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erikacousland · 4 years

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Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights. Reading notes, part 15

The Dread Wolf Take You by Patrick Weekes

Everything was so beautiful! Even the Egg.

The building sat hunched near the docks of Hunter Fell as though hoping not to be noticed. A hornless Qunari stood at the door, dressed in a dark samite suit and carrying a mahogany walking stick whose head was a dragon’s skull carved from lazurite. The cut of his clothes and the scars on his hands sent a clear warning that sailors looking for a cheap drink should look elsewhere. A sign over the door had no picture but read, simply, THE TEAHOUSE.

Inside, the teahouse was dimly lit and conspicuously quiet. It was a place where a hood pulled up could hide a face, where whispers were worth more than gold. Candlelight flickered in smoked-glass lamps, shedding just enough light for a keen-eyed servant to find their way across the thick stained planks that lined the floor. There were no common tables, merely a bar and a number of wide booths, each blocked off from the room by heavy velvet curtains woven through with lyrium and enchanted to prevent any sound from escaping the booth.

She’d been on the road for a week and badly wanted a glass of wine, but she wanted a warm fireplace and a woman named Tessa in her arms, too, and neither of those would be good ideas right now either. “Anderfels mint, loose leaf, if you have any.”

The top floor was blocked by another of the black curtains that blocked the sound, and when she pushed it aside, she saw one large room. The lamps were dim and the walls bare of both windows and any painting where a peephole might have been concealed, but a fireplace against the wall crackled merrily, and seated around the fire in comfortable overstuffed chairs were four figures.

A dwarf, early middle age, his hair and beard black as the leather he wore, his boots and gloves stitched with lyrium runes, and the thin blade at his waist gleaming in its wyvern-hide scabbard. A big cup of coffee sat mostly empty before him, and his eyes were sharp as he watched her come in. The Carta Assassin.

A slender man wearing bright silks whose iridescent hues were complemented by an opal-inlaid full-face mask done to look like dragon’s scales, with curly blond locks that hung about his shoulders. A teacup sat at the table in front of him, a few drops still left in the silver spoon resting on the saucer. The Orlesian Bard.

A pale woman in the dark robes of a Nevarran mage, frowning with evident disapproval, her staff sitting at rest by her chair but still crackling with faint magic around the amethyst crystal at the head, gripped by silver figures whose mouths hung open—in agony or ecstasy, Charter couldn’t tell. She cradled a glass of mulled wine, while a silver stirring stick twirled in the glass of its own accord. The Mortalitasi.

A figure covered head to toe in dark robes of Vyrantium samite, with a thin mesh dropping down to cover the hood. The dark robes were trimmed in a pattern Charter had never seen, twisting shapes that curled to points in places that made her eyes hurt. A cup of what looked like dark red wine sat before the figure, untouched by leather-gloved hands, but she caught a faint whiff of the ocean from his robes, and something beyond the ocean. The Executor.

They all turned to look at her as she came in. She made no effort to hide her steps—stealth might be taken as rudeness—but the sound was still muffled, and the floor felt slightly springy beneath her feet. A layer of cork under the floorboards for additional soundproofing, then.

Another thing that’s bad for business is competition, so when Viscount Tethras kept the quarantine in Kirkwall, where Meredith caused so much damage with her lyrium sword, and then turned into a blasted statue herself, the Carta approved. Anybody got ideas about sneaking in, breaking off a piece of old Merry the Mad for themselves, we showed them the error of their ways. You got it?

…

… Honestly, the elf gods always bored the crap out of me, no offense, Charter. At least the humans’ Maker has the good sense to sod off and leave us alone.

…

Anyway, we sneak into the quarantined square where Merry the Mad is keeping watch forever, climbing over the barriers they’ve set up quiet, and quick. It takes a little bribery and a little moving, quiet-like, and maybe a few of Kirkwall’s finest should’ve taken the hint and gone for a walk, but they got a bad case of scruples and had to go for a swim instead, but what matters is we got to the statue. It was creepy, I’ll tell you that. The whole square stank of magic, thick enough to raise the hair on your arms, and as we’re moving through the shadows, I’d swear on my mother’s urn I heard music in the wind, like some old song I heard as a kid but can’t quite remember. A couple of us fell over right there, shaking and whispering, but most of us keep our heads on straight, and we get to the statue.

It doesn’t really look human anymore. It doesn’t look like much of anything, other than a twisted vein of lyrium that just grew out of the ground in a weird place. Some of the lyrium is dark. Some of it’s glowing. The song in my head is getting louder, and another of my Carta brothers runs off screaming, the idiot. Me, I’m just glad the statue doesn’t look much like Meredith anymore, because digging something out of a dead woman’s chest isn’t something decent people do.

Our alchemist uses the potion on old Merry the Mad, pouring it right on her heart, just like the elf had said, and old Merry opens up like a snowman with boiling water tossed on it, and damned if it isn’t there in the middle of her chest, that little idol Bartrand brought back from the Deep Roads. It’s not much to look at—a couple hugging, too thin to be dwarves—but it’s sitting there, glowing softly like a ruby lit by the grace of the Maker himself. I’ve got the best gloves, genuine wyvern leather, and I reach in, scoop aside the raw lyrium like it was mud in a rainstorm, and pry out the idol.

It’s heavier than you’d think—lyrium’s heavier than you’d think, too, but this was heavy even for that. When I hefted it in my hand, it was like it wanted to keep moving, like it was liquid inside. I don’t know. Anyway, we get it into the chest—double shielded, safe enough that you could sleep with it under your pillow at night—and the song shuts off all at once.

…

They come in a moment later—elves, but not any elves I’ve ever seen. No crap on their face like the Dalish, and they don’t have that little hunch a city elf has, hoping you don’t notice them. They’ve got fancy armor and bows out, and they case the room like professionals. One of them says that the idol must have been moved, and his accent is your normal Ferelden, not like the Dalish, who always sound like they’re talking through a mouthful of toffee.

“And now we know that the Dread Wolf has agents working for him,” the Bard added, his mask glittering in the firelight as he tossed back his golden locks, “and that he has the power to kill those who oppose him as they sleep. Useful information.” The hair toss was effective but a little clumsy. He normally styled his hair differently.

…

Charter gave the Bard credit—she wouldn’t have touched the Executor herself unless she’d had a weapon drawn. But then, given the reputation of the Orlesian bards, it was likely that he had a weapon closer than she thought. His hands were ungloved, his fingers long and pale. The flashy rings had no tan lines around them, so they were costuming, not normally part of his outfit.

In Tevinter, the mages made the greatest possible mistake. They chose to rule. In doing so, they shackled themselves to desks and appointments, using their waking hours to command men when they could have been commanding the magical forces that underlie the very fabric of this world.

In Nevarra, the king rules, and the common people are happy, or at least as happy as common people ever get. And the mages, the Mortalitasi? We rule the king. With a small investment of time, we command one man, and that man commands the others, and beyond that, we need not concern ourselves with them.

We perform rituals. The specifics need not concern you—only a mage would truly understand, and none of you are mages, unless the Executor wishes to correct me? Ah, so mysterious and silent. But the Mortalitasi know how to pry answers from silence.

Suffice it to say that we find places where the Veil is thin, and behind it, the Fade flows like a mighty river. In these places, our magic may bind spirits, as is only right and natural, and in so doing, guide the current of that river, so that it flows more to our liking.

It is not nonsense, dwarf. That your people are blind to magic does not remove its effect upon this world.

There are others among the Mortalitasi who do other work—the Guides of the Path to shepherd the corpses, the Mourn Watch to deal with magic gone awry—but those who do as I do, who bind the Fade and the world beneath it to their will . . . we are the truest mages, whatever those who question our methods might say where they think we cannot hear.

…

Can you imagine the Antaam in control of this land? They hate magic even more than the cowards in the south. Our great works, the magic of centuries? They would destroy it, judging us monsters, as though they had any right. It is unacceptable. I will not answer to witless fools who cannot even see the demons I bind by will alone.

I will not answer to you either, Orlesian. When you can stand in the Fade and turn the raw chaos to your own purpose through sheer force of will, then I will accept your opinions of whether my magic is safe or appropriate.

…

… an idol crafted from red lyrium, which seemed to show two lovers, or a god mourning her sacrifice, depending upon how it caught your fancy.

It whispered in our minds when we saw it, but those of us gifted with magic hear such murmurs in our minds all the time, and it is nothing to us.

…

But before the Tevinter mage could complete his ritual, the Dread Wolf arrived.

It was no elf, no mortal mage. It was a beast unlike any I had ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon, and it came to us on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons as the Dread Wolf landed before us.

The war between Gaspard and Celene was a great disruption to my country, expensive both in lives lost and coin spent. Since its resolution, those in my profession have spent much of our time traveling abroad in search of Orlesian treasures sold or bartered.

Recently, I found myself asked to recover such a treasure, a ring that once belonged to Empress Celene herself, a gift from the previous Lady Mantillon before her untimely retirement. I had traced this ring across Thedas to the neutral city of Llomerryn, where I had heard rumors of an auction where enchanted treasures from across the world were to be sold.

I procured an invitation and arrived at a massive fortress guarded by a pair of massive golems, their stone marked with runes and crystal that glowed green as they examined my invitation. They waved me in, and I entered and made my way to the ballroom, where I found a crowd of the wealthy and influential gathered from all across Thedas.

An Avvar augur laughed loudly at a Rivaini pirate captain’s dirty joke. A soberly clad noble from Starkhaven glared at an auburn-haired elf whose dagger-knot gave her away as an agent of the Qunari spies, the Ben-Hassrath. A Warden-Commander spoke with a woman who was robed and masked, but as I passed her, I recognized the voice of Divine Victoria herself.

All of them were watched by a figure who sat upon a chair large enough to be a throne, a withered unmoving figure I would have taken for a corpse despite its finery had it not occasionally spoken by means of some magical artifact to order a small boy to moisten its desiccated limbs.

…

These were not humans or elves who had foolishly given themselves to the Qunari cause. These were Qunari themselves, tall and gray-skinned, but lithe and fast where the Antaam soldiers are bulky and strong. They carried no lanterns or torches, but held instead a metal rod ending in a glass bulb inside which an eerie light burned more brightly than any candle. They carried blades and the thick, heavy satchels that Qunari use to store their explosive powder, and as I watched, they applied a pouch to a heavy iron door against the wall and stepped back.

…

… The last member of the Tevinter team was a golem—identical to the golems that had guarded the castle entrance as far as I could tell, save that it seemed to have intelligence in its eyes, and it stood ready to defend the humans.

…

Then the eluvian, the elven mirror on the wall, sprang to life, and as both sides turned, a figure stepped out, an elf in golden armor with a wolf pelt across his shoulder.

He looked at them, and his face was empty of all expression.

As one, the Siccari and the Ben-Hassrath turned to flee, screaming in panic.

The elf’s eyes blazed once with glowing light, and everyone stopped, petrified by strange and terrible magic. Even the golem was living stone no more, its crystals dead and gray as it froze where it stood.

A lot of information here,

like Shale killed by the Egg.

Leliana dating with her HoF…

The Bard stopped there, sighing.

“That’s a good story,” the Assassin said, cutting into the silence, “but I’d rather hear the truth.”

The Bard turned to him. “I beg your pardon, monsieur?”

“Knifing a spy, that I believe,” said the Assassin. “But tailing a Ben-Hassrath team that was specifically on the lookout for opposition? I’ve come up against the horns a few times. No way you get close enough to overhear them without them knowing it.”

“I have heard many things of the Tevinter Siccari,” the Mortalitasi added, “but I have never heard them called cowards or traitors. Most of them come from slave families, and those families are kept safe as both promise and threat, ensuring the Siccari never flinch from their duties. You say that they broke and ran as soon as a single elf walked through the mirror. I know they would have attacked.”

Charter sighed. “There are many liars at this table,” she said, “some more talented than others. I ask for my life.”

…

The Mortalitasi went even paler than usual. “Charter, you have wasted my time.”

“I fear I have ended your time.” Charter shut her eyes and took a slow sip of tea, and then she quietly repeated, “I ask for my life.”

“I’m not killing you, elf,” the Assassin muttered. “I need to get something useful out of this. Word has it you saw that blasted elf every day in Haven. You must know something, even if you were stupid enough not to see it at the time.”

“I’m not asking you,” Charter said. “And if you think I regret not seeing Solas for what he was when he served the Inquisition, you are correct. I was outplayed. I will regret it forever, and I will never make the same mistake again.”

“How can you be certain, mademoiselle?” the Bard asked.

She looked across the table at him, at his face was still hidden under his dragon mask.

“By observing several small tells, and three large ones,” she said finally, keeping her voice steady. “First, that few Orlesian bards would learn to speak the Qunari tongue but not elven, and fewer of those who do not speak elven would know the elven word eluvian, for the mirrors that let the ancient elves travel from place to place. Second, that the Executor has not moved since you touched his hand while he and the Assassin argued. And third . . . that you never drank your tea.”

The Assassin and the Mortalitasi turned.

“I know you hate the taste of tea,” Charter said softly. “It was a joke around Skyhold. Why would you order it?”

“Because it was a joke around Skyhold,” the man in the dragon mask. He sounded tired. “I was uncertain this costume would suffice, so I did everything that the Dread Wolf would not . . . except, it seems, bring myself to drink the tea.”

“I ask for my life,” Charter said a third time.

The Assassin and the Mortalitasi both sprang, and the eyes behind the dragon mask blazed with a fiery light for a moment.

“Ar lasa mala,” he said, and his Orlesian accent was gone, replaced by the rolling lilt that was almost Dalish, but not quite. “I grant it to you.”

…

He turned back to Charter and removed the mask, tossing it carelessly to the table, and she saw his face again, just as she had seen it for all those months at Haven and Skyhold, never suspecting a thing. An elf, bald—the golden locks had been part of the mask. An oval face with full lips, and a tiny scar on his brow. Pointed ears, previously hidden under the mask and wig.

…

She shook her head helplessly. “Because you told the Inquisitor that you were going to destroy this world,” she said. “Did you expect us not to try to stop you?”

He sighed. “It was a moment of weakness. I told myself that it was because you all deserved to know, to live a few years in peace before my ritual was complete. Before this world ended.”

“Then perhaps we are not the only ones you lied to,” Charter said. “You do not have to do this.”

His look pinned her. “I have no choice. What I am doing will save this world, and those like you—the elves who still remain—may even find it better, when it is done.”

Charter considered lying, but then she thought of Tessa, with her quick smile and strong hands. “There are those I care for who would not.”

He smiled sadly. “I know that feeling well. I am not a god, Charter. I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor . . .” His voice faltered. “Say that I am sorry.”

He walked away, and Charter remained still until the curtain closed behind him.

Then she drank the rest of her tea, her fingers shaking a little. She looked at the dragon mask on the table.

Prideful, hotheaded, foolish. Doing what he must. Sympathetic to elves. Said that he was sorry.

The red lyrium idol was of a crowned figure comforting another.

#Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights #Dragon Age #Patrick Weekes #Solas #Dragon Age Novels #Reading notes #Random roaring

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impossible-rat-babies · 5 years

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DA 20 questions!

I was tagged by @acepavus! Thank you darling!

I’m gonna tag: @apostatetabris, @dirthara-mama, @wicked-eyes-and-wicked-hearts, @star--nymph, @red-wardens, @vvakarians, @trans-aloth, and anyone else who wants to do this! Sorry if I’ve double tagged you all!

01) Favourite game of the series?

I gotta go with Inquisition. I love all the maps and the characters I’ve gotten to make through the games. It’s a beautiful game.

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

I saw art of Dorian around and figured out he was from dragon age and that he was gay and I was instantly hooked on wanting to play the game. I hadn’t ever seen a video game before with a gay man in it and I was desperate for LGBT content and validation. Dorian has been immensely important to me in helping me realize my identity.

03) How many times you’ve played the games?

I’ve played origins all the way through four times I think. I’ve played da2 three times, twice with my main Hawke and then another Hawke. I’ve played inquisition at least six times with Darva and I’m playing Dimitri for the fourth time. I’ve played that one the most by far.

04) Favourite race to play as?

Elves! I love the elves of dragon age so much

05) Favourite class?

Dual wielding rogue by far along with archers. Rogues are one my favorite classes ever. I do have a soft spot for mages and warriors thought

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

I try to make little sorts of different choices. I’ve both allied/conscripted the templars and mages before on different little games and I’ve both banished and kept the grey wardens. I’ve never put Gaspard on the throne himself, but I’ve done all the other ways Halamshiral can end up. I’ve only ever not drank from the well once and the was because I was playing a human. I try to mix it up a little each play through for variety sake. Plus I love Calperia’s story so much more than Sampson, so I do side with the templars on occasion. But I am a mage loving gay.

07) Go-to adventuring group?

My Origins go to gang for Eth is Shale, Wyne and Alistair and Slivayn is usually Wyne, Shale, and Zevran. DA2 is a whole grab bag of people, but I usually have one mage, one warrior and a rogue + my mage Hawke. My crew for inquisition depends on who I’m playing. Darva mainly roles with Cassandra, Vivienne and Dorian while Dimitri runs with Iron Bull, Sera and Solas.

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

Dimitri and Darva are at a big ole tie with Eth coming in second place. Dimitri is my ever evolving kiddo mainly bc I play a TTRPG with him as my PC, but Darva is like that comfort character where I truly see myself in. Eth is my precious little complicated warden child who I revisit on occasion because I forget how much I do enjoy origins.

09) Favourite romance?

Oooo it’s a hard tie between Bull and Dorian. Dorian was really like that gateway--along with dragon age in general--into me making gay characters explicitly and having them represent me. He made me feel okay with who I am and seeing that blatant love between men was something I had never seen. It was kinda the same with Bull, but he was also like that shattering of men having to preform to a certain degree of manliness to be seen as valid. Bull is manly af, but he loves the color pink. Masculinity doesn’t have to be as society defines it.

10) Have you read any of the comics/books?

I have read the Magekiller comic, but that was about it. I wanna read the books, but having the energy to do it. Does reading the TTRPG book count? Or the World of Thedas books? lolol

11) If you read them, which was your favourite book?

I haven’t read any of the main book tbh

12) Favourite DLCs?

I loved the Return to Ostagar DLC. That one was full of a great atmosphere and just generally quite sad. I liked Mark of the Assassin best out of the DA2 DLCs because it was humorous as well as having good drama going on. A very fun time even though it was a bit of a pain. Trespasser is probably my favorite DLC for Inquisition mainly because of the run through the elvhen ruins at the end of the DLC to get to Solas. It’s throwing everything you have because this is the end at the enemy and I love that.

13) Things that annoy you.

Ehhh most of my annoyance come from the lack of mlm romance options in the game and the treatment of characters like Sera and Sandal who are coded as neutroatypical. But, most of my qualms come from fandom and the rampant homophobia, transphobia, racism and white-washing everyone does. Ya shitty fandom.

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

Ferelden, personally.

15) Templars or mages?

Mages as always.

16) If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

I have multiple characters across two world states, my canon one being Eth Tabris, my dual wielding rogue warden who romanced Alistair, Bryn Hawke, my force/blood mage, who romanced Fenris and Darva Lavellan, my dual wielding rogue who romanced Dorian. I also have other Lavellan's that go along with Darva like Fisk and Livonah. Then I have an alternative world state with Slivayn Mahariel, an archer rogue who romanced Zevran, then Farlan Hawke, my two handed warrior who romanced Anders, and then Dimitri Enallasani, my mage elf who romanced Bull. Dimitri only has Daniel as his other sort of important character.

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

Eth named her Mabari, Witt, after her brother who was sent to the Circle when she was 16. I cannot remember for the life of my what Bryn named his Mabari, rip. Darva ends up with a Mabari in Kirkwall just named Da’len. Slivayn named his Mabari Tamlen after his clanmate and lover. I can’t remember what Farlan named his Mabari, RIP. Dimitri has an Anderfels Hart he raises later on named Ghilan after his Keeper’s old Hart and he has a great horned owl named Falon who he rescued.

18) Have you installed any mods?

Nope! I play all my games on console, so no mods for me. I do want to get a good gaming computer after I graduate from college so I can indulge in some mods for Dimitri and Darva and learn fly cam. I would really like to have Dimitri’s vallaslin in the game and more dalish outfits for my kiddos. Alas, I am stuck with what I have for now.

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

Wanting to become a Grey Warden wasn’t something Eth thought about wanting or not wanting. She was ready to die for having saved Shianni and that would have been enough. She kept her safe and that was her duty. Duncan thought she was worth the risk and she accepted that if this was going to be her new duty, it was going to be her new duty.

Slivayn didn’t want to be a Warden at all. Duncan had to conscript him and even then he hated Duncan for a long, long time. He didn’t get to see if he could save Tamlen at all so he was intensely grieving and he was torn from the only home he had ever known. Ostagar was his first experience with humans who weren’t out to kill him and his family.

20) Hawke’s personality?

Bryn is firmly in the Purple Hawke camp, but strays into Blue on occasion. Farlan is a firm divide between Red and Purple.

21) Did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition?

Yes, omg yes. My quizzies have their own color palettes I work off of. Darva alternates between Bear Fur + Plush Fustian Velvet + Infused Vyrantium Samite + Blue Vitriol and Great Bear Fur + Darkened Samite + Silk Brocade + Blue Vitriol. Dimitri’s changes from Snoufleur Skin + Drakestone + Darkened Samite + Higher Weave to Great Bear Fur + Darkened Samite + Dragon Scale. aka, Darva wears a lot of deep browns, blues and greens and Dimitri is a lot of reds, blacks and oranges.

22) If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

Eth wishes she would have done more to keep Shianni safe along with the rest of the Alienage. Her biggest regret is that she allowed what happened to happen.

Bryn wishes he could’ve saved his family. He covers up a lot of his grief with humor and deflection, but he hurts a lot for what he did. Part of him wishes he had done better with his mother, but he wouldn't admit it.

Darva wishes he could’ve saved his father; he knows he was only fourteen and that he would have gotten himself killed, but at times he thought that a better fate than having to deal with his mother and her all encompassing, smothering grief.

Dimitri wishes he could’ve saved his clan. He goes over what happened as much as he can, trying to piece together what he could've done to save his family. It’s his life’s biggest regret.

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

Oooo could Darva being trans be one? Idk, that's a headcanon that doesn’t much go again canon. Biggest one for him would be him leaving the clan at 18 and traveling around Thedas.

Dimitri’s whole origins and magical usage is a big middle finger at the canon for the dalish inquisitor considering he is sort of his own sect of elves who are drastically different than their southern counterparts.

24) Who did you leave in the Fade?

Ooo Darva leaves Alistair in the Fade because I can’t bear to leave Bryn behind, rip. But Dimitri ends up leaving Loghain in the Fade. I can’t give up my Hawkes.....

25) Favourite mount?

Me personally? I love the Pride of Arlathan mount. Darva mainly uses that mount and it’s his favorite. Dimitri loves his horse, the Amaranthine Charger. But, later on he gets his Anderfels Hart--which is a sandy colored breed of Hart that is larger and tougher than others of it’s breed. They bond with only one rider in their lifetime and will stand their ground, full of as much conviction as the elves who originally bred them.

#dragon age #tag meme #thanks acepavus #i would tag my characters but i don't wanna clutter their tags #so just gonna put #oc tag

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