#male brosca

[snazum]

#hokel brosca #brosca #male brosca #warden brosca #dragon age origins #da:o #da origins #snazum draws #fanart #oc #dragon age oc #grey warden oc

[heniareth]

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 3: The Battle Begins

(Full chapter on AO3 or continued below)

Wordcount: 4046

WARNINGS:

general darkspawn hivemind weirdness

some body horror (screaming blood)

death, description of death

the horrors of war (anxiety-inducing)

canon-typical violence

Sulri returned a while after, walking straight towards them. She looked solemn and somber, as if bearing bad news. Astala saw her expression with a twinge of worry. Were they in big trouble?

Sulri tapped Khêd on the shoulder. Khêd didn’t look up and flipped her off. Sulri let out an exasperated huff, crouched down in front of him and started signing away. Khêd avoided looking at her, but Sulri was insistent Finally, something she said made Khêd pay attention. Sulri said something more. Khêd’s mouth was a tight line, but then he relaxed. Forcefully. Astala had no idea someone could be relaxed in such a tense way.

“Fine,” Khêd said, shrug casual and not. “Let’s hear it.”

Sulri gave him a sweet smile and positioned herself so that all three of them could see her. As she started talking, Khêd translated:

“The battle is looking bad. The strategy they will use is solid, but the king’s armies are severely outnumbered, and he refuses to retreat and wait for reinforcements from his uncle in Redcliffe. I tried to help him see reason, but it didn’t work. Tonight will likely end in a defeat for the king’s army.”

Astala felt the palms of her hands starting to sweat. She exchanged a glance with Ilanlas. Maybe they could still leave?

“Fortunately,” Khêd continued his translation, “we will be away from the battlefield- we will!?”

Sulri threw Khêd a scolding look, which he didn’t even acknowledge.

“I’ll throw my beard into the Ancestors’ graves, this is the best bit of news I’ve had in years. Hah!”

He jumped up and pumped his fist in the air. Sulri crossed her arms, evidently not impressed.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, salroka,” Khêd said in a mocking tone. “I’ve seen enough 'locks up close for a lifetime and a half.”

“You are a Grey Warden,” Ilanlas said. “You will see many more.”

“Do you all have to dim the lights?” Khêd said and sighed. “I’m happy about this, okay? Let me have that!”

Ilanlas raised his eyebrows, but shrugged and said nothing more. Khêd shook his head as he sat down.

“I am glad to see the Warden-Captain didn’t catch you,” Sulri continued and turned to Khêd. “Although he will probably suspect it was you.”

Khêd sighed. “Of course he would.”

“Who is the Warden-Captain?” Astala asked.

“Duncan’s right hand,” Khêd said. “Pale. Bald. Tall, but all of you sods are tall.”

Sulri signed something, which Khêd didn’t bother to or didn’t want to translate.

“He was with us down in the Deep Roads and was the one to take over when Duncan left,” Khêd continued.

“You don’t like him?” Astala asked.

Khêd’s only answer was a shrug.

“Alright...” Astala turned to Sulri. “How do you know Teyrn Loghain?”

Surli made a shooing motion with her hand and shook her head.

Now that was forthcoming.

Astala leaned back on her hands to look up at the sky. Despite the strong wind, the dark, oily clouds above were progressing slowly. They crawled along like slugs, blocking out the sun and casting the world into an ever growing shadow. She didn’t like this weather. She’d seen a lot of clouds and storms—living next to the Waking Sea did that—but nothing like this. It felt off. The wind had a thinness to it that made her shiver.

“Aren’t they weird?” she asked Ilanlas, pointing upwards.

Ilanlas looked up and stared at the dark mass above them for a while.

“They look like darkspawn blood feels,” he said.

“Oh, great,” Khêd said with a wary glance upwards. “Now the void above our heads is acting weird.”

-

Shortly afterwards all wardens started to gather around the tent with the large map. Khêd suggested they keep to the back of the group, so they would be as far away as possible from the Warden-Captain. They sat down, mercifully overshadowed by a few wardens standing slightly in front and to their left. Alistair was in the middle of the group, being wrangled around by a huge blond warden saying something about ale and celebrating. The other wardens around him laughed. The air was filled with the dull roaring of mutliple conversations happening all over the group. When Duncan stepped up to the map, which had been hung up so everybody could see it, silence immediately fell over the whole fifty wardens.

She could feel it clearly now. The blood in every body answered to Duncan’s presence and the Blight in his veins. Behind Duncan stood the Warden-Captain, and the other warden with the brown skin and the grey eyes.

Duncan explained tonight’s strategy in quick, precise terms. King Cailan, along with all Grey Wardens, would meet the darkspawn horde at the front of his armies in the gulf that cut the hill in two. The king’s armies would feign weakness—and hopefully they’d have to put effort into their feigning—and gradually retreat up the gulf. Once the darkspawn had been drawn in far enough, Teyrn Loghain would join the battle with the rest of the men, attacking the darkspawn from behind. So far, so good.

Duncan then went into detail explaining where specialized taskforces would be; the warden archers, for examples, of which there were twelve, and their mages, of which there was… one.

“If the Archdemon appears, I want everybody to focus on it,” Duncan said. “We are the only ones who can slay the beast. Even if the king himself is about to be overrun, or I am about to die, I do not care. You will focus on the Archdemon. Understood?”

A murmur of assent washed over the crowd.

“How will we get the Archdemon to land?” somebody asked.

Duncan nodded at the brown-skinned, silver-eyed warden next to him. “I leave this to Palla.”

The warden stepped forward and let their gaze sweep over the crowd. When they spoke, their voice was quiet, but carried far.

“In my time as a dragon hunter, we tried many things. Chains, big nets, magic. Best method? Cut their wings. Beasts can’t fly on broken wings.”

They looked over the crowd again, eyes wandering from face to face. When they landed on Astala, it felt as if someone was running the serrated edge of a rusty blade along her teeth.

“You’ve all seen the beast,” Palla continued. “You know what it looks like. As soon as it appears, Herán and his archers will scatter and aim at its wings. Mahieu, you and the Circle mages will also engage as long as it is within range. As will the soldiers manning the ballistae. We have some hope that the ombined efforts will injure it badly enough that it will be forced to land. From there, approach until you are within range and fire at will. Do not worry about the horde; they will want us others dead first.”

“With all due respect, if I may.” Onastas clambered to his feet from the middle of the crowd. “This is not a dragon hunt. This is a battle. Our placement on the field will see us surrounded and overrun within minutes.”

As soon as Khêd finished translating that bit, Sulri nodded emphatically.

“It’s also the position closest to the archdemon,” Palla answered with a shrug.

“You are correct, Onastas,” Duncan said. “Unfortunately, the king commands this army, and we are under orders to be front and center in this assault.”

“Well,” Onastas replied, “did the king ever say if all of us had to be at the front? Couldn’t we-?”

“I suspect I know where this is going, and your idea is appreciated,” Duncan said. “But I’m afraid we can’t loophole our way out of this. The teyrn already thinks us little better than Orlesian chevaliers. We cannot afford to even appear insubordinate.”

Onastas seemed to want to insist. In the end, however, he shrugged and sat back down.

“Remember,” Palla continued, “dragons are weakest along the throat and the belly. Once the Archdemon has been forced down, aim for those spots.”

“What about the neck?” another warden asked. “I once heard a chevalier tell he chopped a dragon’s head off with an axe.”

“That chevalier was lying,” Palla said flatly. “Regardless, do not climb onto the Archdemon unless it is no longer moving. And if anybody somehow manages to stab it in the neck, they better make peace with the fact that they just dealt the killing blow.”

Silence hushed over the group. Duncan stepped up again.

“Our newest recruits will not be with us on the battlefield,” he said. “They have been given the task of lighting the signal that will tell teyrn Loghain when to march. Alistair, you will go with them.”

“What!?” Alistair jumped up. “I won’t be in the battle?”

“It is an important task,” Duncan replied. “If the beacon is not lit, teyrn Loghain will not know when to charge.”

“So he needs, what, five Grey Wardens standing there holding the torch, just in case?” Alistair said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“If that is the only thing you can think of doing while you wait to light the signal, then yes,” Duncan said.

“But why can’t we be in the battle and just leave early?” Alistair pressed.

“No,” Duncan answered. “Once the darkspawn and the king’s armies have made contact, you will have one hour to enter the tower of Ishal and get to the top. Once we give you the signal, you will light the beacon. After that, you will stay with the teyrn’s men and guard the tower. If we need you, we will send word. This is by the king’s orders. Understood?”

“I…” Alistair hesitated, and then his shoulders slumped. “Yes, Duncan.”

“Good.”

“But,” Alistair added, lifting his head once more, “if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold, I’m drawing the line.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Khêd mumbled.

Astala set out to say something when the sunlight, choked as it already was by the clouds, became pale and sharp. A shadow fell over the camp—no. Not a shadow. It was more like a scream, or a call, vibrating through her bones. Her head snapped left, as did the heads of all the other Wardens. Something was humming in her blood, words that were none, an order: and her blood pulled.

Then it was gone again.

Astala let out a shaky breath. Khêd had gone pale, Sulri had grown still. Ilanlas had his hand on the pommel of his dagger, knuckles white as fresh ash. The other wardens exchanged uneasy and, in a few cases, knowing glances.

“Well, we have all heard that,” Duncan said. “Let us prepare for battle. The darkspawn are marching.”

-

Everything went very fast after that. People finished putting on armor and checked their weapons one last time. Somebody helped her with the chain mail after she’d pulled the fear-soaked gambeson, to which she'd add her own fear now, over her head. The metal rings dragged on her shoulders, heavier than any crate she’d ever carried, and Astala needed a moment to find her footing. Immediately, the breastplate was fastened to her. Her heart was beating a harsh thump-thump-thump in its new metal case.

People were saying goodbye: an embrace, a pat on the shoulder. Promises to stay safe and meet for drinks after the battle. Forehead pressed against forehead, eyes closed. Somebody was kneeling in a corner, praying quietly. A tear-streaked face; a tightly gripped shield; a dog scratched behind the ears as if it were the last time; shouts and screams and steps, marching, running, thousands of footfalls. The mass of people would’ve swept her away if it hadn’t been for Sulri grabbing her belt before she wandered off.

Astala took a deep breath. She had a sword, stolen as it may be. She had a dagger, taken from a corpse killed with the stolen sword. Maker preserve her family; she wished she could say goodbye to them again.

“Are you ready?” Ilanlas asked.

Astala took another breath and let it go. Shaky. It didn’t stop shaking. She shook her head.

Ilanlas gave her back a tentative pat. “It will be alright.”

“We don’t know that,” Astala choked out.

“Who’s the old ball of cheer now,” Khêd said. He knocked his shoulder into her back and sent her stumbling forward a few steps. “Shake yourself out of it, duster. Not the time to lose your head.”

Astala swallowed and nodded and rubbed her thumb over the pommel of her sword. Up and down, up and down, up and down.

The Grey Wardens left. Helmets on, so that their faces were obscured, they marched. The mage was passing his staff from one hand to the other, but his face was grim. Alistair stood at the edge of the wardens’ encampment. He got his hair ruffled once or twice, a squeeze on the shoulder, a nod, a few words. Duncan handed him something, which he tucked away. When Duncan turned around, Alistair looked like he wanted to run after him. He stayed. The wardens left. Alistair’s shoulders looked heavy. The expression on his face was downright miserable.

The blue and grey and the proud griffon banner disappeared into the gorge that split the hill in two. The rest of the army, grey and golden, or red, or green, each after their leader’s color, followed behind.

She hadn’t sent money back to Denerim.

Alistair turned around, and looked at the four of them in the middle of this now deserted camp. Astala rubbed the pommel of her sword. Should she do something? Say something?

“Right.” Alistair cleared his throat. “Well. We might be able to find a good spot from which to watch so we know when to start moving.”

Sulri signed something, which Khêd translated: “Will you be leading us?”

“Yes.” Alistair stood up straighter. “You all know me by now, and I know the way you fight. Not that we’ll encounter much to fight anyways, but…” He trailed off, looking down towards the bend around which the Grey Wardens had disappeared. He sighed, shook his head and continued. “Anyways, let’s go round once and see if we can get everybody’s skillset down. Astala, sword and dagger.”

Astala nodded.

“You’ll be with me at the front, then.” Alistair said.

“Me too.” Khêd heaved a big sigh and strapped his shield to his arm. “Should’ve learned how to handle a crossbow. My eyesight isn’t even that bad.”

“I will stay back,” Ilanlas said while he strung his bow. “But, should you have need of knives, I will step up.”

“I don’t think we’ll need that,” Alsitairs said with a small smile. “Surli has us covered, right?”

Sulri nodded and demonstratively held up a dagger and an earthen jar with a tight lid on it.

“Right,” Alistair said again, much more firmly. “Let’s move.”

 - 

They positioned themselves as close to the bridge as they could. One of the giant ballistae was about twenty steps to their right. Three soldiers were manning it, talking quietly amongst themselves. Despite all of the soldiers leaving, the camp was by no means empty. Servants, elven and human, were still running around. The sad-looking mage with the Andrastian sunburst on his forehead stood there. The infirmary was still up and running. It would probably be filled to bursting once the battle here was done.

Below them, the king’s half of the army, the Circle mages and the Grey Wardens were taking up position. The clouds had closed above them. The sky and the gorge both were dark; only the glow of thousands of torches and the slight sheen they left on metal armor told them were the army was situated. The wind shifted slightly. Astala caught a whiff of incense. From the darkness below rose the Chant of Light. The Revered Mother and her Chantry sisters were down with the soldiers.

Was this how the Maker saw the world? Terrified people, singing up to him from the darkness.

A slightly sour smell was the only warning they got. Shortly after, rain started falling down on them.

“Your void is crying,” Khêd said, almost accusingly so, and lifted his shield over his head.

The rain fell heavier, splattering against the stone, their armor, and onto the battlefield below. Fighting in the mud had to be exhausting. Astala was glad she didn’t have to wear anything in front of her mouth and nose though.

“Elgar’nan, wie la gus, anaris’ven haminfor,” Ilanlas muttered quietly.

As if answering him, a sudden burst of lightning illuminated the sky and the gorge below them, flashing over the armor of the king’s army. The roll of thunder that followed was deep, but still far off. The wind kicked up and blew the rain into their faces. Astala sought refuge behind a stone pillar.

Ilanlas, face turned up towards the churning sky, quietly sang to himself.

Another strike of lightning, this one much closer. The thunder crashed into her ears with a loud bang followed by a rolling as if of tons of stone. Shouts rang out behind them. A couple of elves were running to the nearest shelter, ducking and shielding themselves from the rain. At the infirmary, somebody was tying down the tents’ canvases.

Why were these people still here?

“Elgar’nan, pa-ada, din’heema elgara, ar dar’ara. Ma’en nan el.”

A third strike of lightning left her seeing nothing but white for a moment, and the following thunder roared with vengeance above them. Then Alistair peered over the crumbling balustrade, and Ilanlas did too. A heartbeat later, Astala could feel it: itching, creeping through her veins like a hum, her blood was singing.

Torches, small pinpricks of light, appeared in the darkness of the Korcari Wilds.

The darkspawn approached silently dragging some sort of mist with them out of the swamp. The torches tinted it a flaming red. The howling wind carried their stench all the way up to them. In the gorge, a dog started barking, then another. Then the whole pack joined in. King Cailan’s army greeted the darkspawn with a fierce war cry. Swords banged against shields and thousands of voices rose towards the sky: defiant, challenging, ready for battle.

The voices thinned as more and more torches rolled in, like a slow-spreading wildfire.

Her blood screamed.

For a moment, both armies stood still, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Astala felt it before she heard it: from within the darkspawn ranks came a deep, hoarse bellow of an order. Shrieks picked up, growls and howls pierced the air. Underlying it all was that faint, whispered gibberish she kept hearing in the back of her head. The deep, throaty laugh hummed through her bones. She pressed closer to the stone pillar, made herself small. Like a black wave, the darkspawn army surged forward.

A faint call from below. Something pulled, made her stand up straight again. Duncan. Another call, followed by sharp whistling as arrows rose into the sky like snakes and plunged down into the black mass of the darkspawn. Astala felt the impact. More arrows followed. A fireball drew a smoking arc through the sky and exploded in a cacophony of shrieks, sending darkspawn flying. More followed.

The darkspawn pressed forward.

Another fireball—but this one flew wrong. It detonated in the middle of the king’s army. Those people were dead. She could hear their screams, saw their bodies being flung up into the air.

Alistair cursed loudly. “Void take those emissaries!”

Hounds were let loose against the ranks of the darkspawn. At another barked order, the king’s army pulled itself together. Among fire and arrows, another battle cry rose into the air. The army moved. They followed their hounds into the ranks of the darkspawn army. The dark tip of their spear were the Grey Wardens. Her heart thundered in her chest as if she was holding the beating hearts of all fifty of them. Another strike of lightning, thunder, a fireball struck a nearby ruin.

More and more, the screams of the wounded and dying mixed with the clash of metal and the tearing of flesh.

“They’ve clashed,” Alistair shouted over battle, wind and thunder. “Let’s move! Across the bridge and to the tower, go!”

They ran. The wind hit them like a wave in the storm. Her hands started to tingle; she wanted to draw her weapons. Not now. Not while running. The bridge was lined with archers, trebuchets, ballistae. They ran past them. Something zipped past her and she only recognized it as an arrow when the soldier in front of her fell backwards, feathered shaft sticking out of her face. Astala’s feet carried her over the corpse before she realized it was a corpse, and then she ran for her life. The chain mail dragged her down.

She only stopped when she was safe in the shadow of the crumbling archway on the other side of the bridge, panting and gasping and tasting blood at the back of her tongue. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. Astala leaned against the column. In front of her lay the long road by which they’d arrived at Ostagar only yesterday. It was covered in mist, beaten by wind and rain. Screams and the sound of carnage echoed up behind her.

She left the column, stumbled further away from the bridge, braced herself against her tree and fought to keep her lunch down.

At first she thought the two people running towards her through mist and wind and rain were her companions. Then she realized they were coming from the wrong direction; the bridge was behind her, the people in front. Astala drew her blades, backed away from the tree. The first was upon her. With a scream, Astala lunged towards the dark figure.

The man yelped and threw himself to the ground. Astala blinked and recognized the robes of a mage. The man hastily crawled away from her.

“Sorry!” Astala stepped away. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Maker preserve us!” the man whimpered, but stopped crawling.

Astala got a better look at his face. He looked like he was about a decade older than her, was soaked with rain, and deadly pale. His weird, pointy cloth hat was hanging askew, covering one of his ears while leaving the other along with the whole side of his head exposed to the elements.

Behind him, another figure approached—another soldier. Judging by the armor, he wasn’t part of the king’s army, or of any noble’s house. He roughly yanked the mage up, then fixed Astala with slightly wild eyes.

“You’re Grey Wardens, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Astala said and lowered her blades.

A slight hum in her blood, steps behind her, and then a rain-drenched Ilanlas appeared next to her. Alistair and the dwarves followed quickly after. Ilanlas looked past the two men towards the rampart that led to the tower of Ishal.

“Captain Walton,” the soldier said, pointing at himself. “The tower’s been taken.”

“What’re you talking about, man? Taken how?” Alistair yelled over the wind.

“The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers. They’re everywhere!” Captain Walton threw a fearful glance back. “Most of my men are dead!”

“Well, we have to get in,” Alistair said and set in motion. “Come with us, we might be able to save some of yours.”

That seemed enough for the captain and the mage. The seven of them made their way up the ramparts.

“Three close by,” Ilanlas said as they ran. He began to drift away from the group, pulled an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it on his bowstring. “Some others further in.”

“Hurlocks and genlocks, and one alpha at the door,” Alistair added.

Astala felt it now too: one pull, faint, towards the battlefield. The other, sickening, towards the tower.

Alistair drew his sword and readied his shield. “Astala and Khêd, keep close. Let’s show these bastards.”

They rounded a corner. Screams greeted them. There were two soldiers, about to be overwhelmed by several darkspawn. Alistair roared and charged, Khêd hot on his heels, teeth bared, shield high. Astala followed closely. Silver streaked around her. She didn’t know if it was rain or more arrows.

---

TRANSLATIONS:

- “Elgar’nan, wie la gus, anaris’ven haminfor”: "Elgar'nan, wrath and thunder, strike our foes down." - “Elgar’nan, pa-ada, din’heema elgara, ar dar’ara. Ma’en nan el.”: "Elgar'nan, All-Father, Sun-Slayer, here I am. Let me have vengeance. 

All bits and bobs of elvhen constructed with the help of Dalicious’ Elvhen Dictionary

#warden tabris #warden mahariel #warden brosca #warden aeducan #duncan #alistair #the grey wardens #the tower of ishal #the battle of ostagar #dragon age fanfic #dragon age origins fanfic #dao fanfic #female tabris #male mahariel #female aeducan #male brosca #astala tabris #ilanlas mahariel #sulri aeducan #khêd brosca #my writings #the story of one astala tabris

[rosewell893]

ZevWarden Week 2022 - Day 1: Culture

my only offering for today's theme is my personal headcanon that Zevran has to keep himself from smirking whenever Brosca is said out loud 'cause it's pronounced the same way as braska, the Antivan word for shit

#zevwardenweek2022 #zevwardenweek #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran x male brosca #male brosca #zevran arainai #dragon age #dragon age origins

[vigilskeep]

almost every origin being more fun and compelling to play as a woman but Morrigan only being romanceable by men is so cruel of bioware. how dare. anyway love and light to Rory, I hope he lives the dream (kissing Morrigan)

its sick and twisted fr...

i’m having fun with rory though!! f!brosca is most notable for not being anything like her sister and performing this very masculine role instead, which whether she likes it or not kind of removes her from her gender in others’ eyes and has some really fascinating moments. (brosca origin is really incredible for this. taking a man’s role as well as a warrior caste role in the proving, leske saying hail to the sodding king! regardless of brosca’s gender... crazy. love it.) m!brosca is the more obvious answer for a tough carta dwarf guy and less blatantly has Something Going On, but also on top of that he was primarily raised and educated (insofar as he is educated) by his trained courtesan sister, which has a little sprinkling of fun gender to it in itself. in that he’s like the reverse of that action woman trope whose older brothers taught them how to fight. i’m not sure yet how far i’m pushing that—he still is the rough carta guy—but i think that’s going to be really fun to play off morrigan who in some ways has quite a prescriptive idea of what men are like or at least in her experience finds threatened masculinity easy to target. i don’t think “guy who will offer to do makeup and braid hair without batting an eye at any comments over it” is really a category of guy she’s adapted to especially when it’s not really what you’d guess from looking at him

#i think he definitely talks a bit fancy like rica had been trained to talk bc they practised all her voice lessons together #which is my explanation for giving him the charming elf male voice as a treat bc its my favourite #and he would probably get more heat for that in dust town if he didnt also hit so goddamn hard #... which is probably *why* he can hit so hard #but i think that only rlly comes across to other casteless i dont think the party are really reading that until they’re in dust town #it would be funny to switch him to a dwarf voice now lmao like it changes depending on who’s listening #actually that would be cool... #rory brosca

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

this has been sitting in my wips forever cus i can't decide so i simply. won't decide <3

#the other ones are. still not finished </3 #stuck on a couple drawings for some and deciding on what to put on others... #mayhaps i will finish them too.. someday xdd #for now. have some kalas! #yes i know that is a male beetle xd #my ocs #my art #oc: kalagna brosca

[ladyarrowhead]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Male Aeducan (Dragon Age), Female Brosca (Dragon Age), Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Male Amell (Dragon Age), Female Surana (Dragon Age), Duncan (Dragon Age), Alistair (Dragon Age), Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Male Mahariel (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: No Beta We Die Like Cailan, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age) Series: Part 1 of Dragon Age: Origins Sense 8 AU Summary:

The story of the The Hero of Ferelden has many twists and turns but it all runs back to their origin. Already here, the threads of fate seem all bound together, like a knot that can no longer be untrangled. Which one is the truth? The Dwarven Prince or the Elven Bride? The Dalish Archer or the Human Mage? While there may only be one Hero of Ferelden, the situation is far more complicated. All seven stories are true and connected, not just physically, but telephatically as well. The Story of the Warden is sung to so many melodies. This is the story of how a knot can be untangled and formed into a web. This is the story of the 7 Solace Seven.

A Dragon Age: Origins Sense 8 AU with the overly ambitious goal to span from the Origins itself all the way till Awakening.

#now with a proper post! #dragon age: origins #dragon age fanfiction #dao fanfic #female cousland #female tabris #male amell #male aeducan #female brosca #male mahariel #female surana #multiple wardens #probably no romance in this part definitely some romance in the next ones i hope

[olliwrites]

CHARACTERS: Terron Mahariel, Nasi Brosca, Fanari Lavellan, Kendra Trevelyan, Jakariel Lavellan (@greyvvardenfell)

RATING: G

CHAPTERS: 6 of 7

WARNINGS: None

@dalish-appreciation-week

Day Six: Vallaslin

Must be weird to be a non-Dalish party member with tattoos.

Reblogs are better than Likes!

#dragon age #warden #male warden #female warden #inquisitor #female inquisitor #terron mahariel #nasi brosca #fanari lavellan #kendra trevelyan

[inquisimer]

HEY BB if you had to pick 5 fics you’ve written to make a “crash course” and sum up your writing personality, which would they be? I must know.

thank you for the uno reverse, MWAH

it's only fair that I have to turn this lens on myself but DANG was it hard to be like "what is my writing personality?" I think it really boiled down to: platonic relationships, grey wardens, a just a hint of Lore™️

Gen'adahl - Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Rated G, 1485 words

this was one of the first ever DA fics I wrote; I remember scrawling it out in a notebook at my last job where I wasn't allowed to keep my phone at my desk. And I was so proud when I finished it! For me, it represents the proof that I can finish pieces, no matter how long it takes

to be seen feeling - Male Mahariel/Morrigan, Rated T, 5039 words, a gift for @dreadfutures as part of the 2023 DAFF DIscord's OC Swap

writing this fic was not only an absolute joy, it was a pinnacle for me: if I could write a fic that captured the depths of Blue's OCs, I could probably do anything. And I did! And I can! It was exactly what I needed at the time and also a reminder that however blase my own knowledge or fandom experience feels to me, it will slot into what even the most knowledgeable fandom personalities know in surprising ways.

Shards of Glass - Female Brosca & Rica Brosca, Rated G, 3304 words

One of my first toe dips into the gray area of lore! It was so fun to imagine an alternative for Brosca's origins, to give her a deeper connection to the Stone, to play in the absolute barren wasteland wide open sandbox of Bioware's dwarven lore. Beyond that, this piece highlights my Sibling Bias™️ and how much i love exploring the DAO origins before the Blight, in general.

nothing hits the ground without an echo - Alistair & Bethany Hawke, Rated G, 1045 words

My first Dragon Age canon/canon fic! Absolutely wild to think that before I got into Dragon Age I was vehemently anti-oc in fanfic 😂 I'm so glad I outgrew that and can love and celebrate all of our OCs. At the same time, it was a joy to return to my canon x canon roots and play up the Grey Warden lore and happenings at Vigil's Keep that seemed to die in game after Awakening ;-;

I carried my own ashes to the mountain - Zevran Arainai & Female Brosca, Rated G, 1202 words

Nothing particularly poetic to say about this one, to be perfectly honest, I just like the Vibes™️. I think the humor and sarcasm suits my writing personality, and the lighthearted overtones that are haunted by unnamed pining and angst are Very Me :3 Also Nika not recognizing her face and yet reluctant to let go of it until someone gives her permission is something deeply personal to me, that I didn't even realize until after I'd written this. I look back on it and go, yep, yeah, I see you now, past mer😅

#ask game #about mer #mer speaks #my writing #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dao #dai #da2 #smoochuals

[illusivesoul]

OC Name Meaning

Was tagged by @alyssalenko and @nowandthane Thank you :)

I'll tag @drelldreams @messydiabolical @starsandskies @champagne-pain and @judithmactir Only if your feel like doing this, of course.

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

My ocs under the cut cause the answer got long lol.

.

Olga Cousland

Blessed, holy; Successful. Meaning: Blessed, holy; Successful. Olga is a girl's given name of Scandinavian origin.

Serena Brosca. My canon warden.

Named her after a city in Chile.

Irene Hawke. My canon Hawke.

Named her after a chilean soldier from the 1800s. Irene Morales Galaz

Inra Cadash, my canon Inky.

"What is the meaning of Inra Name? The Inra Name meaning is Little human being". This is funny cause I named her Inra cause I came up with the name cause I liked how it sounded and I had no idead it had a meaning, and a fitting one given shes a dwarf lol

Uram, a non inky qunari.

Hebrew. "my flame, my light"

Boromir Aeducan

This one is funny cause when I made him, I thought of the name Boromir and I knew that I had heard it somewhere but couldnt remember where. Years later when I saw the Lord of the Rings I found out that it was from there.

Valentina Shepard

Meaning: Strong, healthy. Valentina is a girl's given name of Latin origin. It is the feminine version of Valentine and means "strong" or "healthy.

Manuel Ryder and Manuel Rodriguez Shep

Manuel is a male given name which means "God with us." It was reportedly brought from the Byzantine Empire (as Μανουήλ) to Europe, mainly to Germany, Portugal and Spain, where it has been used since at least the 13th century.

Katerina 'Katya' Shepard, my canon Shep.

Originating from Greek, the girl's name Katerina means “pure,” which derives from the Greek word katharós. You might've come across other variations of this name, including Caterina, Ekaterina, and even the short nickname Katie.

Estefania Shepard (and her wifey)

Origin: Spanish. Meaning:crown, garland. The Spanish girl's name Estefania which means “crown” and “garland” would be a lovely choice.

Magdalena Shepard

The mellifluous name Magdalena is a feminine title of Greek origin, meaning “woman from Magdala.

#tag meme #uram #magdalena shepard #estefania shepard #valentina shepard #manuel ryder #manuel rodriguez shepard #katerina shepard #olga cousland #serena brosca #inra cadash #irene hawke #boromir aeducan

[cao-the-dreamer]

Tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age thank you! Never passing the opportunity to rant about my children :3 decided to go with the tarot cards too :D

Tagging mmm @razumairon and whoever else wanna play

NAME: Ymir Brosca

NICKNAME: Mimir, Love (by Alistair)

GENDER: Female

TAROT CARD: Page of swords

HEIGHT: Smol (barely reach Alistair's torso)

ORIENTATION: Demi

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Orzammarian

FAVORITE FRUIT: Peach

FAVORITE SEASON: Early autumn (especially when it rains)

FAVORITE FLOWER: Rose

FAVORITE SCENT: Wet dirt, rain

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, especially herbal infusions

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 10 (could sleep through blaring trumpets)

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs!

DREAM TRIP: Par Vollen, so she can say hello to unofficial dad Sten

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 8 (it's freaking cold on the surface)

RANDOM FACT: During her time on the surface, she discovered she loves playing with dirt when it rains. She ends up doing dirtballs fight with Alistair

NAME: Galenos Amell

NICKNAME: Gal (only by Sulemadin), big guy, dumbass (affectionate), mi corazon (by Zevran)

GENDER: Male

TAROT CARD: The Lovers

HEIGHT: Fucking huge (Sten-sized)

ORIENTATION: Gay

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Free Marcher

FAVORITE FRUIT: Loquat

FAVORITE SEASON: Winter

FAVORITE FLOWER: Wisteria

FAVORITE SCENT: Wine

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Hot chocolate (the very thick kind)

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 2 + numerous naps he takes during the day (he can sleep while standing)

DOGS OR CATS: Both, he's not picky

DREAM TRIP: Antiva (maybe to take over the Crows with Zevran), Kirkwall (he wants to say hello to his cousins)

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: None (Zev is his blanket)

RANDOM FACT: He can change his body into water, but he forgets his clothes do not, so he will fight naked more often than not

NAME: Sulemadin Surana

NICKNAME: Dude (only by Galenos), Milady (by Morrigan), no one else is allowed to give her nicknames

GENDER: Female

TAROT CARD: Knight of Wands

HEIGHT: slightly smaller than Morrigan

ORIENTATION: Mean Lesbian

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Fereldan, born in Denerim (she was raised alongside the Tabris family)

FAVORITE FRUIT: Fig

FAVORITE SEASON: End of winter/early spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: Oleander

FAVORITE SCENT: Smoke

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: None (can't stomach them)

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 5

DOGS OR CATS: Cats, she takes care of Ser-Pounce-a-lot until she can give him back to Anders

DREAM TRIP: Emerald graves

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 2

RANDOM FACT: She likes to shift into a cat so she can cuddle with Morrigan or knock things off the table just to be a menace

NAME: Keti Hawke

NICKNAME: Kitty Cat (friends and family), Tiger (during her time with Meeran)

GENDER: Female

TAROT CARD: Knight of Swords

HEIGHT: Average

ORIENTATION: Demi

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Fereldan/Half Elf

FAVORITE FRUIT: Raspberry

FAVORITE SEASON: Autumn

FAVORITE FLOWER: Jasmine

FAVORITE SCENT: Jasmine

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Hot Chocolate with cinnamon

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 3-4

DOGS OR CATS: Neither, she likes mice

DREAM TRIP: Rivain

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1

RANDOM FACT: She carries mice in her pockets and performs tricks with them to cheer up her siblings or Fenris

NAME: Sotos Hawke

NICKNAME: Ferret, Toto (by Merrill)

GENDER: He, they, whatever you want he doesn't really care

TAROT CARD: The Moon

HEIGHT: Same as Keti

ORIENTATION: Asexual biromantic

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Fereldan/Half Elf

FAVORITE FRUIT: Orange and other citrus

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring

FAVORITE FLOWER: Dandelion

FAVORITE SCENT: Leather

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, with a lot of honey

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 3-4

DOGS OR CATS: He loves his dog but honestly he's not picky, he will cuddle anything he can

DREAM TRIP: Orzammar

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1, though he doesn't really need it since he's always snuggled with his dog

RANDOM FACT: He grew vertical gardens on the walls of the alienage so Merrill and the other elves could have fresh veggies during the season (they knew he used magic to make the plants grow but ssshhh they can keep a secret)

NAME: Tzipporah Lavellan

NICKNAME: Auntie, Tzip, Mama Bird

GENDER: Female

TAROT CARD: Strength

HEIGHT: Cullen Tall

ORIENTATION: Aroace

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Free Marcher/Antivan

FAVORITE FRUIT: Mulberry

FAVORITE SEASON: Summer

FAVORITE FLOWER: Sunflower

FAVORITE SCENT: Rosemary, thyme

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee with halla milk

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 7

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs! They make excellent hunting companions

DREAM TRIP: Going back home

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1, she shares it with Alim

RANDOM FACT: She spent six months in the alternate timeline with Dorian instead of like, one day. Deeply traumatising but at least she came back with a weird ghost/skeleton puppy who's loyal to fault and keeps biting Solas' shins for some reason

NAME: Alim Trevelyan

NICKNAME: Frog boy, Lordy Froggy, your royal froggyness (all invented by Sera, they kinda stuck. He loves them)

GENDER: Intersex boy

TAROT CARD: Six of pentacles

HEIGHT: same as Sera

ORIENTATION: Questioning

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Free Marcher/Half elf

FAVORITE FRUIT: Apple

FAVORITE SEASON: Summer

FAVORITE FLOWER: Forget-me-not

FAVORITE SCENT: Clove, cinnamon, vanilla

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea, the rest makes him too jittery

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: He has insomnia

DOGS OR CATS: Frogs :3

DREAM TRIP: The Anderfels (he wanna see a griffin!)

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1, shared with Tzipporah

RANDOM FACT: He built a pond in the gardens for his frogs; Sera found more for him but to keep them he had to wear one on his head for a whole day (which he did, much to Sera's hilarity)

#tag game #dragon age #ymir brosca #galenos amell #sulemadin surana #keti hawke #sotos hawke #alim trevelyan #Tzipporah lavellan

[snazum]

Redraw of a piece from 2020! Featuring my boy, Hokel Brosca ^v^ My canon warden for DA:O (And Alistair's in this too ig, that's important) OG Art below the cut

sorry duncan you got cut out, i didn't like how it looked

#snazum draws #dragon age #dragon age origins #brosca #male brosca #dragon age oc #hokel brosca #alistair

[heniareth]

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 2: Mages, Contracts and War Meetings 

In which Ilanlas Mahariel knows more about magic than everybody else in this camp, Astala Tabris haggles for fun and profit, and Sulri Aeducan leaves them all behind.  (Whole chapter on AO3 or continued below)

Wordcount: 6004

WARNINGS:

fantasy racism

discrimination against mages

implied forced substance abuse

attempted coercion to partake in religious service

mention & brief description of character death (not graphic)

mention of corporal punishment

They returned to the Warden’s small encampment. Things were getting busy for the bulk of the army. People were checking armor and weapons, ferrying ballista bolts longer than Ilanlas was tall from one end of the camp to the other, loading stones and jugs of cheap oils onto wagons or breaking down large pieces of peat. All of those things were being shipped off towards the bridge and the crumbled outer wall of the fortress; if they then were carried further than that, Astala didn’t know. Their small group had trouble walking through the mass of people, beasts of burden and wagons. At one point, as they were squeezing their way past a group of soldiers gathered for an impromptu blessing from a Chantry sister, Alistair suddenly looked up and then hurriedly stepped behind a wagon.

“Not the Revered Mother!” he groaned, casting a quick glance around the corner of the wagon and immediately hiding again. “If she asks, I’m not here!”

Astala stretched to look through the crowd of humans, and soon saw the woman in her shimmering yellow dress with the red neckpiece. The Revered Mother didn’t have any problem moving through the camp. People respectfully made way for her and received a nod of thanks in return. By the speed in her step, she seemed to have important business to attend to. Thankfully, she was not headed their way; her destination was a small grouping of colorful tents hidden behind fir trees and a man-height wooden wall. Alistair peeked out from his hiding spot once more and frowned.

“Oh, so now she’s talking to the mages herself?”

Astala was just able to see Ilanlas’ ears perk up before he set into motion, easily sliding through the crowd, eyes fixed on the back of the Revered Mother.

Astala didn’t like that. She made after him best she could.

On a raised platform, a different Chantry sister was preaching. Five or six people, all in armor, kneeled before her. Some were listening attentively. Others were staring ahead with empty eyes. At the back of the group stood an elf in servant’s garb. Astala had seen some servants here wear the colors of a noble house, but most didn’t, and their clothes were patched and threadbare. Working at Ostagar evidently appealed only to those starved for options.

“Maker above, we who betrayed your prophet Andraste now beg your forgiveness. Do not abandon us in our darkest hour.,” the sister said. “Watch over valiant king Cailan and guide him as he faces this terrible evil. Watch over Teyrn Loghain and give us the wisdom to bring us victory against the scourge of shadow. Watch over Ferelden, the homeland of holy Andraste. Keep her people safe from the darkspawn. Let us bow our heads and offer prayer to the Maker, that he may find us worthy-”

“Well that is cheerful,” Alistair muttered behind her. “Where’s Ilanlas?”

Astala looked around. There! A smidge of auburn hair. And straight in front of him, two hulking templars armored head to toe in plate mail.

This couldn’t go well. Astala sped up.

The templars were blocking Ilanlas’ way when she caught up to him; arms crossed, signature purple skirts and flaming sword of Mercy emblazoned on their breastplates, they stared at them both through eyeslits that cast everything going on behind their helmets into deep, dark shadow. Something bright blue was hanging from their belts. Ilanlas, whose head came just above their belts, was glaring at them with fury. Astala was about to drag him away when movement past the templars caught her eyes. She saw about six or seven people, men and women, two elves among them, wearing expensive and heavy-looking robes. They were swaying from side to side, eyes closed and faces strangely vacant.

Astala blinked. What in Andraste’s name was going on over there?

“I’m sorry.” One of the templars, evidently not sorry by the muffled voice coming out from behind her helmet, stepped in front of her and blocked her view. “But as we told your friend, the mages are not to be disturbed. Now please, leave.”

“I will leave once you tell me why they are in the Fade, and no sooner,” Ilanlas demanded.

“It’s some sort of a ritual,” the templar answered.

“A ritual?” Ilanlas narrowed his eyes. “What kind? I do not recognize it.”

“Neither do I,” the templar said. “I’m no mage.”

“Excuse me.”

The monotone voice made Astala turn around. A human man approached them from behind, dark-haired, thin, and with the most empty, saddest eyes she’d ever seen. A brand in the shape of an Andrastian sunburst sat red in the middle of his forehead.

“I need by, please,” the man said.

Astala stepped aside. Ilanlas did as well, looking at the man with something akin to horror on his face. The templars freed the entrance to the mages’ camp just long enough to push the man through. He stumbled. Another mage, an elderly woman, took the opportunity to try and leave the mage encampment, but the templars were already blocking the exit once more.

“Ser Rylock, if I may,” the woman said. “I’m expected at the infirmary.”

With a sigh, the templar let her pass as well, and then went back to glaring at Ilanlas.

Astala ripped her gaze away from the creepy, swaying mages and gave him a small nudge. “Maybe we should leave?”

“That would be advisable, yes,” ser Rylock’s companion said.

Ilanlas gave the templars one last glare and then, Lady be thanked, he walked off.

After the senior mage.

“Excuse me,” he called out, lout enough for the templars to hear him.

Astala cursed silently and followed him, the gazes of the two templars burning a hole into the back of her skull.

“Excuse me!” Ilanlas repeated.

The woman turned around and Ilanlas caught up with her.

“Why are your fellow mages in the Fade?”

“Oh. I am not quite sure,” the woman said. “I’m a healer. My duty is different from theirs.”

“What good does traveling past the Veil do them?” Ilanlas pressed on. “It is dangerous, there are demons. Especially here. The Veil is thin.”

“We are well aware of the danger, I assure you,” the woman said. “How do you know that the Veil is thin here? You don’t seem like a mage.”

“I am not, but I know enough,” Ilanlas said dismissively.

Astala looked from him to the senior mage and tried to pull him back a little. “Maybe we don’t want to distract a healer from her duty, yeah?”

Ilanlas didn’t budge, and instead went on: “There are many reasons why somebody would walk the Fade, but none of them useful for the upcoming battle. And there are many plants that would have allowed it without the need to ingest lethal quantities of lyrium. The lyrium should have been saved for the upcoming battle!”

“You have opinions about this, don’t you?” the woman answered, seemingly amused by Ilanlas’ insistence.

Astala felt Ilanlas bristle and gave another insistent tug to his arm. “So, about leaving…”

“It’s quite alright,” the mage said. “Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Wynne. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. And you must be Duncan’s new recruits, aren’t you? He’s not a man easily impressed; you should be proud.”

Astala didn’t know how Wynne had managed it, but Ilanlas did relax a bit at those words. Still, he kept his arms crossed, and Astala kept her hand on his arm. Alistair was slowly approaching them, looking left and right; probably keeping an eye out for the Revered Mother.

“You are Dalish, aren’t you?” Wynne continued and turned to Astala. “You as well?”

“No, not me,” Astala said. “Just him.”

“I see,” Wynne said. “I have heard much about your people from the few who live with us at the Circle.”

Ilanlas tensed again.

Astala tightened her grip on his arm.

“You mean elves?” Ilanlas said, voice carefully neutral.

“Dalish elves,” Wynne said and nodded. “Your people have an excellent grasp on primal magic, from quite a young age. I must say, you have spells that are unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“What clan did you take my people from?” Ilanlas asked, quiet, restrained.

“I do not know,” Wynne said and frowned. “They never did tell us. They were remarkably tight-lipped about their life among your clans.”

Astala could see Ilanlas’ jaw muscles tense. She held her breath and held on to his arm.

“We are taking good care of them, to the best of our abilities, if that is what you’re worried about,” Wynne said after a brief silence. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck in tonight’s battle.”

She turned around and left.

Astala exhaled and felt her shoulders drop.

“Sooo.” Alistair approached them, looking unsure. Khêd and Sulri were trailing somewhere behind. “That looked… tense. Are we antagonizing more mages?”

“No antagonizing,” Astala started, but before she could explain the situation, Ilanlas ripped his arm out of her grasp and stalked away. Astala sighed and ran after him.

“Ilan-”

“Do not touch me,” Ilanlas snarled.

“Hey.” Astala stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “She did nothing wrong, yeah?”

“Nothing wrong?” Ilanlas stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. “They take people, my people, away from their clans and lock them away-”

“I get it! I get it. They take people from the Alienage too.” Astala lifted her hands in surrender. “But… we can’t really have demon-posessed mages running around, right? I don’t know how to handle those.”

“Marethari knows,” Ilanlas spat. “Every Keeper knows!”

“Okay, alright. But getting angry doesn’t-”

A Chantry sister, all pigtails, cream and mauve robes and friendly smiles, chose this exact moment to step up and ignore Ilanlas. “Hello. Will you accept the Maker’s blessing?”

Astala forced a smile. “We’re busy at the moment. Maybe later?”

“Oh, it will be very quick,” the sister said reassuringly. “Surely you can spare a moment for the Maker?”

“And if we do not? Will he destroy our homeland?” Ilanlas spat.

Now the Chantry sister acknowledged him, lips pursed, nose wrinkled. “I’ll not discuss politics here! Take your hatred elsewhere.”

“Andruil na los masua’las.” Ilanlas spat on the ground, at the Chantry sister’s feet.

The sister paled. “Get out of my sight, heathen!”

“You leave,” Ilanlas said, quietly, teeth bared. His voice made a shiver run down Astala’s spine.

The Chantry sister wavered for a moment, then pursed her lips further and walked away with a shake of her head.

“Oh, so we’re antagonizing the Chantry,” Alistair said and nodded. “Well. I’ve got nothing to say against that.”

-

Ilanlas disappeared. The rest of them returned to the Grey Warden’s small encampment for some late lunch. Astala’s stomach was growling like crazy. Alistair assured her that was normal, and she was glad she wasn’t in Denerim right now. She would’ve bled the household dry in a matter of days. How Martin and his pot kept up with the constant demand of fifty hungry wardens was a mystery, and she was glad that it was his mystery to solve, not hers.

Alistair introduced them to a few older wardens. They treated him like a little brother, and not only because there were more ‘brother’s and ‘sister’s thrown around than Astala had heard in a whole day of her life. All of them were a target. Khêd was visibly uncomfortable with it. Sulri accepted it without a gesture of complaint and Astala… well. Astala still felt weird about it. When she went back to Martin for a refill—bless the man and his bottomless pit of a pot—she somehow managed to ask about it.

“It is a thing in the order,” Martin said. “After all, not only your parents’ blood is running through your veins now.”

Astala stayed still at that and stared at the stew he was shoveling into her bowl.

“But I understand,” Martin continued. “It was strange for me at first too.”

He sent her off with an extra ladle of stew in her bowl and a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

While they ate, Alistair asked Sulri to show them some of the signs she communicated with. They went through quite a few; Astala managed to get ‘hello’, ‘thank you’ and ‘fuck off’ down fairly well. She sat back, quietly repeating the signs to herself, when suddenly a dark-skinned warden carrying a bundle of fabric and metal walked up to her.

“You must be Astala,” he said, smiling warmly. “My name is Jerome. Quartermaster of the Grey Wardens, sort of. Duncan said you needed some armor, do you think this might fit?”

Astala sat her stew aside and accepted the bundle.

It was a whole suit of armor: a gambeson in Warden blue, well-cared for gloves, chain mail that hung down to her knees, a breastplate with the griffon on it, pauldrons, a sturdy leather helmet. Astala unfolded the gambeson and held it out in front of her. It seemed to be about her size. And it clearly wasn’t new. The color was a bit faded, and there were stains on it that had been carefully washed out. Astala examined a particularly large one up close; it was a faint brown on the blue fabric. Almost like old blood. The thick fabric had been torn here and carefully mended.

“This belonged to the only other elven warden we’ve had here in Ferelden,” Jerome said. “I imagine it would’ve pleased him to hand this over to you.”

“Duncan mentioned him,” Astala said. “Adralen, right?”

“Yes,” Jerome said and nodded. “Shame he didn’t get to meet you.”

Astala ran her finger along the large, washed-out bloodstain. “How did he die?”

“Arrow,” Jerome said. “A shriek tore through his armor, and the hurlock archer did the rest. Hit something with a lot of blood and…” He shrugged and looked away for an instant. “We have fixed the armor. It’s as strong as it was before.”

Astala nodded. “Adralen was Dalish?”

Jerome shook his head. “City born and raised. From Verchiel, I think. Fussy man. Kept everything spotlessly clean. Even the coins he took from darkspawn corpses.”

“Oh,” Astala made. Her fingers were already tightening around the blue gambeson. The wind shifted, and a faint smell wafted up from it, despite the washing it had recently undergone. It smelled sharply of sweat.

Fear.

Astala was holding the gambeson close to her chest. “Thank you.”

Jerome dismissed her with a casual wave of his hand but didn’t answer otherwise. His other hand was plunged into his pocket. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“Well…” Jerome cleared his throat. “I better get going. Lots to do.” He nodded at the gambeson in her hands. “May it serve you well, eh?”

“Thank you,” Astala said again, and then, as Jerome shrugged once more and turned to leave, her mind finally kicked into action. “Jerome?”

Jerome turned around. “Yes?”

“I have a dwarven coin,” Astala said. “And lots of other stuff.”

Jerome tilted his head, moderately intrigued.

“I want to send money back to my family,” Astala continued, “but Duncan said you’d- we’d need the loot too. To finance… all of this.” She gestured around herself at the tents, the banner, the food, the weapons and armor. “How much can I keep and send off?”

“Well…” Jermone said haltingly and rubbed his chin. “We’d have to discuss that. It’s not like there is a set policy.”

Astala set up her best business face. “Could we discuss it now? And pen it down in writing?”

“You want an, uh, what is the word… a contract?” Jerome asked.

“I know I’m no paid hire,” Astala quickly said. “But it’s just a reasonable way to do things.”

“Well, I have never drawn up a contract,” Jerome said. “But I think I know who might help us. Follow me, if you please.”

Astala readjusted her grip on the new armor and went after him.

-

The man Jerome was looking for was called Onastas. He was an older human with greying blond hair and sharp features. They found him secluded away in a tent, going over small numbers in a small, leather-bound notebook, and Jerome had to wave his hand in front of his face to get his attention. Onastas gruffly asked for ten more minutes, in an accent that was definitely not Orlesian, but when Jerome mentioned a contract, he immediately looked up and set his notebook aside.

“Finally, somebody interested in doing things properly.” He gave Astala an appreciative glance. “We will need paper.”

He marched past them and led the way to the large tent in the middle of the Warden encampment. Said tent had a big table in the middle and was well-provisioned with both ink and paper. The table had a map on it. Astala recognized the hill they were on with the gulley that split it in two, the big tower on the eastern side of the hill, and lots of small figurines positioned on the map. Some were carved out of warm wood. One was grey. Most of them were pitch black and arranged in the area around the hill.

There were so many of those.

Jerome pulled a light linen sheet over the map, ripping her out of her thoughts, and sat down. Onastas offered her a chair.

Weird.

Still, a chair was nice. Onastas asked her once if she’d ever been part of drafting up a contract—she had not—and then launched into a detailed explanation of what made up a solid, unbreakable deal with no loopholes to pass through them. The explanation veered off into several tangents including a brief history of contracts (apparently Nevarra had given rise to their ubiquity), the impact of Tevinter registers of living goods on the structure and formalities found in them, and a curious case in which a merchant had managed to seize a whole shipment of goods from a rival because of a clumsily formulated clause.

“You see,” Onastas finished that anecdote, “wording is everything. You can sell somebody a lousy dog with the right words, and make them think they have struck the deal of their lifetime.”

Astala nodded slowly. Some of that sounded familiar from things Alarith said when talking about his smuggling business.

“How do you know so much about this?” she asked Onastas.

“I was a notary in Cumberland,” Onastas said. “Then I was accused of fraud and embezzlement and was forced to flee.”

Astala let out a soft breath. “And did you do that?”

“Fraud and embezzlement? Of course.” Onastas looked off into the distance, as if fondly remembering better but long past times. “Their contracts were too badly drafted not to try. But yours won’t be.”

Jerome set down ink and paper in front of him and they began to work.

Despite Onastas’ technical knowledge, the main negotiator turned out to be Jerome. He offered a fifteen percent cut of the benefits from every bit of loot she found. Astala considered it, then shook her head and asked for twenty percent. Jerome narrowed his eyes and smiled, like they’d just started a game of tug.

“You understand, the darkspawn sometimes leave behind artifacts of incalculable value,” Jerome said. “A fifteen percent cut could make you rich beyond your wildest imagination.”

Astala nodded. A smile of her own threatened to overtake her features. She pushed it down. The game was on.

“I have a huge family,” she answered. “Two sisters and five brothers, as well as fourteen cousins on my father’s side and twenty-one on my mother’s side. My grandparents are still alive and need care. And so far, I’ve seen nothing from the darkspawn but rusty daggers and one or two coppers.”

“Weisshaupt won’t be happy with this arrangement,” Jerome shot back. “I’m already doing you a favor by even considering it.”

“Look.” Astala folded her hands on the table. “I’d rather settle this honorably, but if we don’t agree on something fair, I’ll have to start skimming off the top. And neither of us want that. I’m willing to negotiate, but ten percent isn’t enough.”

“You are admitting being a thief?” Jerome asked.

“Aren’t we all?” Astala said and shrugged. “How’d you end up here?”

Jerome leaned back, eyebrows drawn high. Onastas had stopped writing and was watching them with great interest.

“Sixteen,” Jerome said.

“Nineteen,” Astala answered.

“Seventeen,” Jerome countered.

Astala shook her head, and made sure to let disappointment bleed into the movement. “Eighteen.”

“Seventeen and a half. Neither for you nor for me, eh?” Jerome said.

Astala shook her head again. “Eighteen.”

“The math will be terrible!” Jerome complained.

“I’m good with numbers,” Astala said. “Eighteen and not one percent less. You have my word that I won’t take a single copper coin when you’re not looking.”

Jerome leaned his chin against his clutched hands. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Astala waited.

Jerome pushed himself out of his chair and stretched his hand out. “Eighteen percent of everything you find. We have a deal, sister.”

Astala shook his hand and finally allowed herself to grin. At the Anchor, she’d only gotten the fixed amount of two silver a month, and half of what she made in tips. She’d calculated it once. It had been around six to eight percent of what the business made, and that after subtracting taxes and the like. An offer that covered room, board and other necessities, plus an eighteen percent cut of whatever valuables she found? She’d take that any day.

They signed the contract. Then Onastas insisted that it should be brought before Duncan so he could sign it as well. Astala followed him and Jerome with mixed feelings. But she’d have to talk to Duncan again at some point or another.

Better get it over with.

Duncan gave her and the other two wardens a quick look and then smiled to himself as he diligently read through the contract. He accepted ink and quill from Onastas and bent over a nearby barrel to add his signature to the document. His handwriting, Astala noticed, was scratchy, and he had no last name. Come to think of it, neither had Jerome.

“I’m glad to see you are settling in,” he said, blowing the ink dry and handing the contract back to her. “I trust Jerome has provisioned you with some suitable armor?”

“He has,” Astala nodded, and stowed the contract away in the pouch hanging from her belt.

It was… strange. Duncan felt strange.

“For the record, I am sorry for what happened yesterday to ser Jory,” Duncan said.

“I’m sure there are many things you are sorry for,” Astala said before she could stop herself.

“More than you might imagine,” Duncan said. “And I do not wish for you to be forced to make the decisions I have made. I do hope that this won’t make you waver in the upcoming battle.”

It was the taint in his blood. It had to be. It felt like… a bit like the hurlock commander they had fought yesterday: she couldn’t ignore him. He was there, at the edge of her mind. It wasn’t comfortable, but it didn’t make her nauseous like the hurlock had.

It felt as if the whole encampment should be revolving around him.

Astala shook her head and tried to rid herself of that feeling.

“It won’t,” she said. “Not for the upcoming battle.”

“That is enough for now,” Duncan said and smiled.

Astala got the distinct impression that he knew what she was sensing.

The conversation was interrupted by an elven messenger, who stopped his run only a few steps before Duncan. Skinny, reddish brown hair, kinda nervous… he reminded her of Soris. Astala did a double take. She had cousins in other cities, cousins she had never known. Was this one of them?

“King Cailan requests your presence at the main hall, ser,” the elf said.

Astala saw Duncan’s shoulders tense and lower slightly, but his expression remained as polite as ever. “Please let the king know I will be there shortly.”

“Right away, ser,” the elf nodded, threw a glance at Astala and sped off again.

Duncan sighed and then turned to Onastas, Jerome and her. “That’s my cue. Hopefully I’ll be able to give you good news after this. Settle any affairs you might still have pending. Who knows where we will be at this time tomorrow. If you will excuse me…”

He gave them a nod and made his way through the camp. The wardens he went by acknowledged his passing: a nod, a wave, a short greeting, smoothly integrated in whatever they were doing, as if they had seen him coming even when he was approaching them from behind. Astala couldn’t say she liked that.

Slowly, one hand on her pouch, she made her way back to her companions. At least they were still halfway normal.

-

A short while later she saw Duncan walk towards in the direction of the ruined hall where she’d met Alistair yesterday. He was flanked by two other wardens, a pale, bald man with thin limbs and a broad-shouldered, brown-skinned person with the same piercing silver in his eyes Ilanlas had. Between them, they were carrying the map Astala had seen in the big tent.

“Wondering where they’re going?”

Astala turned around and saw Khêd casually standing there, watching the small procession.

“Messenger came by before. They’re going to see the king,” Astala answered.

“Yeah, but what are they doing with the king?” Khêd insisted.

“Why do you want to know?” Astala shot back.

Khêd shrugged. “Sulri wants to know.”

“And so you do too?” Astala asked.

“Me? Nah.” Khêd looked away and shook his head. “What I want to know is what caste she was from. She’s shrewd enough to be in the merchant caste, but with that self-importance she’d be a good fit with the warriors.”

“What’s a caste?” Astala asked.

“Nothing you want to have up here,” Khêd said.

“Is it like a job?” Astala said.

Again, Khêd shook his head. “Much more than that.”

“And what caste were you?”

Khêd looked after Duncan and his companions; still standing casually, knees slightly bent, feet wide apart, hands on his belt. But there was a tension in the air.

“Surli thinks they’re going to some of meeting,” he finally said. “She wants to know what kind of fancy strategy they’ll be using tonight. I want to know how we’re going to die.”

“Aren’t you a good old ball of cheer?” Astala scoffed.

Khêd smiled, missing teeth full on display. “Happy to provide. You coming?”

“Why would I?” Astala asked.

“Come on, salroka,” Khêd pressed. “One for the team. You were the one talking about how we should get along.”

She had been talking about that.

“Ugh, fine.” Astala stood up and dusted herself off. “They won’t let us in though.”

“Sulri’s got that covered,” Khêd said. “Let’s go!”

Sulri was waiting for them by the edge of the warden’s encampment. Duncan and his companions were already far off, but Sulri led them through the bustling camp without doubting her direction once. Halfway through, Ilanlas suddenly appeared next to Astala.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re following Duncan,” Astala answered. “There’s a war meeting.”

Ilanlas’ eyebrow twitched up in interest, and he fell into step with them.

“D’you go anywhere interesting?” Astala tried.

“Away,” Ilanlas answered. “It is far too noisy here.”

A donkey brayed; soldiers shouted; the Chant of Light wafted through the air, not drowned out by the noise, but emboldened by it. Astala pulled a face in sympathy, and they pressed on.

-

Duncan and the other two wardens did disappear into the ruined hall where they met Alistair the day before. Astala looked up at the solitary pillars, towering up into the darkening sky. The thunderstorm that had been lingering on the horizon was closing in. The wind had gained in sharpness and rattled the banners on their flagpoles.

“So,” Astala said, looking around. “What now.”

Sulri lifted a hand, as if telling them to wait. Then she marched straight towards a human. He had a gaunt, stern face with an aquiline nose and dark hair. His plate armor was well tended to, but sober and purely practical. He was walking directly towards the ruin; when Sulri approached, he held the guard accompanying him back and allowed her to approach.

“Who’s that?” Khêd asked.

Astala shrugged.

Sulri bowed and started signing. Astala turned to Khêd.

“What’s she saying?”

“I don’t know,” Khêd said, staring at the scene before them. “I don’t know those signs.”

They watched, dumbfounded, as the tall human in the armor nodded once, then twice, then signed something himself, and then finally motioned towards the ruined hall. Sulri inclined her head like she was born to do so, and then they both walked the last few steps towards the hall together, engaged in what looked like polite conversation.

Astala, Ilanlas and Khêd watched them walk by and up the ramp. Up until they turned the corner, Astala was waiting for Sulri to turn around to them and motion for them to follow.

She never did.

And then she was gone.

Khêd’s shrug was carefully careless. “Don’t know why I expected anything different.”

“Did she just leave us standing here?” Ilanlas said.

Khêd shrugged again. “Seems it.”

Ilanlas cursed loudly.

“Maybe… she’ll come back and tell us what she’d heard?” Astala suggested.

Khêd laughed. “You’re cute, duster. I wouldn’t count on-”

“Sorry?”

The elven messenger who’d summoned Duncan was standing behind them, eyeing the three of them with something between apprehension and awe. “Are you… Grey Wardens?”

“We are,” Ilanlas answered.

“Hey,” Astala said and smiled. “How’s everything?”

“Good, good. Name’s Gavin, but I tell all the shems here it’s Pick.” He let out a nervous chuckle.

“I’m Astala. Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you. We were all wondering about… well.” Gavin gestured to her sword and dagger. “Hey, did you need anything? You’re looking a bit lost there.”

“Well, we actually did want to listen in on the meeting.” Astala pointed back at the ruin. “Not happening now, though. Our friend left us sitting here.”

Gavin made a sympathetic noise, then cast a glance left and right and leaned closer. “Don’t tell anybody, but… see that hole there in the wall?”

Astala turned to look at where he was pointing. “No.”

“I do,” Ilanlas said in the same breath.

“Right.” Gavin looked over his shoulder again, almost reflexively. “It gets you between the trees and behind the hall. You can hear everything from there and are well hidden, you just can’t see much. I normally use it to hide from the quartermaster.”

“That guy back there?” Astala pointed in the direction of where the man Sulri had stolen from this morning had set up shop. “He’s an ass.”

“He is! At least at the palace I had more hiding spots, but here there’re almost none!” Again, Gavin looked over his shoulder. “I better get going. If the quartermaster finds me here chatting, it’ll be my hide. Good luck!”

“Thank you!” Astala called after him.

As quickly as he had arrived, Gavin disappeared again.

Astala looked after him. “Nice fellow.”

“He speaks like a beaten dog,” Ilanlas said.

“I’d like to see you in his place,” Astala shot back.

Khêd said nothing.

“Well,” Astala said and turned around, towards the ruin. “Shall we?”

“Why did he tell us about this hiding spot?” Khêd muttered.

“He wanted to help.” Astala slowly approached the wall. No hole in sight.

“Right,” Khêd said, voice dripping with sarcasm, but he was following her. “Juts remember, if we get caught, this wasn’t my idea.”

“Of course,” Ilanlas sneered.

“You can stay behind if you don’t like it,” Khêd said flatly. “Hey, duster, I think that guy’s lied to us. I see no hole.”

Ilanlas sighed. He stepped up to the wall, brushed some overhanging branches aside and stepped into what was now very clearly a space between two walls, one covering the other.

“Try to keep up,” Ilanlas said to Khêd, and then vanished behind the stones and the branches of the tree.

Khêd turned to Astala. “How old is this kid?”

“You know…” Astala said. “I’m actually not sure.”

She’d have to ask. For now, she followed Ilanlas.

-

They edged closer to the ruin’s back wall, crawling through trees and bushes. Ilanlas did his best to make their progress as quiet as possible. Khêd seemed to hold a strong resentment against trees and was ducking way too low under the branches. Finally, they heard voices. They couldn’t see anything; what wasn’t obscured by foliage was hidden behind the still standing stones of the ruin’s wall. But the wall amplified the sounds from inside the chamber, and the voices rang out to them as if they were standing no more than fifteen feet away.

“My lady, I thank you for your advice, but my decision is final,” king Cailan was saying. “I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault, as I have already told Loghain several times.”

“You risk too much, Cailan,” a deeper voice with a hint of paternal frustration answered.

It took Astala a moment to connect the dots. Loghain. This was teyrn Loghain!

“The darkspawn are too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines,” the teyrn continued. “I have already told you, and our guest has done nothing but corroborate my estimation.”

Cailan sighed. “Then perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us after all.”

Astala almost let out a loud gasp. They wanted to bring the Orlesians in?

But no; she shouldn’t have doubted teyrn Loghain. The man had kicked the Orlesians out personally only thirty years ago, after all. With their help.

“I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!” Teyrn Loghain sounded tired.

“It is not a ‘fool notion’,” king Cailan protested. “Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past, and you will remember who is king.”

“Oh, he’s not-” Astala muttered.

Ilanlas and Khêd shot her a sharp glance.

“How fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!” teyrn Loghain said.

There was a longer pause, and then Loghain picked the conversation up again.

“The argument has already been made, but I thank you for making it again. Remember, Cailan, that a country with an internal struggle is always an easy target for an outside invasion.”

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” king Cailan answered. “Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”

“They are, your Majesty,” Duncan answered.

King Cailan set on to answer when Ilanlas suddenly lifted his head, eyes wide. He turned to them.

“Go. Go, go, go!”

Astala didn’t ask. She turned and went back the way they’d come from as fast as possible. Khêd followed right behind her, Ilanlas closed their hurried retreat. They started running as soon as they were out of earshot. The hole in the stone wall was before them in no time.

“Keep going!” Ilanlas hissed.

There were heavy steps behind them.

They burst out of the wall and into the hustle and bustle of the army camp. Nobody paid them much mind as they hurried away from the ruin, melting into the crowd of soldiers marching, carts and wagons being pulled, and Chantry sisters giving out blessings like single coppers. They didn’t stop until they were back at the warden encampment. Only then did Khêd turn around.

“What was going on?”

“One of the wardens Duncan went with,” Ilanlas explained. “He was coming closer.”

Khêd cursed. “Must’ve sensed us.”

“Does he know it was us?” Astala asked.

Khêd looked at Ilanlas.

Ilanlas shrugged. “We will find out.”

Khêd sighed deeply and rolled his shoulders back. “Great work, team.”

“Hey, it’s a bonding experience,” Astala said cheerfully.

Khêd heartily cursed again.

*

TRANSLATIONS:

"Andruil na los masua'las.": "Andruil give you a thousand wounds."

Hope you enjoyed this one as much as I’m enjoying rereading it ^^ Have a lovely day!!

#dragon age fanfic #dragon age origins fanfic #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #warden aeducan #warden brosca #warden tabris #warden mahariel #female aeducan #male brosca #female tabris #male mahariel #alistair #wynne #duncan #grey warden ocs #king cailan #teyrn loghain #dragon age origins retelling #astala tabris #sulri aeducan #khêd brosca #ilanlas mahariel #the story of one astala tabris #my writings

[black-emporium-exchange]

NOMINATIONS ARE OPEN!

Nominations for the Black Emporium are live until July 3rd! Reach out and tell someone (namely: us) about your favorite rare-pairs (namely: any pairing under 300 complete fics on Ao3). You have twenty nominations to use. Pairings can be twosomes / threesomes / moresomes / etc. We believe in sharing the love.

How do you, in fact, become a true Fereldan buckaroo by nominating a rare pair or 20?

Go to the Dragon Age Rare Pair Tag Set and click Nominate (you have to be signed into Ao3 for the button to appear). For inspiration or to check if someone had the same idea as you, we have a Searchable Nominations Spreadsheet.

For more information on this stage of the exchange and how best to format your nominations, please see below the cut:

Full Participation Walkthrough Guide || FAQ

Important things to remember: 

Pairings/groups must be nominated in order to be requested during the next phase of the exchange, Sign-Ups.

Nominations require a set format — keep reading for more details

All nominations should be under Dragon Age - All Media Types.

Pairings/groups cannot have more than 300 completed works on AO3.

We allow original characters in this exchange as well as canon characters. 

Nominating a pairing/group is not “binding”; you do not need to request or offer the pairing later.

Nomination Formatting: 

All nominations should be nominated under the “Dragon Age - All Media Types” fandom. 

Nominations do not need to auto-complete to be accepted; if Ao3 does not complete your ideal nomination, just type it in manually. 

For romantic/sexual relationships, please nominate the characters you wish to nominate with a “/” between each character. For familial, platonic, or otherwise non-sexual requests, please use a “&.” i.e. “Meredith Stannard & Orsino” would not have any sexual or romantic undertones. “Meredith Stannard/Orsino” would be considered sexual and/or romantic, even if the fanwork itself didn’t include any sexual acts.

Nominations should be spelled correctly. i.e. “Merrill”, not “Meril”

Nominations should ideally be in alphabetical order, by last name. If a character does not have a last name, use the first name instead. i.e. “Zevran Arainai/The Iron Bull/Solas”

If a character has multiple names or aliases, go by their “main” name. i.e. “Blackwall”, not “Thomas ‘Thom’ Rainier”

For Dragon Age player-characters (such as the Warden, Hawke, and Inquisitor, etc.), we treat different surnames and gender as different characters. Female Surana will be evaluated differently from Female Brosca, Male Surana, etc.

Nominating Dragon Age “Player Characters”

For the purposes of this challenge, the Dragon Age protagonists will be considered different characters based on their gender and surname. The three genders we utilize for this exchange are: Male, Female, and Nonbinary. 

When nominating characters, please format as such: 

Male [Warden Surname / Hawke / Inquisitor Surname]  (i.e. Male Trevelyan)

Female [Warden Surname / Hawke / Inquisitor Surname]  (i.e. Female Hawke)

Nonbinary [Warden Surname / Hawke / Inquisitor Surname]  (i.e. Nonbinary Brosca)

So, for example: “Male Trevelyan/Male Cousland” will be accepted as a nomination; “Inquisitor/Warden” will not.

You can nominate pairings where one version of the pairing is over the limit as long as the version you nominate qualifies. For example, you can request “Male Lavellan/Solas” or “Nonbinary Lavellan/Solas,” even if “Female Lavellan/Solas” is over the limit. 

Customized or individualized Wardens/Hawkes/Inquisitors are not valid nominations. For example, “Mary Trevelyan/Vivienne” would be ineligible; the requester would need to use “Female Trevelyan/Vivienne,” “Male Trevelyan/Vivienne” or “Nonbinary Trevelyan/Vivienne.”

In your prompts in your sign-up, you can request preferred details (such as specific OCs, a first name, looks, personality traits, class, background, etc.), and creators may choose to incorporate those elements into their gift for you. However, creators are not required to incorporate those preferred details, and works will not be checked for that by moderators.

Nominating Characters from Other Canons (i.e. Crossovers)

We allow crossovers from other series so long as they are interacting with at least one canonical character. However, when nominating a character from another specific series, please put the name of the fandom the character is from in parenthesis after the name, for example: “The Iron Bull & James Vega (Mass Effect)”

For crossovers that are from different media within the Dragon Age fandom, no specification is needed, i.e. “Merrill/Solas.” 

Nominating Other Original Characters

Original Characters who are not Wardens/Hawkes/Inquisitors are also allowed to be nominated, provided they follow the following guidelines:

The OC is listed in such a way as to give someone freedom in how to write them. 

OCs should be generalized or archetypal. i.e. “my OC Gerald D’Vivir” is too individualized and customized, but “Male Orlesian Noble” is eligible

A good rule of thumb here is whether the character idea can be summed up in 3 or less words; if you can, it is probably a good option. If you cannot, it probably is too complex for this kind of exchange. i.e. "Tal-Vashoth Mercenary" or "Original Templar Character" is eligible; but "Older Blonde Warrior Dwarven Warden Widower” is not

If the gender of an OC is considered important to your request, please include it. If you are fine with any gender option, gender does not need to be added, and the creator of the work can choose their choice of gender options for the character. i.e. "Orlesian Noble" or "Female Orlesian Noble”

The OC is not listed in such a way that would, essentially, reflect the spirit of a canon character that is otherwise not permitted in a relationship. 

As an example, while it is possible to have an Original Female Elf Inquisitor who is not Lavellan, it is so close to canon based on that description that it would essentially function as the same character.

Lastly...

What are you waiting for? GET YE TO THE NOMINATING!

#be_2023 #be_nominations #be_announcements #dragon age #black emporium

[vigilskeep]

i didn’t realise that if you do choose to drug your opponent in the proving as planned, you actually have to go and distract him while leske drugs his water, and making rhori the fangirling distraction is sending me

#wow you’re a warrior you must be soooo brave #as an only incredibly vaguely related aside. did not realise 2009 bioware had the nerve to have two separate male npcs make sex work jokes #in his general direction. really thought those would just be for f!broscas. fascinating

[bumblewarden]

A Brosca who not only asks every male middle-aged surface dwarf they meet if he's their father but goes the full Gorgug and one time questions if they're their own father. (Gender is irrelevant if it's for the bit.)

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #warden brosca #farrick brosca

[milesmentis]

From the Pride OC asks!

3) How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

for ALL OF THEM (please? 😁)

*cracks knuckles* Okay ... let's do this!

Daren: answered here (everyone else is under the cut)

Gil: She was my late bloomer. Going back to the mention about Gil and demisexuality, she probably has the closest parallel to my own journey. When she was growing up, she definitely thought she was asexual because she had -100% interest in boys and 0 interest in girls. She has that intense Eldest Daughter Syndrome that most Hawkes tend to carry and that + her discomfort with male attention made it easier to just ignore anything that had to do with her own sexuality because it make her feel complicated messy things. She was an incredibly awkward and apologetic teenager, but when she's older (around 19/20) her feelings for other women started to really develop. She doesn't fully blossom though until she gets to Kirkwall, cuts off all her hair, and starts hanging out with a bunch of disaster bisexuals

Hallapan: She figured out she was a girl at a pretty young age (I'd say about 7 or 8), because I headcanon that's also when the gender roles in her clan would have started hitting. That's also about the same time that her magic manifested and I feel like those two things kind of run parallel in her mind ... the idea of suddenly becoming something else, something rare but a little strange. Clan Lavellan wasn't actually her birth clan, and when a few more mages manifested when she was a young teen, she was sent to them. It was a two edged sword - she was upset that she had to go, but also excited bc it meant that she could go train as a Keeper in another clan where they never knew her as a little boy. It was a fresh start and helped her anxiety about puberty and social transition a ton.

Magnus: Oh Maggie ... my dear angry macho bisexual. Out of all my characters he is the one who struggles the most with his internalized homophobia and toxic masculinity. I headcanon that the further north you go, the more rigid things like gender and sexuality tend to be. In his case, Magnus was from a small town in the free Marches with a very strict father who joined the army the second he had the chance and stayed there for over a decade. Those two things gave him a kind of skewed view of masculinity and male-attraction. He's honestly something of a frat boy, so his own feelings for other men were a thing he could explain away through, like, the rituals of male-bonding. Definitely a guy who would say, "Of course I've fucked dudes. I was in the army wasn't I?" Meanwhile, Daren and Donnie would be staring at him like "......... bro." It takes until he's about 30 to get really comfortable with his own queerness (he has such a huge crush on Cullen, it's insane) and honestly his friendship with Dorian is so healing. Just finally having another queer male friend to talk to, and one with such a different but equally repressive upbringing ... yeah ... I think they're real neat.

Brosca: The female Brosca origin is so goddamn Gender to me! Unlike the canon, Brosca is actually older than Rica (about 33) and experienced a ton on gendered violence, starting from their mother. She grew up under a constant tirade of "Everything would have been better if you were a boy, you useless failure" (her father was merchant class). After Rica's father leaves for the surface and their mother falls into depressive alcoholism, Brosca is the one who has to shoulder everything - she becomes the breadwinner the only way she can (breaking heads for Beraht) and does everything she can to protect Rica (usually by making herself the wall or the target). Orzammar being so aggressively heteronormative forces her to carve out a sexless space for herself in order to survive. She's not a woman like her sister (pretty, painted, artistic, kept) and she's not a man like Leske (desperate, letcherous, envious, possesive). She's a knife and if you touch her for ANY reason, you're going to get cut. Going to the surface changes her life in so many ways, but I think one of the most powerful is hearing gender-neutral Ser for the first time. She never truly unpacks her own feelings about sex and gender, because she doesn't have the reason or language to do so, but even though she continues to use she/her for the rest of her life as a convenience, she really grows to think of her own gender as Warden. And that finally feels right.

Eyas: Eyas is a very reserved and introspective person, so I feel like he figured out that he was both gay and aromantic in his mid-teens. It was always a kind of perfunctory thing: clans are very interconnected groups and as a result, I don't think things like nudity, sexual interest, or gender really ... matter as much? Because everything is so interpersonal. When he leaves the clan, however, he doesn't handle it very well. He becomes even more withdrawn, and the only person who he even slightly warms up to is Zevran. Unfortunately, Zev interprets this change in behavior as romantic interest, and when he offers sex to Eyas, he panics. It takes a long, complicated, and shockingly emotional (for him) conversation until he finally admits how badly he's hurting, how little he wants sex, and how afraid he is of losing the closest thing he has to a clan brother because he can't feel the same desire. Zevran is absolutely understanding and helps him talk through his feelings about sex and romance (generally) and specifically (pining for Alistair), and gives him reassurance that what he feels is natural and understandable. They become even closer after that - a literal lifeline for Eyas in many ways - with a tinge of that homoerotic non-tension that really good queer friends always have. His actual "awakening" doesn't happen until Awakening (if he makes it that far) ... the second he lays eyes on Nathaniel Howe.

Donnie: The only character I've ever made who Gets The Goddamn Therapy and Support They Deserve! Aside from the background radiation of "Mild Homophobia and Sexism That Permeates Military Life Even In The Future" he doesn't have any hangups about his sexual orientation. I think, like most bisexual nerds, his awakening was Star Wars (which might be two centuries old, but he will defend with his dying breath). Like Daren, he gets a kick out of people assuming he's straight but he's never shy about mentioning ex-boyfriends. He's primarily attracted to women and a lot of the bros-to-lovers arc he has with Kaidan revolves around them both talking about hot women over beer and then dropping a quick reference to hot men ... no homo tho ... haha ... unless.

#pride asks #gil hawke #hallapan lavellan #magnus 'trevelyan' #brosca mac tir #eyas mahariel #donnie shepard #it's oc ask time 24/7