests I might find.... oh, and do the whole story thing, hole in the sky, my hand trying to kill me, yada yada, it's fine.

Now I didn’t end up actually romancing Bull- he’s a bit too intense for me, a bit too kinky, there are levels of dom/sub goin’ on there and personally, that’s not really my thing. Still love him, though. One of my favorite companions. He actually ended up in a relationship with Dorian in my game which I 110% support and adore. 

Anyway, for some context, the first time around, I played as a lady qunari rogue named Herah [yes the default name because I'm oh so creative sksks] and got pretty far into it.....then I did a bad and most of my saves got corrupted. I was not happy. 

But before that, I found myself in a romance with Sera.... I know right? Surprising? Totally not my usual type at all. When we were chattin’ as I played, Pi said Sera gave off Chloe Price vibes and that’s true, but Sera isn’t nearly as ugh as Chloe imo...   It’s actually funny to think about now but at the time, of the options I had as a qunari, I found her to be sweet and such a weirdo that I couldn’t help but kinda like her? and she was super into me because she reeeeeeally likes qunari women. 

I dunno how to explain it, but I took a chance on her and it went okay? I think? I mean, everyone but Bull and Varric told me I was dumb for romancing her or they straight up disapproved which.... thanks friends, I feel supported hahaha.  

But then like I said, corrupted saves.... and I decided to start over with a completely different character- a lady elf mage named Ashalle and uhhhh turns out Sera isn’t nearly as warm and sweet with you if you’re an elf.... so I didn’t romance her again after seeing another side to her. I still like her enough, just not romantically. 

As Ashalle I found myself stuck between Solas and Cullen..... because of course I did. That’s apparently a thing with a lot of players and I’m no different! these two dinguses charmed me in their own ways and I couldn’t decide who I wanted to smooch more!

Honestly, poor Pi had to listen to my “I really like Solas.... but I also really like Cullen..... but Solas is a mage like me and Cullen is an ex-templar..... but the mage/templar thing is super interesting and tempting.... but Solas.... but Cullen.... but Solas....... but Cullen-” for hours while trying to help me decide sksksks. 

And looking back now, I couldn’t have picked two characters with such vastly different outcomes to get stuck between. It’s almost hilarious... almost. 

I ended up playing through the first kiss with Solas which got a huge “DAMN” outta me and I thought that was it, y’know? I was like “that was a really good kiss, holy shit.... I dunno how Cullen’s gonna top that”

but then I played chess with Cullen and he didn’t even kiss me but SOMEHOW the bastard got me! I can’t even explain what it was! We’re playing chess, we’re chatting, having a grand ol’ time when I get the option to tell him that we should spend more time together, and this dude looks up surprised, and in such a sincere tone, says, “I would like that.” AND THEN HE LOOKS AWAY AND QUIETLY REAFFIRMS MORE TO HIMSELF THAN ME “....you said that” AND THE LOOK ON HIS FACE??? I WAS DONE

So yeah, I romanced Cullen. Jokes on him, though. He fell in love with a mage who constantly falls off ladders, drowns when the water goes above her knees, and throws jars of bees at dragons, what a nerd. 

No but his stumbling awkwardness and sweet romance out did Solas’ smooth talk and now I can’t romance anyone else. I’m ruined. I’m currently on another run of the game with a new-ish character and I can’t NOT romance Cullen now..... that’s my husband, he’s my canon choice, everyone else I love platonically, they’re my big dumb family of criminals and misfits, I love them all.... mostly, hahaha. 

[sinsbymanka]

This is a submission for the @cozy-autumn-prompts​ event, brainchild of the lovely @scharoux​. Thank you for the amazing prompts! @tightassets​ and I submit the following art (belonging to her talented hands) and fic (my doing) for prompt #4: By The Fire.

Title: It’ll be a Hell of a Story Rating: M Pairing: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Maria Cadash/Varric Tethras Tags: Flirting, UST, Fantasizing, Pre-Relationship, Non-Inquisitor Cadash

Read on AO3

It should have been a simple problem.

Simpler than the breach swirling threateningly above them, at any rate.

They’d managed to survive the whole world going to shit, but that massive hole in the sky was still gonna be a problem they needed to solve. Sooner rather than later. And to do that, they needed people. Soldiers. Mages. Weapons.

Lyrium.

And whenever someone said ‘lyrium’, they always looked at the dwarf. Like the humans and their skirts and their wars hadn’t upset the whole damn lyrium trade. Varric debated throwing his hands up and washing them of the whole thing.

Demons. Holes in the sky. Templars. Mages. None of it was really his cup of ale.

But there had been red lyrium in the temple. And that… well, that was his problem. He’d put it out in the world. He was responsible for the spark that ignited the fire, and now he had to deal with the inferno. Besides. He could find a lyrium dealer with one hand tied behind his back, right?

He could kick himself for his optimism.

Ruffles couldn’t get the Merchant’s Guild or Orzammar to play ball, not a surprise. Too much risk to sell to this ragtag bunch on top of a mountain, not enough reward. Even Varric wouldn’t be able to pull enough strings to make it work, which meant he needed the Carta.

Of course, the one time in his life he wanted them to appear, they were nowhere to be found. Frankly, that was suspicious. There’d been Carta crawling all over Haven when he arrived, it didn’t take much to see their signs. Dwarven marks carved into cabins to mark drop points. Snow clearly brushed back to cover paths. Several short, shady dwarves in the tavern that kept to themselves while they played cards.

If he’d have known he’d need them later, he would have said hello. He’d been too worried about spinning tales to make the chantry dance to his tune and trying to ingratiate himself to both sides of this damn mess so he could get back to Kirkwall with his fine dwarven chest hair intact.

Maybe they’d all died in the aftermath of the temple exploding. He’d seen a couple Dwarven corpses, but not enough to make up a whole crew, and there’d been multiple operating in Haven. Did that mean the rest fled?

Varric scratched his stubble while he picked his way down the icy, gravel path. His eyes still roamed, trying to find any signs of seedy deals lingering in the shadows, but all he saw were scared refugees and soldiers not even old enough to grow a beard. The wind cut through them all and they scurried past without even looking down at the dwarf.

Well. Back to his fire to regroup and think of another plan before he froze into a nice chunk of rather handsome ice.

Honestly, it was hard to believe that somebody didn’t look at the chaos and see profit to be made. They didn’t make Carta as tough as they used to, apparently. Where were all the tough, savvy business people? The clever rogues able to stay one step ahead of all the competition? What about someone who could look at this mess and decide to chip in, if only because that hole in the world threatened everything?

Varric scoffed to himself and shoved his hands in his coat. Carta dwarf with a heart of gold? He’d grow a beard first.

He sighed and turned the corner, letting his eyes drift covetously to the fire not twenty paces away.

And almost stumbled to a complete stop. There was a woman sitting on his bench, next to his abandoned supplies, munching on a flaky pastry while flipping through his book.

A dwarven woman. One that looked like the right kind of shady he’d been trying to locate all damn day.

But the cunning tip of her head as she read, the blade on her thigh, the sheer audacity of her, was nothing notable. Not compared to the curves accentuated by her snug breeches and the tempting swell of her breasts tantalizingly framed by a shirt not quite as scandalous as his, but close. Her red hair was braided away from her face, but wisps of it danced in the wind, tickled her freckled nose.

She lifted her eyes from the page and locked eyes with him. Hers crackled with intelligence, energy, and absolutely wicked satisfaction.

At a glance he knew three things. First. She was Carta. Second. She’d been watching him look for her.

Lastly, and most importantly, she was the best kind of trouble. And that made her more dangerous than she even knew.

She didn’t break eye contact, didn’t even bother to drop his pilfered book. Instead, she raised her snack to her lips and took a slow bite, watching him watch her like she was a queen upon her throne and him some lowly petitioner.

And honestly, that was the right of it. Which shouldn’t make him think of getting on his knees and throwing those shapely thighs over his shoulders, but dammit he hadn’t expected to find the most gorgeous woman in the world in the middle of the Ferelden muck.

She lifted his book, tipped her head to the side, and smirked. “It’s not bad, but you’re sodding verbose, Tethras. You should probably get a better editor.”

Every thought in his mind screeched to a halt, replaced by one word.

Minx.

“Sorry my personal belongings aren’t up to snuff, Princess. I’ll leave better material out for you to peruse next time.” Thank Andraste his mouth was still working, because he’d lost control of his feet completely, dragged towards her like a victim of an unseen mage.

She snapped the book shut and tossed it easily onto the ground, ignoring his nickname to pat the bench beside her. It was a clear invitation, and he almost forgot how absurd it was to be invited to sit on his bench. Almost.

“I’ve been looking for the Carta all damn day.” He narrowed his eyes, making a show of grumbling displeasure to hide his ridiculous glee.

Her only answer was a sly smirk and to recline back on one palm. “I know. I was watching.”

“See something you like?” He gestured at himself, watching her stormy eyes drop from his face down his stocky body, lingering pointedly on his displayed chest. Then she swept a burning path back to his face.

“It’s not a terrible view.” She admitted.

He smiled at her. The most charming, brilliant smile he could summon. The same one that had many a fine dwarven barmaid tumbling over themselves to get him another glass of ale. His redheaded temptress only gave him a predatorial smirk in return.

“Should I assume you’re here for business?” He asked.

Or pleasure.

He didn’t dare say it. Not to her. There was something… something about her that made him pause, consider her carefully. Something that screamed if he gave her that power over him, he’d regret it the rest of his life.

It was the eyes. Must have been. He’d never seen a more endless set of eyes in his damn life.

“I’m curious.” She declared, tapping her free hand on the bench while she studied him. “I was on my way out, you know. Too much crazy religion for my taste.”

“The Chantry freaks you out more than the demons?”

“I can shoot the demons. It’s frowned upon to start murdering old women squawking at me, but they are annoying.”

She wrinkled her nose in evident distaste and something flipped in his stomach. The wind picked up again and took more of the hair from her braid, whipped it across her cheeks.

He had the sudden, maddening urge to trace his gloved fingers over her jaw and tuck it back behind the shell of her ear before cupping her cheek and drawing her sweetly towards him in a passionate kiss that-

She was either far too clever for her own good or used to inspiring a chaotic inferno of lust wherever she went, because she clearly saw the direction his thoughts veered off into. And all the woman did was bit her lower lip between her teeth to stifle a laugh he was sure would be throaty and sinful.

Yeah. He definitely didn’t need to sit down next to her on the bench. He needed three feet of space between her and him at all times to stop himself from doing something stupid.

His legs didn’t get the memo.

He plopped his ass right next to her, their thighs touching teasingly, but she didn’t bother moving. Instead, she simply eyed him with a distinct blend of wariness and interest. He sensed it would take more than his roguish charm to break down that caution, but he didn’t need to do all of it now.

He was used to playing the long game, after all.

“What’s your name, Princess?”

“Cadash.” Varric’s heart leapt in triumph. That was a good name for lyrium. A very good name. It was about time he had some good luck.

Then she added the kicker. “Maria Cadash.”

Oh. Oh they had hit the fucking vein with this one. They didn’t just have Cadash clan operating in Haven, they had one of the fucking heirs to the whole pot. A winning hand, if he played it right.

“Nanna sent me a letter telling me to get the hell out of dodge before the humans blew up the sky. Again.” She smirked, shaking her head. “But I’d just gotten comfortable.”

“We can keep you quite comfortable, Princess.” Varric insisted. Maker, he had hit the nail on that head with her nickname. He had bonafide Carta royalty on his hands and he’d do well not to lose her.

She leaned forward, her shirt dipping open with the motion, drawing his eyes for just a second and making him think of other things he could have in his hands. Because he was weak. A weak, weak man.

Maria held his gaze, brought the sweet back up to her mouth, and bit into the flaky dough. His eyes flew to the sugar dusting her pretty lips. He had half a mind to lean in and kiss it off.

“You know, those are bad for you. Not a single apple actually in them, Princess.” Varric rasped.

Maria slowly licked the sugar off her bottom lip. “I only like things that are bad for me, honestly.”

Varric leapt on her admission of weakness. “Well in that case, why not supply the Inquisition? You couldn’t make a more dangerous decision if your life depended on it. Think of the rush of danger. The cloak and dagger thrill. The late night missions and secret assignations…”

He sweetened his voice to the same low, cajoling tone he’d used on templar, guards, coterie, and all the worst of Kirkwall. She watched his mouth move with rapt attention, her snack forgotten.

Varric didn’t know how his arm slipped behind her back, but suddenly his palm was on the curve of her spine in a gesture that seemed carelessly intimate. Maria didn’t pull away. Their knees touched, her chin tipped up, and for a wild moment Varric waited for her to lean in and capture his mouth.

Instead, her smile curled up like the fire they sat beside. She tore her eyes from his to look at it with a shake of her head.

“It’ll cost you.” She warned. “This is risky. Risky isn’t cheap.”

Some things were worth paying any price for, weren’t they?

“We’ll find the coin.” He promised. “And you get to stay at the center of the action, just like you want.”

Her eyebrow climbed up her forehead. “You think I want to be underneath a spiraling hole in the bleedin’ world freezing my tits off?”

“Of course you do.” He stated, picking up an abandoned mug and holding it out to her in a silent toast. “It’s gonna be a hell of a story, Princess. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Just the slightest bit of her wariness fell away, revealing a wicked glint of humor and a spark of madness he’d seen too often in a dozen other brilliant women when they had made up their mind to have an adventure with or without him.

“No.” She declared with relish. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.”

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

beginnings (or: the glorious formation of the mighty nein cabal)

“So, let me run through this one more time. Why did you ask me to meet with you again?"

“We pissed off everyone else.”

Bryce resists the very tempting urge to put their head in their hands and instead squeezes their eyes shut and traces a circle over their temple with their thumb. They can feel a monster of a headache coming on. An eldritch abomination, really. Filth - drenched and looming.

When they open their eyes, the familiar sight of the Nein scattered around their office swims into view. Nott is perched on the edge of their desk, undoubtedly having just raided their pen cup from the look of the ink smudges on her hands. Jester is neatly crosslegged on the floor, shuffling through an exceedingly gaudy deck of tarot cards (are those rainbow rhinestones?) and whispering to the other Dragon initiate, Mollymauk. Fjord and Yasha post up along the wall on either side of the door like awkward sentinels.

Beauregard and Caleb are the only ones to actually sit in the chairs Bryce provided, but they’re off in the corner, slouching almost shoulder to shoulder and scrolling through the latter’s constantly buzzing phone.

Just as chaotic and disorganized as always. It’s almost comforting.

Almost.

“When you say ‘everyone,’ Bryce manages at last, “who exactly do you mean?”

Caleb speaks up for the first time since he’s arrived, his voice steady in contrast with the restless wringing of his hands. “We have been trying to ingratiate ourselves with the major powers since we started operating a few months ago, as you know. And we’ve, ah - failed. On most attempts.”

“We’ve fucked with a lot of people,” Jester adds sagely, nodding. “I mean there were those guys in black with the pamphlets that liked us, but they wanted us to do really creepy culty stuff, so they don’t count.”

“Orochi hates everyone but especially hates Nott. Illuminati hates me and Molly but likes Caleb.” Beauregard ticks them off on her fingers as she goes. “Templars hate Caleb but love Yasha. Dragon likes those two -” she waves toward the crosslegged pair - “but probably no one else, because none of the messages they send us make any sense.”

“I did offer to translate them for you,” Mollymauk reminds her cheerily. “It’s a real shame, isn’t it Bryce, how some people are just too proud to accept help when it comes along.” He quiets at the cutting glare and emphatic middle finger he receives, but his grin remains.

“No one has been willing to take the package deal so far, but we have occasionally received individual recruitment offers,” Caleb cuts in, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction as Beauregard’s fists ball and spark with flickers of energy. “I believe Yasha, Fjord and I are singled out the most often.”

“Wait, wait, wait a minute, who’s this guy getting called by?” Nott pipes up, waving an accusing finger in Fjord’s direction. “You’ve been hiding something from the whole group, haven’t you, Fjord?”

The room quiets as all eyes turn toward the leftmost doorway sentinel, who sighs and scrubs a sheepish hand along his jaw. “Got a couple job offers from the Phoenicians. Didn’t take any of ‘em. I figured they’d buckle down harder if I told you all.”

Nott’s lamplight eyes narrow, doubtful, but she slowly retracts the finger. Bryce takes the break in the tension to re - organize their thoughts and hopefully get back to the point of the meeting.

“This is all very useful and … admittedly somewhat troubling information, but I’m still not entirely sure what you need my help with. I’d love to help you, really, but - you ‘pissed off everyone else.’ What can I do about that?”

To Bryce’s surprise, Fjord is the one who answers the question. He straightens up with all the poise of a tried - and - true businessman and crosses the room with steady stride, depositing a crisply folded letter on their desk. “This. This is what we need your help with.”

The document is remarkably ordinary looking, just plain white paper and black printer ink. It looks like whoever obtained it went through the proper channels, too - it’s embossed with the same Venetian lion seal as any other piece of paperwork that’s crossed their desk today.

The heading that finally catches their eye is also, in its own right, very normal, but it stops them dead in their tracks all the same.

FORM #7943: FIELD TEAM APPLICATION

"We’ve been talking it over, and we decided that what we need is neutrality. A patron who isn’t going to cherrypick who they work with and throw the rest of us to the wolves. The Council’s agreed to take us on under the condition that we have an established contact. Jester, Caleb and Molly’ll have to manage their outside responsibilities first, but everything else we learn out there would go directly to you.”

Bryce looks at the paper, then at Fjord. Then back at the paper. They feel a bit faint. “This is - this is a very interesting offer, but it brings up so many logistical problems. All of you will need to be thoroughly screened and interviewed, it could take months. And they -” they gesture to Jester, Caleb and Molly with an anxious wave of their hand - “they won’t be terminated for this? Changing sides, it breaks so many rules, they could be killed where they stand.”

“It’s not technically changing sides, though,” Jester offers. “We’re still doing our jobs and all that and they take priority but we’re also ‘furthering the universal effort’ by passing along ‘approved, Council - relevant information.’ So there’s no reason for anyone to kill us.”

“The ‘universal effort’ is not particularly well - liked, believe me, you would be constantly threatened and hunted down for that alone -”

“And that is a risk we are willing to take.” Caleb’s voice is even and firm, his keen eyes meeting Bryce’s steadily. A murmuring ripple of assent passes through the room at his words - a nod from Jester; a wry salute and a “we’ll get it taken care of” from Beauregard; a soothing hum from Yasha and a surprisingly earnest grin from Mollymauk.

“We have experience with threats. We have experience with hounding. The nature of our work puts our lives on the line every single day, and we are still here. If you would have us, we would not be scared away, I can promise you that.”

Breathe in, breathe out, Bryce. Take the opportunities as they come. "And all of you are okay with this? You're certain that you know what you're getting into?"

"Not one of us would still be here if we weren't," Fjord confirms.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Bryce breathes in, breathes out and picks up their pen. "What name would you like me to file your cabal under?"

"We're the Mighty Nein. Pleasure doing business with you."

[shannaraisles]

Honor Among Thieves - Chapter 1

Lorna Lennox busted out of Kinloch Hold, survived the Blight, and just wanted to stay out of the Chantry’s clutches for life. Now she’s the Herald of Andraste, and people keep trying to kill her. Worst of all, the bodyguard Leliana found for her is all kinds of tempting. Is there really honor among rogues and thieves?

[Read on AO3]

Note - yes, I’m back! I actually wrote something! Amazing, innit?

Chapter One

"And what will you give me, little mage, for helping you to escape your gilded cage? This is no small thing you ask for."

"I don't have anything, but I will do anything. What do you want?"

"Mmm, now let me see ... Ah! I have the perfect payment."

"What is it?"

"Your life, pequeña. Do not lose it, or fritter it away on the undeserving. Live it, and I will consider the debt repaid."

"Herald?"

Lorna snapped out of the memory, blinking to look across the war table at the Nightingale. Her side was aching as she leaned one hand onto the rough wooden table, aware of the curious concern in the eyes of the other three who stood with them.

"Are you well?" Cassandra asked, frowning as she tilted her head to look closer at the elven woman beside her.

"I'm fine," Lorna insisted, straightening up despite the pain in her ribs. "Nothing a good sleep won't cure."

"This incident was too close for comfort."

Cullen looked agitated as he spoke - she could have sworn that was guilt flickering in his gaze as well. For all their shared past, she did not know the man any longer. The young templar she remembered had been twisted and broken, put back together inexpertly, and was now clearly trying to find his own path. That hadn't stopped him from outing her as a mage the moment he remembered who she was, though.

"How did they get through?" Cassandra was asking, an uncompromising tone in her voice.

"New recruits," Cullen said in a dull tone. "There is no means to check their backgrounds or motivation as yet. I am in the process of putting those systems in place, but it does mean our flow of troops is going to slow down considerably."

"Leliana?"

The redheaded spymaster looked grave.

"It is as Cullen says," she agreed. "They were local Fereldans, not the sort we have been looking more closely at. I have sent more agents out into the area around Haven to uncover if there are any more assassins on their way here."

"If I may," Josephine interjected, before anyone could restart the circular argument that had been going on for a little over an hour now. "I believe, Mistress Lennox, that you should remain under guard for the foreseeable future."

"I have things that need to be done, Lady Montilyet," Lorna objected. "I cannot stay in a gilded cage if we're to help the people and close the rifts. I won't be caged again, not willingly."

"I have taken the liberty of contacting an old friend who would be willing to join the Inquisition in the position of bodyguard," Leliana said, apparently ignoring this comment from the Herald they were supposed to be protecting in the first place. "He would be nothing more than a companion to you in your travels, but your life would be his first priority."

"Aye? And would he do as I tell him?" Lorna asked suspiciously.

"Probably not," Leliana said with a faint smile. "He would do what he is contracted to do."

"Contracted?" Cullen glanced sharply at the spymaster. "Who is this old friend of yours?"

"His name is Zevran Arainai," she told him easily. "He was once an Antivan Crow, and is now ... not."

"I have heard of him," Josephine added. "His reputation precedes him. He would be an excellent companion for the Herald on her journeys."

"And does the Herald get a choice in this?" Lorna asked acerbically.

"At this point, no," Cassandra said. "As much as I wish to keep you alive, I cannot be by your side at all times. These attacks have come in many places, most recently here in Haven itself. We need someone to be at your elbow, day and night."

"How is this not caging me?" Lorna demanded, annoyed with the way they all seemed to be in agreement without her consent. "I don't need a human man looming over me every hour of the day."

"He is an elf," Leliana told her. "And he is very good at what he does. I believe you have already met him once, during our visit to the Fereldan Circle during the Blight."

Lorna blinked, stared at her in shock. What will you give me, little mage? The smooth warmth of that voice she had never forgotten drifted through her mind once again. It couldn't be him, could it? The elf who had helped her to break into the basement during the chaos following Uldred's takeover of the tower ... was he the bodyguard Leliana had contracted for her?

"About so tall?" she asked, raising her hand a few inches above her own head. "Blonde hair? Tattoo on the left side of his face?"

Leliana smiled. "Indeed."

"I remember him," Cullen said, though his tone was pained. "Can he truly be trusted with the Herald of Andraste? He is ... very forward."

"If I want to fuck him and he wants it, I'll fuck him," Lorna told the commander bluntly, inwardly delighted by the sound of Josephine choking back a laugh. "There's nothing you can do about that, commander."

Cullen's brows drew together, but Cassandra stepped in quickly.

"Then you will accept this elf as your bodyguard?" she asked Lorna.

"Aye, he'll do," Lorna agreed. "So long as he knows the truth of all this. I'm no Herald of Andraste. I'm just incredibly unlucky."

"He will not worship you," Leliana assured her. "And he will be here within a few days. We have been in contact for some weeks."

"You knew there would be assassins coming?" Cassandra asked her sharply.

"It was not unexpected," Leliana said. "The methods, however, were unpredictable. I thought to have Zevran here as soon as possible. Lorna's injury is not something I am prepared to see repeated."

"Likewise," Cullen said. "I have raised security - no one will be permitted to enter or leave the village itself without the consent of at least one of the four leaders in this room."

"There you go, caging me again." Lorna frowned across the table at him. "You can't help wanting to lock up a mage, can you?"

"That is ... I didn't ..."

"These are precautions for your safety," Josephine interjected smoothly through Cullen’s fumbling to try and excuse his draconic regulations. "Once Master Arainai arrives and takes up his position, these restrictions will be relaxed."

Lorna bit down on the urge to growl, carefully not looking over at Cullen as he subsided in defeat. Instead, she pinned her gaze to Leliana.

"He had better get here fast," she said. "Our people are trapped in the Fallow Mire; I'll not leave them indefinitely on the whims of an assassin."

"He will be here," Leliana insisted calmly. "You should rest. That is the only way you will heal with our current supplies."

"Go to bed without supper, got it."

Rolling her eyes, Lorna turned away from table, pushing her way out into the chantry proper. She got halfway to the door before she realized that one of the templars guarding the door to the war room was walking with her. She opened her mouth to snap at him ... and remembered what she had just been told.

"Wonderful," she muttered, walking out into the chill air of Haven. "One bruised rib, and I'm back in the Circle."

[jakey-beefed-it]

New 40k Starter Box

Thoughts on the contents of the new 9th edition 40k starter box. Overview is ‘Neat! Wonder if I can find someone who wants to buy those ‘crons off of me’. Because I have enough goddamn armies. They are kinda tempting though. Maybe if I went for a more ‘ancient berserker machines’ vibe through paint and kitbashing... cylons meet Reapers meet The Machines from the Matrix...

New Core Rulebook: 

Gorgeous, great artwork. I liked that artwork well enough I bought it on a mug before I knew it was the Official 9th Edition Core Rulebook cover. So that’s neat.

Newcrons:

Overlord- very cool, loving the beefier aesthetic for the most part, could use a bit more in the way of egyptian-style pharaohnic bling

Royal Warden- nice and beefy, has the right amount of bling for a royal bodyguard who is not himself any kind of pharaoh

Plasmancer- he float. I like his lil beard. He’s weirdly kinda cute.

Cryptothralls- good aesthetic, I wish they’d just been revised flayers

Canoptek Reanimator- The Good Shit

Skorpekh Lord- a bit busy in terms of number of weapons imo but a good overal design

Skorpekh Destroyers- perfect. Good design, not too busy, purposeful, look like they do what they’re supposed to do. You won’t be surprised when they charge you and maul the absolute fuck out of your units though you might be surprised by how badly they do so.

Canoptek Plasmacyte- orbcron is also kinda cute. Not sure what they’re going for with cutecrons but I like ‘em anyhow.

New scarabs- sure are scarab swarms. Hopefully better designed so ‘cron players don’t lose lone scarabs so much while assembling them.

New Warriors- I like the damaged/corroded look a lot more than the super-clean old design and the guns look better without the green plastic rods but they’re not really that different. Which is probably the point, but it means my opinion on them is going to be somewhat tepid.

Stabby Primaris Mreenz

Stabby Captain- aw shit it’s taking my favorite marine aesthetic of Gothic Crusader a-la Black Templars but painting them in my preferred Ultramarines Blue. Just needs a helmet crest to be perfect, but that’s why we have chapter-specific upgrade kits. I do like the flipped-up visor look but might use that for the Lieutenant instead and give the captain a bare head with a crested helmet mag-locked to his faulds.

Stabby Lieutenant- as stabby captain but I am legitimately excited for the volkite pistol holy shit it’s been a hot minute since I’ve had any marines with volkite weapons. 

New Chaplain- that’s just Ortan Cassius, you can’t fool me. I guess he got primaris’ized. I actually prefer the initial Primaris Chaplain with the robes.

Judiciar- I’ve been over this but to recap briefly his head is stupid his sword is too flat (yes I know why it’s shaped like an Executioner’s Sword but it’s still dumb looking) his left hand is too busy with that hourglass thing, BUT, the off-the shoulder robes and general pose have potential. So the model is a loss, but the kitbash is gonna be rad.

Bladeguard Ancient- is he specific to the Bladeguard Veterans? Could you just use him as your regular old Ancient? I like him, he’s neat. See the above comment on the captain about Gothic/Knightly aesthetic.

Bladeguard Veterans- Primaris Sword Brethren for any chapter. Love them. Their holsters look about the same as that on the new L-T so hopefully they also get volkite pistols that’d be siiick

Eradicators- points in their favor are the gravis armor and the weapon loadout, point against is the look of said melta rifle. It’s just a slightly longer meltagun with a dumb handle up top. At least give it a side-handle, jeez.

Outriders- Primaris bikers are Good News for White Scars players (as well as Dark Angels and Raven Guard probably) and while I’ve always liked dumb space marine bikes in the past these are leaving me a little underwhelmed.

Choppy Ladz- enh. At least they’ve got some nice dynamic poses? They’re fundamentally just ‘intercessors with a different loadout’ though so they’re not going to really impress me.

[wrathbites]

Plan

Zevran/Alistair, pre-relationship, soulmate AU as prompted.

He assumes it's a fever at first, some lingering malady beyond the talents of the so-called "Witch of the Wilds". It's no big deal, could be worse. He could be dead like everyone on that battlefield, left to slaughter and an afterlife without dignity, bodies strewn about as snacks for the Darkspawn. Or he could be in the process of dying, like Amell, there's such a slim chance she'll make it.

But she survives, and he's survived, and a fever seems like a small price to pay for the chance to... set things right and maybe, just maybe, save Ferelden.

It's a fever that doesn't break. No, it gets worse.

- - -

By the fourth day he wants to claw his skin off. By the seventh he's severely put out to learn that neither mage can conjure a stream from thin air or drop a storm atop his head. There are so few bathing opportunities in their travels and he can't be wandering around without his armour on - they've been ambushed enough times for him to know better, thank you very much - but it is... tempting to risk it. And if it helps keep a cart's length between Morrigan and he, well, all the better, right?

He knows better. He knows a fever - or whatever it is - isn't worth dying for. He's a Grey Warden, he has responsibilities. He'll get them done.

- - -

Three mages, one of them a bloody healer, and they can't help him. Wynne even turns round and says there's nothing wrong with him. Nothing! Well hah. Joke's on her, isn't it? Tell that to the blood boiling in his veins and the sweat sticking his underclothes to his unmentionables!

Who the fuck designed armour anyway? Leather armour, to boot. Did they not realise comfort and not being cooked alive in one's armour was a thing?!

It is a plague, a creeping death, souring his mood something terrible and it makes sitting near the campfire on watch his own personal brand of torture. He just wants a break, damn it, even just for an hour. Is that really too much to ask for?

- - -

He's heard of Fury demons. Monstrous beasts of fire and fury, spewing up from the ground and gobbling their victims whole, engulfing mages in their fists and burning them to ash and cinders before they can scream for aid or the Templars.

He's positive he's possessed by one. What else can turn his body so completely against him? What else can cripple his fighting ability and render him such a liability in battle? What else can eat away at his sense and good manners until he snaps at his - companions and retreats to the shadows or outskirts or his own tent in shame? What else can so tempt him to beg a swift death from the Qunari now in their ranks?

There is an alternative, and he nearly laughs himself sick when Wynne suggests it. A soulmate? For him? Not a chance, that's a mage thing.

Of course, then he locks blades with an Antivan assassin and a Maker-damned fireball lodges in his chest, burns his heart to a crisp and those wicked eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh," says the elf sent to kill them, "oh this is a delicious surprise."

Alistair whacks him on the head and - and for some reason doesn't step back when the elf crumples, slumping into his body and sliding to the ground in a vulnerable heap at his feet. No. No, no. It's not possible. It's not happening.

Except it is, and Amell spares the bastard, and he hounds Alistair for hours. Questions upon questions, attempts at sneaking closer, murder fingers reaching out to touch and Alistair scurries away from him, shamelessly sticks to Morrigan's side if only to keep the assassin at bay (twitchy, he notices, around her in particular). It's a good thing he keeps his distance, too. Amell seems partial to him and Alistair wants nothing more than to lock his hands around his throat and choke the life from him by nightfall.

They're not soulmates. It's just some stupid fairy tale parents tell their kids to hide the horrors of the world from them.

- - -

"Tell me your name," the assassin says, and Alistair tries ever so hard to keep the scowl on his face. He's naked under the blanket - thank you, never ending fever-plague-thing - and no weapons are in reach and he straddles his hips and it's awkward in such a southerly direction for an obvious reason.

There is only one point of skin-to-skin contact between them, however, and that's the fingertip under Alistair's chin. He feels... chilly. For the first time in weeks he doesn't feel like he's a holiday ham roasting on the spit. It can't be.

"You've already heard it. Now get off."

"Ah, but another voicing it does not compare to the weight of you sharing it. I ask again, Warden. Tell me your name."

"Technically that isn't asking."

The elf leans down until their noses almost touch and he should buck him off, struggle, make noise because there's an assassin at his throat, but -

But he relaxes instead, something recognising him on an instinctual level, tension and scalding temperature all but gone and he trembles in the wake of their departure. Peace, his body finally knows peace.

"Alistair," he says quietly, a hesitant olive branch, and the elf hums. If he closes his eyes he can almost feel it in his bones.

"Alistair," the elf says, as if testing it on his tongue, savouring it, "a good name. Tell me, Alistair, what are the Ferelden customs regarding soulmates? We have some wild ones back in Antiva but I wouldn't want to, ah, alarm you any further."

"Maker but I hate you, elf."

"So you say, but your body seems delighted to see me. My mistake."

"Wait!" He stops him from leaving - why? Why does he stop him from leaving? "What do I call you?"

"You already know my name, Alistair, but handsome, for a start."

"Oh fuck you."

The elf - Zevran, Zevran his soulmate, he actually has a soulmate, Zevran - laughs and flashes a positively wicked grin. "Oh, my dear Warden, that is the plan."

[pigeontheoneandonly]

The Price of an Afternoon

Part 3 of my Dragon Age / Mass Effect crossover. I also threw this up on AO3 if that’s more convenient. (Part 4 here.)

Several days later, when Nathaly’s turn to go into town came up, Kaidan met her at the bottom of the hill and declared his intention to tag along.

“No.” Her answer immediate, and expected. “It’s not a good idea.  You could have fled in any direction, but sooner or later, templars are going to search north, and this is the first significant settlement they’ll reach.”

“I understand,” he said, with fraying patience.  “I didn’t let you boost me from the Circle Tower just to wind up staring at cave walls instead.”

“It’s just for a few weeks.  Until we figure out if it’s safe to move.”

“I’m not going to walk into the town square and summon a firestorm.  I just want to…”  He struggled with the words.  “I haven’t seen people in a decade.  Not living real lives, instead of something premeditated and scheduled and assigned before they were born.  I haven’t smelled an apple that wasn’t cooked since I left my parents’ land for the last time.”

She shook her head, stubborn as he remembered.  “Kaidan…”

“I’ll keep my hood up.”  The weather was turning chill, and it would raise no suspicion.  “I won’t even say a word.  I just want to soak up the crowd.  Maybe eat a pie, or something.”

Everything on her face said this was a horrible idea, and she was probably right, but her eyes had softened.  Even in this short-lived reunion, he’d already learned they told the real story. He really liked that about her.  

“Fine,” she said, at last.  “But you’re going to take Ash’s cloak.  It’s far less noticeable than that blue thing of yours.”

She said this dressed herself in a forest green shirt and burnt orange breeches. Even her armor was covered in tooled designs, and he caught her working on more embellishment at odd hours, waiting for the next thing to happen.  That was a revelation.  He never expected her to care much for ornamentation.  

“Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to notice me next to all that.”  He gestured at her, grinning.  

She scoffed, but also seemed rather pleased that he’d noticed.  “Get the damn cloak.”

It was about an hour’s walk into Crestwood proper.  A large village or a small town, depending on particular preference, it bustled in early autumn, the harvest just starting to come in.  Alongside the grain and vegetables in the market were fresh catches from the lake, scales shining silver and green and rainbow-hued, eels, mussels, and even a species of crab.  He’d only seen them in drawings.  Their home village of Kinallen was strictly land-locked.

Fish was naturally a staple of Kinloch Hold, surrounded as it was by a lake.  But he rarely saw it whole like this, still wet, freshly gutted.  Never knew it could smell oddly fresh, clean like the crisp water that bore it.  

Nathaly caught him gawking and laughed, but not at him.  More like she was enjoying his enjoyment.  “Wow, you were going stir-crazy.”

“Only for thirteen years.”  And it was amazing how fast that became a joke.  He’d held himself so tightly for so long that any margin to relax had him spilling all over the place.

She grinned back.  For a moment, he thought she might grab his hand again, like she had on the boat, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it.  But she walked on.  And then he wasn’t sure he wasn’t disappointed.  Kaidan had worked with lightening as part of the standard curriculum. Standing in her presence felt like summoning a shock, the mild buzz tingling over his skin as he held it ready in his hand.  Exhilarating, but also dangerous.

One thing was sure. He still liked her every bit as much as when they were younger. She still made him laugh and put him at ease with almost effortless aplomb.  And Nathaly hadn’t changed a bit, either.  More confident, maybe, more sure of herself, and definitely ready and able to use that sword.  But still careless and wild.  Like nothing could stop her doing as she willed.  Her father used to call her “our little whirlwind”, because like the dust devils that occasionally raced across their plains, Nathaly rarely gave consideration to anything in her path, tumbling forward for the sheer joy of it.

And sure enough, they’d barely arrived before she was distracted by a different booth, one displaying bolts of cloth and buttons and embroidery floss.  He couldn’t imagine her with a needle in hand, but she bought several skeins.  As she tucked them into her pack, she caught his skeptical stare, and snorted.  “I taught myself leatherworking.  How much harder could this be?”

He rose to the bait.  “What kind of pattern are you thinking?”

“Maybe a little border going around a cuff.  A band of words.”  Delighted by her own idea.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, in a big circle.”

He laughed, hard enough that the hood started to slide back.  She caught its edge just in time.  “Careful, there.”

“Yeah.” It cast pall over the afternoon, reminding him that he wasn’t truly free, not yet.  Not until the templars had given up hope of finding him and he could walk in the open air without tempting fate.  But this was better than nothing.

She seemed just as eager to not ruin the day.  “Help me figure out what we want to eat.  This needs to last at least four or five days.  Garrus wants to scout west, see if there’s something more permanent for us to move into.”

“Sounds good.”  They wandered back towards the food stalls.

In the midst of picking through a fruit stand, trying to resist the raspberries in favor of something that wouldn’t spoil almost overnight nor get crushed in a knapsack, he felt Nathaly go stiff beside him.  He glanced up.  And then immediately back down to the fruit, trying subtly to pull the hood lower over his face.  A gaggle of Chantry mothers had arrived at the far end of the market.

She bent towards him, urgently.  “We need to finish up and leave.”

“Agreed,” he whispered back.

Then, as he started to move away, snagged his cloak.  “Slowly.  Don’t attract attention.”

A thousand years passed as he waited for her to finish selecting fruit.  Another century or three as she paid the man running the stall. The Chantry mothers roving ever closer, their gossip growing louder.  Kaidan tried not to stare.  But it was next to impossible when it felt like the thread of his life was hanging taut, just waiting for one of them to trip and snap it.

Nathaly piled the remainder of their purchases into his knapsack.  “Walk,” she whispered, as she put her arm around him and steered them towards the western road out of Crestwood.  Then, when he involuntarily tried to look over his shoulder, “Eyes front.  We’re almost in the clear.”

They walked through the stone arch and out of line-of-sight.  Kaidan drew a huge breath.  Nathaly dropped her arm and rubbed her eyes.  “Well, that was something.”

“Yeah, I—”  His eyes went wide.  His throat closed up.

“This was the worst idea,” Nathaly went on, oblivious.  “We’re never doing this again.”

He tried to wet his mouth.  His voice a weak croak.  “Nathaly—”

“And don’t you even start with the ‘I was trapped in a tower for thirteen years’ crap while I’m trying to keep you alive for the next thirteen—”

“Nathaly.” He spun her bodily.

Three templars had paused on the road east of them.  Staring the pair of them down, heads cocked to the side, still confused, focused on him.  Kaidan estimated that would last another moment or two and then they were both dead.

“Shit,” said Nathaly, eloquent as always.  “Maybe they haven’t noticed.”

The templar in the lead put his hand to his hilt and started forward.

Kaidan took a step back.  Wondering why in the hell he let her talk him into leaving his staff in the cave, giveaway or not.  “I think that ship’s sailed.”

“Double shit.”  And then she actually walked towards them.  The blood drained from his face.

She stopped a few paces from the templar group, forcing them to stop also.  “Can I help you?”

One of the templars in the back sniggered.  The leader shot him a tempering glare.  “Are you aware that you are traveling in the company of an apostate?”

Nathaly rested her hands on her hips.  Not retreating an inch.  Kaidan’s guts tried to turn themselves inside out.  “Dunno.  Are you aware that you’re about to make a terrible decision?”    

Outright laughter, unchecked by the templar in charge, who couldn’t suppress a smile himself.  “My dear woman, this… mage is our charge to return to the Circle from which he has fled, as Andraste bid us.  If you insist on standing in our way, we will be forced to remove you.”

“You can damn well try.”  She drew her sword, steel ringing in the autumn afternoon.  Her eyes shifting to each of them in turn.  “But if you do, I’ll kill you all.  There won’t be a final moment’s mercy, letting one of you run off and regroup.  One mage means nothing to you.  You’ve got hundreds.  Is this mage worth your three beating hearts?”

[lokeanrampant]

Spirits of the Fade

Mouse and Imshael and company have been all over my feed of late.  So I’m tossing down some HC and ideas that have been wandering around in snippet-form in documents on my laptop.  

I think, in general, demons are supposed to be the worst aspect of an emotion.  The pure desire to be something more…

Neither spirit nor demon have the humanity (barring whatever you call what qunari, dwarves, and elves have…we’re simplifying here, damn it), the soul essence that creates life in our world.  They have SOMETHING, or they simply wouldn’t exist.  There is a spark there, those shiny lil wisps, but it’s…like a draft.  It’s unfinished.  And that’s why they reach out.  Spirits are more content in what they feel they are.  Demons?  Demons WANT. They feel very acutely that something is missing and they hunger for that.  It’s why the Fade is a replica of our world, why they are part of our dreamstate. They are mimicking that for which they long and attempting to fill in the missing pieces.  

So why are spirits okay with their lot and demons aren’t?  Good question.  Now, do I have a good answer?  I’m going to say that it’s because each spirit, or demon, or any Fade entity, is the personification of a particular emotion or state of being.  If something is felt acutely enough, if you believe something strongly enough, it becomes its own thing, takes on a life of its own. In this case, it’s fairly literal.  I would imagine that the Fade is a place of magic and bits and pieces of souls.  Unfinished matter and snippets of ideas.   This is particularly strong in places of extremes - battlefields would be overflowing, as they are, with all manner of strong emotions that literally thin the Veil.  When something is felt strongly enough – terror or rage or love or compassion – by enough people, especially by enough dreamers, they coalesce into either spirit or demon.  They become more.  They become self-aware.  But because they are fragmentary by nature, they are lacking something.  

For the more, shall we say, lighter and compassionate fragments, they are more, by nature of their essence, predisposed to being content with what they are.  Justice is righteousness.  Valor is simply that (and a bit of a dick, but I digress).  Faith is belief that there is a reason behind it all.  And so long as we believe in those concepts, they will exist.  It is only when they are placed outside their environment do they begin to change.  

For the darker emotions? Oh, they are very well aware that they are missing pieces of themselves.  They feel unfinished and empty.  Which of us hasn’t?  And if you haven’t, you are one of the few and extremely fortunate.  Unlike their lighter halves, they are not content to simply be unfinished.  They want more.  They have seen and tasted more and it’s cruel to have that just out of reach.  They want what every sentient being wants – a life, a purpose, to experience things.  They aren’t evil by nature.  They simply don’t have the experience to know better.  They are essentially toddlers who know what they want and they know they can do these actions to get it.  Admittedly, they are very smart toddlers.  They are mimics.  They simply do not have the same set of social interactive skills as society would demand.  So they do what they can, take what they can, manipulate as they can for their ultimate goal – to feel complete.

It’s actually horrifyingly sad.

So let’s talk Imshael and Mouse.  Cause I can. Cause I adore them both.

Imshael.  Oh honey…that boy is pure Trickster.  He’s old-world pagan Trickster.  He’s not really nice and he can do some damned shitty things…but it’s always the CHOICE of those with whom he interacts.  Tricksters are all for change and change can be ugly, it can be brutal, but in the end, it is NEEDED.  They will play the role of the villain with ease, because people are terrified of change, so who better than a villain to give them the nudge that is needed to make the decisions that will keep the world moving, to keep it from stagnating?  

Were he evil, he would happily take the choices of children.  But he doesn’t.  Why?  Because they don’t understand choice and consequence. Demons have no issue tempting children, as we have seen with Kitty and Connor.  So why doesn’t Imshael?  Because that’s not his motive.  He’s not a demon.  He actually IS a spirit…or a god.  He’s listed as a Forbidden (or Forgotten) One.  He’s more than some simple spirit and BioWare has a big-ass problem with shitting on pagan gods.  What they’ve done to the Dalish pantheon is damned rude.  

He’s personable and has personality.  He can be called out and he can laugh about it.  He can do nice things.  He can do totally dick things.  Or he can be absolutely brutal.  A trickster’s path is never easy.  And would he like those individuals who make the hardest decisions?  Absolutely.  He would adore those people who make decisions that cause ripples throughout the world, a cascade of change.  It’s why I HC he’s wearing Anders’ coat.  That was a decision that was open.  It was talked about, gossiped, spread throughout Thedas…it was VISIBLE.  It wasn’t the only turning point by any stretch; there were uprisings in varied areas for the mage revolution, the rebellion. But Kirkwall?  That was BIG.  That was SEEN.  And more than that, it had visible history.  Anders didn’t just wander in and decide to make a statement.  He was there for years.  YEARS.  He was known to the citizens of Kirkwall.  He was known as a healer.  He was known for trying to help so many.  The downtrodden of Kirkwall had a vested interest in their healer.  There is impact there.  It’s massive on multiple levels.  It’s a ripple that touched not only mages and templars, but the entirety of Kirkwall and their descendants.

And in the midst of the rebellion when you meet Imshael in DAI?  Hell yes, he’ll wear the coat of the most visible and known linchpin.  Abso-fucking-lutely.  Tricksters have more than a touch of drama queen.  They will play to expectation, they will play to the party line…until they flip it on its head and turn you in the direction they want or need.  Imshael is the type of spirit or god you want on your side…because you sure as hell don’t want him against you.  And humans always make the most interesting choices because everything is so “right now” with humanity.  Human decisions are bigger and bolder because of the amount of time we have to decide them.  It’s a very “Go Big or GO HOME” attitude.  Oh, he’ll play the long game without a doubt and he’s probably got plenty of irons in the fires across Thedas and across time.  But there is so much room to play with all the goings-on right now.  It’s exciting for him.

You’d think I’d have more on Imshael, but dude, I have tricksters all over my blog.  It’s kind of a thing.  You want more?  Ask me.  :D  Trickster goals are renewal and change.  They are the blazing forest fire destroying to renew.

Mouse?  Mouse is more fun in his way because he is less obviously anything.

So why does Mouse play with you in the Fade, if you’re doing the Mage Origin?  This is a trapped demon…how the Circle has trapped them, I’ve no clue.  But it’s been given a role and more than likely, it has witnessed more than a few Harrowings.  It knows how the play the game.  Demons are terrifyingly smart and adaptive creatures, always looking for whatever it is they believe is missing from themselves and they have absolutely no moral guidance preventing them from doing whatever they like to try and find it.

You never really get the sense that Mouse is actively try to harm you.  It’s legitimately a test…he’s watching to see what you do, observing.  Leading you, giving you hints, but ultimately, just seeing what type of person you are and how much interest you are going to bring to his time during this Harrowing.  Mouse is actually fairly neutral, though he has the options to choose a variety of actions and shapes. So being that Mouse isn’t actively trying to mess with the mage and possess them, it makes far more sense that he isn’t a demon at all.

He’s a gatekeeper, an interactive observer.  You do get the whole spiel of letting him slide out with you, but I wonder.  Would he actually do it?  I get the feeling that he wouldn’t, that he would just have some random demon do so.  It wouldn’t be interesting for him.  What is of interest is the participants of the Harrowing.  He is another form of trickster – being neither good or evil, but shaping the world events around him.  Were he to actually possess someone, he would lose the power to observe and shape the mages as they come to him.  Each Harrowing brings him new information, new stories, new everything. PLUS, he KNOWS the templars are watching and waiting.  

It’s very obvious he doesn’t like the Circle.  I think part of it is they somehow, ages back, managed to leash him to the Harrowings. He’s learned so much humanity from these events, more than most demons will ever learn from a simple possession. He learns frailties and strengths, fears, weaknesses, desire, bravery.  He uses the Harrowings as learning experiences as much as the mages.  Yet, overall, he’s still a Spirit of the Fade – not demon, not spirit guide in the ultimate sense.  The Circle would’ve tried to trap a demon for their purposes, but they really don’t have a good concept of what separates a demon from a spirit, now do they?  They would naturally assume they trapped a demon, but perhaps the trap they laid was appealing to more than just demons.  After all, they consider all spirits demons and all those possessed by piggybacking spirits to be abominations, and we know both are untrue.  Both the Avvar and Rivaini disprove that on multiple occasions, as do Wynne and Anders (don’t make me fight you on this).

So Mouse learned and became what they needed, each time.  

But ahhhh, he is still leashed is the question?  How could the Circle and Templars routinely put themselves at risk by trying to lasso a demon for EVERY Harrowing?  It doesn’t make sense for that.  I’d wager pretty heavily that they bound a demon – or what they thought was a demon – to their font for the Harrowing.  It could be that it’s individual for each Circle or perhaps, it’s bound to the stones within the Circles that allow the sendings between Circles, something that keeps them all in an internal network (whee…Circle Intranet is so a thing).  Is he still leashed?  I HIGHLY doubt it, but it totally suits his purpose to let them believe it.  He learns more than any spirit or demon could hope to achieve from an actual possession and could, legitimately, free himself at any time.  He enjoys this and I think there are those mages he feels deserves more from their Harrowings, like the Warden, like Anders, like those whose Harrowings we actually get to read about or experience.  These are the mages who have fates beyond the everyday.  He can sense there is something more in their lives because, after all, he has been around a very long time.  

So does that mean he is both Mouse and Anders’ cat?  Absolutely. He can take multiple forms and if he gets to play at multiple Harrowings, or at least, the ones where he feels particularly drawn?  He has this total air of a teacher.  He knows how the Circle works.  He knows how the Templars work.  He’s not fond of either.  He’s highly disgruntled, but he seems quite content to dismantle from the inside-out, putting ideas into the heads of young mages who pass his tests, not the tests of the Harrowing itself, but HIS tests.  He knows far too much for this to be his first dance.  

Did he start out as a spirit?  Likely.  He could’ve started as demon, even.  But he LEARNED.  He EVOLVED. Over the centuries and countless Harrowings, he has become so much more.  He’s a clinician, a scientist, an experimenter.  He watches and involves himself, setting up tests and variables, predicting and learning from the outcome.  He is theory and testing, trials and errors.  He is a literal trial within the Harrowing.

So here’s another neat idea. It’s not just the Harrowings.

Mouse is in the Fade. He’s not bound.  Mages are interactive in the Fade…it’s part of what sets them apart from non-mages.   So Mouse could easily seek out the mages of interest, those who have that glimmer around them that says these people have something of interest in store for them.

And for him.  

After all, fade spirits watch dreamers.  It is no surprise if he found himself fascinated by a few and interacted.  He would be testing variables and theories. And if he liked a particular mage? He would absolutely be sure he was the one at the Harrowing, if there was a potential for another to be there. He can mold them.  It makes him more like Flemeth.  She definitely finds those who have the potential for such great impact, great change in Thedas.  Flemeth has interacted with each major protagonist in the series, mage or no.  Makes you look at Mouse a little differently in that light.  If he’s looking at all of those dreamers and finds anyone of interest?  He would absolutely interact, mage or no.  The Fade is open to most everyone aside from dwarves, so Mouse can be anywhere and interact with anyone.  

He’s not just a trickster, changing outcomes, manipulating players, putting a touch of chaos and rebellion in those he touches.  

He’s a weaver.  He’s a FATE.  He’s the Spirit of Fate.  

Fate is all about trials, perseverance, overcoming odds to a final destiny.  It explains the warnings.  It explains the interest in specific Harrowings that we actually see and hear about. Most are probably fairly bland to Mouse, but not a few.  Not the ones who will change the path of Thedas to a significant degree.  It explains the not-quite clinical detachment as if he’s leading you.  He’s urging you to take a path, to accept it.  

Of course, Mouse can’t account for every variable.  People are people and throw random variables into the equation right and left.  Which is why Fate is so damned fascinated with these particular threads.  The weaving takes on a life of its own.  It’s novel.  It’s exciting. It is outside the norm and creates all these new threads and possibilities.

There’s even an HC theory out there that Mouse is one of the Forbidden Ones.  That has some serious potential in how he interacts with everyone.