#and something about the continent he is from being very elven-influenced . like there is a reason his upbringing made him like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

12pt-times-new-roman · 1 year

Text

c3e53

DDB watch: No sponsor!

There is a sponsor from Honor Among Thieves, though, so take that as you will. The movie is, of course, being funded by Hasbro, and if I remember correctly, this movie could be more important to WotC than D&D Beyond sponsors. So I will personally be boycotting the movie, and if you care about WotC's OGL shenanigans at all, I would suggest you do the same. (Remember: pirating Hasbro products is a victimless crime!)

Chetney returns later in the night. "I didn't--" "It's okay." "I didn't mean--" "It's okay."

With a nat20 arcana check, Chetney remembers that Catha's influence has always been something he's fought to keep under control, but he has always been able to control it before. But because lycanthropy is classed as a curse, it's a magical effect, and it's amplified by the energy of the solstice, making it more difficult for Chetney to retain control.

"I enjoyed it! You were so alive! I shot you in face, multiple times!" Frida my beloved. This is such an interesting reaction for them to have, because who's to say that Aeormatons weren't programmed to be used as test subjects and punching bags?

"No, it's great! I just hold your fate in my hands, that's all." a dm always fulfills his threats

How has it taken me this long to realize that "Frida" sounds the same as "free to" when said with Frida's accent?

Deanna and Frida have lived in Uthodurn for about four years. They live in the house where Deanna's family used to live; they make money by selling Deanna's wares (knitting, mostly) and trading things from their expeditions.

The solstice is also messing with the ever-burning lanterns and enchanted lights that line the central streets of Uthodurn, making them very dim or non-functional.

Many businesses are closed, as well as the temple dedicated to the All-Hammer. The temple being closed is something that never happens.

Chetney sees Oltgar's Chest, where he used to work. It looks like it's expanded, and it has a second floor now. Also, Chetney stabbed Oltgar in the hand, in addition to stabbing someone in the knee.

They arrive at the Vellum Steeple, and there's no one at the front desk, but at a call, a dwarven man appears. Surface thoughts are that he -- along with everyone else in the Steeple -- is trying to figure out what's going on. They don't seem to know much about the solstice itself. They're frustrated to the point of not having time to deal with the Bells Hells right now, because the Steeple isn't technically open to the public right now.

There are 15 or so people inside the Steeple, and the one who seems to be in charge is an elven woman with a pompadour hairdo. This is the same person Matt described at the Steeple in a leadership position in C2E74 -- Scribewarden Ressia Uvessik (she/they).

According to her, the solstice is deeply diminishing divination magic specifically, including clairvoyance, augury, and scrying. Long-standing enchantments have been disabled, including teleportation circles. Inter-city contact is cut off. Given this description, I don't think it's specific to divination magic -- the lights and sending are both evocation magic, and teleportation circle is conjuration.

The Vellum Steeple has sent parties to the Dwendalian Empire and to Rosohna. This is super interesting to me, and is definitely an indicator of political relationships in the continent -- this means that Uthodurn, or at least the Cobalt Soul (which I believe oversees part of the Vellum Steeple) has a positive relationship with the Kryn Dynasty.

FCG/Ashton good cop/bad cop is out, FCG/Deanna good cop/bad cop is in

wait, FCG has access to 5th level spells! They can cast commune!

That dimming of magic affected everything. Uthodurn is facing an issue of escaped prisoners, whose magical binds were weakened enough for them to escape. Some long-standing enchantments of the like have been weakened -- Travis specifically mentions artifacts like the horn of Orcus, but guess fucking what? The same thing applies to the shackles of the Chained Oblivion!

Oh, the teleportation circles were shattered. They weren't just disabled for a time, they were broken. Which means, as per the spell, it will take a year to re-establish them.

Invisible, Chetney overhears quite a few things. People are trying to find the underlying source of the enchantments maintaining Uthodurn's lighting; the high priests of Uthodurn's temples are filled with anxiety and worship services have been cancelled; and a lot of people are just pouring through history that involves a mass loss of arcana.

A loud metallic clang reverberates throughout the city. The room pauses for a minute before going back to their work. This is the walls between discs slamming closed, bet your ass.

Chetney opens a double door and finds a research chamber. There are no people inside, but it's decorated like an office with bookshelves, glass trinkets, and a brass orrery. There are full maps of the city, as well as all of the mines that have expanded outward; ledgers and papers that speak of who originally created many of the city's enchantments; historical pages and scrolls that talk about mass dispelling events (though these have been small, usually localized, and city block-sized). There's a large map of Exandria, but otherwise, nothing that would indicate research beyond Uthodurn or Wildemount.

As she walks in, Chetney realizes that this is the Scribewarden's personal office. She is accompanied by two other people, both of whom she asks to research Ludinus Da'leth and the Cerberus Assembly. She downs a vial of dark brown liquid (possibly a potion of enhance ability, haste, or some other spell that would help their research).

Leaving the Vellum Steeple, the Bells Hells find that the gates between the discs have been closed. Royal guards and Glassblades both are surrounding the gate, with their back to it and pushing crowds away. Some are wounded and bloodied.

Through smaller gates in the wall, nobles, soldiers, and other anxiety and fear-filled people are filtering into the Liberation Disk from the Grand Disk. In the center of that group are the king and queen of Uthodurn, who look spooked and are trying to calm the crowd around them.

FCG's spell save is only 15?? what the fuck Sam?

Frida has a +11 perception, so one of their expertise skills is perception (4 prof + 3 wis + 4 expertise).

"Are we sealed in here?" "Yep! Because FCG decided to run in--" "We're going to prove our worth to the gods!" oh my god. oh my god. is this a self-fulfilling prophecy? is the exact thing that Talisein said during this week's 4SD about to come to pass?

On the other side of the wall, they see..... bodies. Civilians and guards alike. Most unmoving, all marred with slashes. Deanna saves a young royal guard. "What did this to you? "It was this... this fuckin' statue. The one they keep in the citadel. It just... came to life, started killing folks, we had to rush everyone out..."

Interesting note: bioluminescence still seems to function, since various types of flowers and fungus along the walls are still glowing.

Down the way, the Bells Hells see the shadow of a quadrupedal beast with a purplish, ruddy coloration to it. It looks ghostly and material at the same time, and the sounds it makes are as if it has hooved feet.

The guard notes that the statue had been decoration for a long time -- "a statue of one of the great beasts of the Veluthil."

The Veluthil is the former name of the Savalirwood. When Molaesmyr fell to ruin (about 300 years prior to C3), the surrounding forest was horribly corrupted; half of its majority-elven population fled to Bysaes Tyl, which was later assimilated by the Dwendalian Empire, and the other half fled to Uthodurn, where they were taken in and formed the diarchy. The Veluthil was renamed to the Savalirwood, after the elven word for guilt ("savalir").

Break time!

The citadel of Uthodurn looks like a crystal tornado, frozen in place, descending from the top of the 100-foot ceiling of the Grand Disk.

The beast is half material, half ethereal, held together with energy that glows like starlight. It's not actively stalking or rampaging -- it looks confused, like it's looking for something.

As a statue, it was kept on a pedestal in the throne room of the citadel.

Imogen approaches the throne room and sees the bull circling the pedestal where it sat. It isn't a beast or a humanoid; by opening her mind, Imogen senses a brain and an intelligence, but it's alien. It's emotion, not words. She senses anger, frustration, confusion, fear, and longing. It seems to be lost, sad, furious, working on bestial instincts.

Initiative!

Frida's brand of Aeormaton has the "Living Shield" racial ability, allowing them to use their reaction to impose disadvantage on an attack roll against a creature adjacent to them.

It's both a celestial and a beast, and just fails Fearne's charm.

FCG tries to speak to it after casting tongues on it. "If you can understand me, tell us where you want to go, and we can try to help you get there." "I don't know how I got here. I need to get home... to the forest. Where do I go? Where is home?" It doesn't speak with language or words -- it projects emotions that are interpreted into words.

Casting tongues on the creature itself is a fucking brilliant move. This way, everyone can understand it, and it can understand everyone.

Deanna reaches the plaque. It reads, "in memoriam of the fall of Molaesmyr."

So, what's the deal here? Was this thing petrified by people in Uthodurn? Did they find it already petrified by the corruption of the Savalirwood or Molaesmyr itself? If it was petrified by the elves of Molaesmyr, why? Did they need to get it out of the way in order to go forward with their experiments, and if so, is that why the forest was able to be corrupted in the first place? If so, was it Ludinus who ordered it?

The plaque being in elvish implies that it was not brought here by the dwarves;

Fearne's charm fades, but they had four animal handling checks over 20. "Show me where out is."

"Were you from another plane of existence? Do you know?" "I was from the forest. I was the sentinel beast, Umudara. Where is out?"

With a 29 persuasion check, Imogen gets the guards to open the siege gates. On the other side, there are hundreds of Glassblades and royal guards. Hitting the captain of the guard with calm emotions gets them out of the way of Umudara as he makes his way through.

The Bells Hells make their way up the Auger Trail, escorting Umudara out of the city.

"I don't sense it. Where?" "To the south. That way." "...thank you."

"How many of those things are imprisoned throughout Exandria? They can't-- it's not natural."

oh my god Chetney is still in the throne room, I repeat, Chetney is still in the throne room--

He carves his initials into the leg of one of the thrones, and looks for gems imbedded on them. "Oh, they are very well adorned--" "They ain't so well adorned now!"

The thrones are carved from a kind of tree that used to exist in the Veluthil. "It's a unique mixture of pale gray bark with deep maroon layer of bark, like hardened sap that wraps around that climbs up and twists around." Interestingly enough, this description is the same as the one Matt gave for the odd-looking trees that were near the Gorgynei village.

He also finds an engraving of the All-Hammer, and a switch on it opens the door behind the thrones, through which Chetney promptly goes. It descends beneath the disk in a long, curving tunnel, and eventually exits from the base of a massive statue of a tree near the entrance to the Grand Disk.

Udumara heads southward, alone, to find the Savalirwood (and possibly Molaesmyr). I really hope he gets to the Blooming Grove and gets to help the Clays fix the Savalirwood.

#critical role #critical role c3 #critical role campaign 3 #critical role spoilers #critical role liveblog #note watches c3 #long post

8 notes · View notes

rush-wing · 1 year

Note

ahem hem, soooo any OCs you have been ✨hyperfixating✨ on lately? or in general??

where do i start

It’s all d&d characters, all the way down btw. I’m a forever DM so I tend to make characters whenever the whim strikes but these guys never get played much, I just rotate them in my head sadly, waiting for the day…

I might throw you some art for visualisation but I’m still.. eh.. learning so enjoy little extremely stylised doodles

Everyone here you can find me reblogging things for over on @hearthkeep too!

First!

Is Jaisarie AKA Jaise – she was primed to be in a Saltmarsh campaign but that’s not going ahead now so she’s just sitting on the pier in my head, kicking her feet above the water idly. She’s my undead pirate : ) Jaise started unlife because I got my mitts on the Wildemount campaign guide and thought an Echo Knight’s echoes could make a fun reflavouring as something ghosty. Originally she was a Hollow One, but I’ve since altered her to the Reborn "race", but it’s all dead things at any rate~ She doesn’t know how she died, and isn’t sure she wants to know! Last thing she truly remembers is being dragged out of the ocean as bloated corpse, but the open gash on her neck and her abdomen seems to point to the idea that she was murdered by someone good at their job. Well, aside from glimpses of memories of an old crew she’s fond of, but she couldn’t pick them from a crowd if they stood right in front of her at the moment. I have some ideas for what she was involved in, but the great thing about this is I am pretty happy for any and all of that to go out the window for whatever a good game requires.

Second! Is a constant returner:

My boy Keats. He was my first PC I have made, so yess it’s trueee… he’s a bit special for me. I’ve played him the most out of anyone (which I can count on the one hand), and every time he’s just such a hoot to play. God I love him. And he’s “just” a half-elf battle master Fighter! (I will throw hands on anyone saying he’s boring for that though--) He’s an acrobat-turned-gladiator and a complete dumbass so he is big on stupid stunts, and most of the time, bounces right back up when he eats the pavement face-first. Honestly I think I just wish I had his confidence and bravado.

Third:

This is the gentlemen who I’ve been playing Thousand Year Old Vampire as - Madieren. He started out as a half-elven scholar from an isolated monastery dedicated to the study of magic, but he decided he liked blood magic and went off on a tangent. So you can call him a “vampire” of some description, but I refer to him officially as an immortal blood mage. I’ve had a lot of fun with him over the past few months, watching him evolve, go through the shit (his only student got murdered, has been kicked out of his home at least three times, oh, and had his arm accidentally cut off, just to name a few things), and eat his own hubris whole. He actually started life known as Alezaren, but due to certain shenanigans he’s shed his original name. Madieren ended his run making up with his rival who’s been chasing him down across the continent (who also ended up immortal due to the influence of one of the other player’s characters) and like there was only so much those two could stab each other before the tension went elsewhere.

And lastly:

This is Eon! He’s had a nostalgia resurgence after watching something last night and like I want to do something with him now but what??? I have an Eon-sized itch and I cannot scratch it!!!! Anyway, Eon is my sad wizard tiefling. Well, “wizard” in quotation marks because he’s technically an Eldritch Knight. Eon’s a blacksmith by trade, but dabbles in magic because there’s a quiet passion there for it that was nurtured by an eccentric mentor he hasn’t seen in a long time. So, yes, he has the tragic backstory, to the point I somewhat recently realised I gave an 8-year-old PTSD to get him so. Um. Sorry, Eon. He’s got a very stand-offish, stoic exterior, but he really is such a soft creature at heart. Eon’s my nerd. The oxymoronic buff wizard. I have a set of dice someone in my group made from scratch specifically for him so one day I need to play him so I get to actually roll them for him.

#asks #my ocs #my d&d characters #one day i'll play them....#don't @ me that these are all pretty much subclasses of fighter #i like hitting things ok #fun fact: madieren was originally originally going to be me making a blood cleric #but i slapped my hand from the impulse because i have 8 PCs that don't get played I don't need more

4 notes · View notes

that-lieutenant · 3 years

Text

Of the relationship between Mairon and the orcs

An assortment of various of my HCs in one shot format i guess

[This is my first time writing fanfic (whaaat) and i sadly don‘t have an ao3 account yet (but i‘ll get to it once my personal life isn‘t hell anymore) so please consider giving this some love :) ]

Also: this is heavily influenced by @lemurious writing (because all my silm interpretations nowadays are, i just love their content ahh)

His people.

His headstrong, steadfast, steel hard, loyal, ingenious, beautiful people.

When he first came upon them, their bodies had already adapted perfectly to the cold northern tundra of their homeland. Thick grey skin, heavy hair, stocky build.

The wars would add countless scars and burns and limbs of metal.

But that was later.

When he first met his people what was war to them? To him? Who knew then about the horrors they would be forced to face at the hands of the other species of Arda? At a time when they did not even know there were other species.

When he first came upon his people he thought they were the firstborn children Eru had shown the Ainur in their vision. He thought he had been successful in discovering them first, before the other Valar could. He had been so relieved that they would be spared a life in the stifling superficial horror that was Valinor.

And they really are the firstborn. These other, warm skinned, bright eyed, spindly thin creatures that came pouring back from west a couple centuries later, who were they but Valarin lackeys, transformed beyond recognition? And then they demanded land and loyalty and called their primogenitors disfigured and corrupted.

He knows now that he should not have been so surprised back then that these usurpers had shown themselves to have come with the blessing of Illuvatar. After all what were firstborn to Eru? Truly, what had been He Who Arises In Might, the firstborn of the Ainur, what had been his people, the firstborn of his children, to Eru?

The actions of this absentee god would speak clear words in the following millennia, they would come to learn.

When he first came to meet the true firstborn, when he lived among them, when he learned their customs, their language, their love and he found connections so deep they would fuel him for ages to come, that was when he knew he had found his people. And together with their leaders and his own brethren they were able to lay the foundations for a culture that would thrive in spite of its creator and the eternal war this creator perpetuated.

In merely a few centuries, together they were able to develop technologies that would not be seen again the following age.

And then?

The wrath and unquestioned self-righteousness of their enemies erupts over Beleriand and the years of intense warfare lead to brutal massacres. On both sides – he is nowhere close to being without fault; that fierce love of his people has lead him to commit some of the most heinous acts of violence over and over again – but even now he remembers climbing down into the ruins of their underground cities after their defeat. He remembers the protective bunkers filled with civilian bodies and standing in their spilled blood.

The ones that got out in time were mostly soldiers because they had been evacuatable once the defeat was imminent. But the workers, the engineers, the caretakers, the children, those who they had wanted to keep safe in the bunkers? It was too late for them by the time they realises that nothing they could do would stop the fortress from being taken. And then the Valar went on and slaughtered them all.

It is his fault. And at the time it seemed like the worst one he would ever make.

As a nuclear firestorm destroys Beleriand, as the remnants of an entire continent drown in the sea behind them, and he and what is left of his people loose everything, the only thing he can do is lead them away, further and further east. Until he can‘t even do that anymore.

Because at that point everything just collapses in on him. His work has been shattered to pieces, all his brethren and most of his trusted generals killed, his lord, his partner, his lover, his pillar was taken and with that he just stops functioning.

In their hour of greatest need he abandons his people. After all, the only thing he ever seems to bring to them is war and death.

For a millennium he just… There is no purpose, no responsibility. Distantly he hears of the hardships his people are facing now in the East. How slow civilisations develop without the energy of a Vala or three radiating stones to power them. But he shuts it all out. He becomes numb to it.

And strangely, when he stumbles upon the new settlements of the second firstborn he isn‘t filled with unadulterated unstoppable rage. He is just tired. After all, what, truly, are these creatures but the Valar‘s playball in their game of who-is-the-most-despicable-without-realising? And strangely, these Eldar do not recognise who he is.

So why not, he thinks. Why not live in easy expedients for once, why not push away the past and continue to abdicate any responsibility he has to his that people? He crafts a name and a lie to start his new life of ignorance is bliss.

Oh, sweet Tyelpe. How easy it is to share the discoveries they had made in the first age with this ellon when the reward is all eyes big of wonder and desperation to discover more of this „Valinorian“ technology. It is so much like in the old days when he and his brethren and the best scientist of his people would find new methods and formulas to describe the world around them that he can‘t help but loose himself in the intelligent conversations of their workshop, the peaceful thriving of their city, the warm tenderness of their embrace.

They work to create better methods of gaining and storing energy then until they eventually develop the rings that can provide enough power to sustain entire cities.

They plan to make rings for the strongholds of dwarves and men and Eldar. But what about his people, he finds himself thinking. These technologies that are now used in the elvish kingdoms, they are only a small part of what was developed by and for him and his people in the first place. So what about his people?

He feels restless now. Old anger at injustice and blind self-righteousness arise in him again. In secret he starts travelling to the settlements his people have made in a country they call Mordor. The conditions there are rough and the technology now primitive compared to their glorious past but he sees a lot of recent progress.

All of the generals and leaders of old are long dead now and it takes a lot of time and effort to convince his people to trust him again, that he can and will help and that he won‘t abandon them again. They start building an underground city and a fortress once more, Barad-dûr, where the energy will be harvested. He creates a ring more powerful than any of the ones before. It has to supply the entire population after all.

When he returns to Eregion something has changed.

He can feel a strange charge in the air. Are the Eldar suspecting something? They all seem very worried at the sudden surge of activity in Mordor and he is starkly reminded that these Eldar, at the end of the day they still view his people as an ultimate but also undignified threat.

He knows something is wrong when Tyelpe suggests that their rings might also be used as a weapon. One of mass destruction. Mass destruction of his people that is. Tyelpe leaves that unsaid but it is clear as day what he means.

He doesn‘t need to worry about the rings for the elven cities anymore, Tyelpe tells him then and smiles.

A primordial fear settles into his bones. The horror at what is to come turns his stomach. What has he done? How could he have given all this help, all this power to the Eldar when they would only turn around and use it against his people?

He remembers sitting outside on some steps, pulling at his hair, his entire body shaking, growing increasingly mad at all the options that seem to slip out his hands one by one. And when Tyelpe comes to meet him there the only thing left for him to do is to push the ellon against a pillar, knife to his eye and demand the elvish rings he devised in secret. But Tyelpe laughs bitterly and spits in his face.

So it is truly you, the abhorred one, the dark foe‘s torturer, his whore.

This time it is his own wrath that razes cities to the ground. His people are ready for war. They have to be. And the next centuries are dictated by mindless destruction and production lines of battle machinery being the first thing that is re-introduced into the city of his people.

But still the population grows again, the conditions improve, their underground civilisation expands and he finds that he can make alliances with some of the human tribes and kingdoms that they had given rings of power to.

He and his people once again find ways to live in perfect symbiosis with the harsh climate of their land. Volcanic soil is fertile, air and water can be filtered and the ring offers them enough power to sustain artificial lights for growing crops underground and more.

It‘s progress but one that they keep secret. Because just like he is fuelled by the fear of elvish development, the Eldar would surely bring about another war of wrath if they knew about the advancements of his people.

The whole Numenorean ordeal that followed some centuries later was a mess. When that conquerer-king and his armies march upon Mordor he has no choice but to give in quickly. They cannot risk being invaded. Luckily these men are self-complacent enough to take their smugness and their ‚victory‘ and leave again. Though they also feel the need to drag him to that forsaken island of theirs.

Ar-Pharazon truly was a conquerer. He stretched his hands further and further for more colonies on the continent while his nation corroded away with by civil war. The golden king took and took from everyone around him and the displays of subjugation he was continually forced to perform to this king were manifold and in all kinds of ways.

Of course the wrath of the Valar that they unleashed upon the island as soon as they felt slightly threatened in their superiority was in the end blamed on him. He only ever indulged the Numenoreans‘ fantasies. When they brought him to their island it was already on the brink of collapse with conflict and misanthropic ideologies. Sure he, too, lost himself a bit in that collective insanity; he was complicit, so was everyone else. And then Eru felt they could cast judgement upon all these individuals and drowned yet another continent.

He laughs in the face of such insolence. It‘s hysterical, maybe more so a scream.

Then the water hits his body. It presses all the air out, breaks his ribs, crushes his lungs.

When he awakes again he is floating on a piece of driftwood, endless blue stretches around him. His body is raw and for some reason he finds himself unable to shift form anymore. He starts to panic, tries to force his particles to regroup in a way that forms a bird, a fish, something, he needs to get out of this blue emptiness now, he needs to – what is happening??

There is another war at the end of that age, but by that time his memory has turned into an indecipherable blur. It leads to yet more massacre. But worst of all, they take the ring.

For him it is as if all the tissue that holds him together suddenly loosens. He falls to his knees, sacks into himself. He can feel his spirit oozing out of the leaks that now penetrate his form. He stumbles back.

In the underground city the lights go dark, the industrial production comes to a standstill, the water and air filters turn off. His people pour out of their homes once they start to starve, once they realise that their military has lost the war and that their government has no way of dealing with the catastrophe.

They are in need but once again he is abandoning them. He is just so tired.

In the tower there is a large tank with cooling liquid for the energy production of the ring that he now lies in. In the pitch-black darkness his bones have started to shine with a dim fluorescent green. His body has started to disintegrate.

Outside he can feel the remnants of his peoples civilisation fall to ruin a second time. It takes only a few decades for them to return to the primitive conditions of their life without a secure energy supply.

And then suddenly it‘s not only his body that disintegrates anymore but the heavy elements in him too. At a faster rate than is normally used to power an Ainu‘s body that is. The heat of the nuclear fission that has set in brings the coolant to the boil and he had just barely enough mind and willpower left to set off the steam turbine. With a thudding noise the whole energy plant slowly comes to life again.

And for the next millennia Mairon lies submerged in the coolant tank, his body glowing and radiating and falling apart, his atoms splitting and powering a city that has been abandoned and he can only hope that his people will come back and reclaim what is theirs by right and rebuild their lives, their culture, their technology with the last energy that he has to give.

#How Mairon turns himself into an atomic reactor: a powerpoint with pictures #sci fi tolkien #silmarillion #tolkien #mairon #orcs #lotr #silmarillion fanfiction #fanfic #technology #science in tolkien #sauron

15 notes · View notes

esmeraude11 · 3 years

Text

On the Languages of Men

Something that I wonder about? The languages of the Men of the Arda. Or rather the written languages of Men not just their languages. The Númenoreans more than likely set their written languages, the Quenya and Sindarin, to the Tengwar script. Likely as a result of Elros’ upbringing among the Fëanoreans.

The Hadorians’ spoken Taliska dialect was likely influenced by the Dwarven tongue of Rhûn, same as the Beörians, but I wonder if they might have picked up the Tengwar script due to their long affiliation with the House of Fingolfin. There may have been some adjustments to the script due to any influences from Khuzdul and the Hadorian’s written Taliska may have adapted Khuzdul sounds with Tengwar.

They spoke Sindarin but may have picked up some amount of Quenya. However, their written Sindarin is more than likely to have been set to Tengwar rather than Cirth.

The Beörians’ Taliska was also most likely set to the Tengwar script due to their affiliation with the House of Finarfin, specifically Finrod. It is important to note that their spoken language was influenced by the tongue(s) of the Avari which the Hadorians disdained so there might be further influences in the written language. We don’t, however, know enough about the Avarin elves to say if they had a written language or if they were a purely oral society.

On a side-note, it would be interesting if the Avarin tribes ended up developing a system like the Inca wherein they had an oral tongue and developed a complex and extremely accurate recording system like the quipu.

I will say too. I can absolutely see Lúthien or even Dior fashioning a form of written Taliska in the Cirth alphabet. Either, in Lúthien’s case, out of curiosity and interest or, in Dior’s case, out of pride and a desire to further connect his father’s legacy with his mother’s. But Dior’s relative youth would make that a daunting task so it could be an incomplete project.

The Northmen are likely to have developed a written language entirely different from the Hadorians and Beörians due to their relative isolation. Given that various languages were spawned from the language of the sister tribe that diverged from the House of Marach, and due to the Númenoreans general acceptance/tolerance of the Northmen’s relation to the House of Hador, it’s very likely that they retained spoken languages that were mutually intelligible with Adûnaic-speakers.

Specific groups of Northmen may have been eventually influenced by the Elves too. Like the Woodmen of Mirkwood who may have picked up influences from the Silvan Elves.

I do wonder about Adûnaic though.

It’s possible that Adûnaic was set to the Tengwar script (or perhaps the Mode of Beleriand same as Rivendell?) But given the slow divergence of the Men of Númenor from the Elves it’s also possible that some bright soul decided to create an entirely new script for the language. Something that wasn’t derived from an Elven script (be it Tengwar or Cirth).

I also have questions about the Halethrim, their descendants, and the Men of Enedwaith and Minhiriath who were descended from sister tribes of the Haladin.

We know that a large part of the reason for the Numénoreans rejection of the Men of Enedwaith and Minhiriath’s kinship was due to the mutually unintelligible languages. They spoke languages derived from Haladin which wasn’t a sibling language to the tongue of the Beörians and the Hadorians, Taliska.

It’s also very likely that the Men of Enedwaith and Minhiriath were using a script entirely different from the Tengwar-derived scripts of the Men of the West. We know that they were a very isolated group who kept to themselves rather than interacting with other Men or even the Elves. So it’s entirely possible that they may have created their own written language in isolation from the Elves of Beleriand.

The Men of Bree, descendants of the Men of Enedwaith and Minhiriath, spoke Westron. I wonder if their Westron was originally set to Tengwar as the Númenorean Adûnaic might have been. And once Númenor’s influence was lost if Westron’s Tengwar became bastardized (especially given that Westron is a language derived from Adûnaic). We do know that their tongue was influenced by the Elves of Middle-Earth.

Given that the Sindar are the most populous among the Elves left it’s likely that Westron was influenced by Sindarin. Now, Gondor and Arnor likely used Tengwar due to their descent from Númenor. And their oral languages were likely dialects of Sindarin with the use of Quenya remaining, as we’re told in canon, in the use of notaries and the well-educated.

The Sindar generally took up Tengwar for a few reasons. One of which appeared to be it’s being more convenient as a written language than the Cirth script. So Westron was likely written using a form of Tengwar.

Gondor (and Arnor) may or may not have standardized their written language after some time given that there must have been some drift after the Fall of Númenor.

The Dunlendings are another issue. They could have developed their own written language. Or continued using whatever script the Men of Enedwaith created/used. However, they may have also picked up either the language of the Rohirrim or the language(s) of the Gondorians due to repeated contact with either group.

There is also a distinct possibility that they didn’t have a written language and developed a civilization around a recording system.

Haleth may or may not have learned Quenya due to her brief association with Caranthir. But due to her decision to move her people to Brethil it’s entirely likely that the Haladin picked up the Cirth script from the Iathrim. They also likely spoke Sindarin to some degree alongside their own Haladin.

However, we do have to note that the Haladin tended towards fostering their own interests and were often reluctant to adopt new things. They could have created their own written language and kept the Haladin tongue free of outside influences.

The Men of Umbar likely used whatever later script was developed for Adûnaic by the Númenorean King’s Men.

We don’t know enough about the Haradrim to say whether or not they have a written language to go along with their oral language(s). It’s entirely possible that the Corsairs of Umbar spread the use of Adûnaic and its script across Harad and that the Haradrim came to use it. Though it’s also possible that Haradrim had no need of Adûnaic.

They may have, due to Sauron’s undoubtedly extensive influence, picked up and popularized the use of the Black Speech’s written script as well.

I do like the idea of the Men of Umbar being a large minority within Harad but that not necessarily translating to them having overt influence over the Haradrim. The Haradrim maintaining their own culture and retaining their spoken and written tongue(s) even with the significant amount of cultural pressure that the Númenorean descendants of Umbar might attempt.

The Easterlings are another group that likely have developed languages entirely separate from the Edain especially since this particular group may consist of multiple tribes of Men. These would be tongues without influence from either Elves or Dwarves. However, like with the Men of Umbar and the Haradrim, there’s a distinct possibility that Sauron may have influenced the direction of their speech with the Black Speech.

They may or may not have a written language. Or could have a system of recording instead of one.

It’s important to note, however, that the Men of Bór were an ancient folk whom came from the East and were themselves Easterlings. They were affiliated with Maedhros and Maglor and may have picked up Quenya and Sindarin. Possibly even taking up the Tengwar script due to repeated exposure to the Fëanoreans. This could have led to them adapting their own native tongue to the Tengwar script. Or they could have simply used Tengwar for Quenya and Sindarin and retained their own written language, if they had one.

The Hillmen of Eriador were likely either descendants of the Men of Bór or the Men of Enedwaith. As such they likely used whatever written and oral languages they inherited from either group. Possibly also picking up influences from the Arnorians.

We know practically nothing of the Men of Khand. We don’t know if they had a spoken tongue, though we can guess since Variag may have been a term in their language, or a written language. But given that most civilizations create a written script it’s very likely that they did have one.

It’s also possible that their native language (and script) came under the influence of Sauron after he fled to Mordor and took control of the eastern half of the continent. So there might be influences of the Black Speech in their oral and written languages whereas the Men of the western half of the continent are largely influenced by the Elven languages.

I have so many questions and I’m sure that I’ve forgotten some of the Men of Middle-Earth but I think I’ve covered a whole lot of them. I wish we knew more about them and their languages and whether or not they picked up certain formats based on repeated outside influences or if they managed to retain their own languages’ in a purer form. Both written and spoken.

Sadly the Professor can’t answer any of my questions. So I’m left to wonder.

#Esme's Musings #The Silmarillion #Tolkien #god #this got long #but I have so many questions #and so few answers

16 notes · View notes

jackdawyt · 4 years

Video

youtube

Contaminated with the Blight. Known to thin the Veil, and forces anyone who dare wield it go mad. There’s a lot we’ve got to talk about regarding this most blighted material, however, in order for us to foreshadow what involvement red Lyrium may have in the future, we’ve got to excavate its original source – raw lyrium.

Lyrium

Regular, non-tainted Lyrium is a mineral constantly mined for its properties, it has many purposes in Thedas today. The dwarves have built a trade empire mining and selling the material across the entire continent because of its usage. This trade is the main reason why Tevinter and the dwarven kingdoms have such a close relationship.

Lyrium is essentially a mana booster, able to strengthen one’s magical power beyond what anyone might naturally muster. When mixed into liquid and ingested, Lyrium allows mages to enter the Fade consciously. No wonder the mages of the Imperium have such a secure trade of the substance.

While mages combine Lyrium with spells and rituals. Templars ingest the substance to enhance their abilities at resisting and dispelling magic, while the dwarves and non-magic wielders use Lyrium to create magical runes and enchant items.

Even the Qunari were intrigued by its usage and began experimenting with the properties of Lyrium to bulk up their own mages called “Saarebas.”

In the current Dragon Age, Lyrium has become a beneficial and essential mineral for the majority of Thedas.

As Lyrium exists in both the physical world and The Fade, the Chantry believes Lyrium to be the “emerald waters of the Fade, the very substance of creation itself.” While others call Lyrium a conductor that "bridges the gap between the dreamer’s world and the waking world” (WoT V1).

Whatever the truth is... There’s a lot beyond the surface regarding this powerful substance that the common Thedosian may never know.

The dwarves call “Lyrium” - “Isana” which translates to “singing stone” (WoT V1).

This is because Lyrium is; in fact, a living substance, it’s said to be the very blood of the world-shaping Titans.

According to; their children, the dwarves, the legendary, ancient beings sculpted the world. Their earthquakes are apparently their method of reshaping Thedas to their accord.

It's impossible to describe in words how truly vast a Titan is. The one I met is so large you can only glimpse parts of it. I had wandered inside its body for who knows how long without even realizing it. I've heard tales of dragons and giants on the surface, but descriptions of their size do not compare to the Titan's.

Its blood now flows through me, and its song fills the gaps in our history. I close my eyes and see glimpses of the world that was, before everything changed and the dwarven race broke in two. Something caused the Titans to fall, and the fate of my people fell with them. The Titan wants me to know. No, more than that. It wants me to understand. There is a loneliness to its song.

Codex entry: Titans: Shaper Valta's personal journal.

Whether the Titans, or “Pillars of the Earth” created Thedas, and have since been dwelling since the beginning of creation itself is still a rather ambiguous mystery. However, based on codex entries, we can confirm that the Titans existed before the Veil was created.

In actuality, before the Veil’s creation, the Kingdom of the Elvhen hunted and declared war against the Titans, stating their death will be a mercy and will make the earth blossom with their passing.

"In this place we prepare to hunt the pillars of the earth. Their workers scurry, witless, soulless. This death will be a mercy. We will make the earth blossom with their passing."

Mythal, All-mother of the Elven Pantheon struck down a Titan, as the people praised her name.

"Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!"

With the defeat of a Titan, the Ancient Elves discovered Lyrium from its body. The elves continued to fight with the Titans, mining their bodies for raw Lyrium and "something else" which has been made unclear.

"The runes say the Evanuris fought the Titans. They mined their bodies for lyrium and... something else. It's not clear."

While I’m trying not to theorise and speculate, Cole once said: "They made bodies from the earth. And the earth was afraid. It fought back. But they made it forget."

Perhaps the Ancient Elvhen made Lyrium bodies from the Titan’s blood. Crafting strong, resilient vessels for the Evanuris and their people to inhabit. Continuing their savage hunt against the Titans.

Thus, explaining the fall and disconnect of the Titans from their children, the dwarves. Justifying why the dwarven kingdom have grown disattached to their creators throughout the ages, and only now have begun to re-establish that connection once more.

In any regard, the Titans were not completely silenced. They slumbered for years, and somewhere down the line, Red Lyrium came into existence. Perhaps caused by the Evanuris war, or perhaps self-inflicted by the Titans themselves, we don’t know. Red Lyrium’s origin is still a huge enigma... However, we do know that the spread of Red Lyrium has merely just begun.

The red corrupted substance is a perverted form of raw Lyrium. Just like its predecessor, Red Lyrium is alive, it has a lifespring, and it grows and multiplies across Thedas. It too ties power between the waking world and the Fade.

To answer your question, my lord: yes, I have indeed heard of this "red lyrium" of which you speak. A single piece of it surfaced in the eastern city of Kirkwall, and its influence alone was nearly enough to cause the city's destruction. As near as we can determine, it is regular lyrium that has been somehow corrupted. Those who have touched red lyrium—or even come near it—report that it "sings" to them, like whispers in the mind that slowly drive them mad.

—From a partially burned letter by an unknown writer, affixed with the Grey Warden seal.

As discovered by Bianca Davri, Red Lyrium carries the blight, explaining its twisted form.

Unlike regular lyrium which requires you to digest it in order for it to impact you. Red Lyrium corrupts everything it touches, being in close proximity to it will greatly affect you.

Far more disturbing is the fact that lyrium could be corrupted at all. Treat any red lyrium you encounter as if it were poison. Do not go near it, do not attempt to destroy it... and most importantly, do not attempt to use it.

—From a partially burned letter by an unknown writer, affixed with the Grey Warden seal.

The substance is most unique, it can thin the Veil, allowing spirits and demons to interact with the real world. Prolonged exposure will change not only your mental outlook but your physical appearance too.

It tends to leave people or animals in a mad-like state. They become paranoid, and see no reasoning for morality, as Bartrand sabotages his own brother Varric. Red Lyrium tends to consume the mind and take over. Much like the reasoning for the Red Templars in Inquisition, Red Lyrium is very deadly, and grows off of anything living.

We do not know, however, what might stem from extended contact with red lyrium. Madness, surely, but would there be a physical corruption as well? What would happen if a mage or a templar used red lyrium as they use regular lyrium?

—From a partially burned letter by an unknown writer, affixed with the Grey Warden seal.

Speaking more specifically on Red Lyrium’s growth - its corruption throughout the land has merely begun - and attempting to remove the mineral is likely a fruitless effort, as it will have already introduced itself into the food chain, which begets more corruption: as Red Lyrium effects all it touches, insects digest blighted soil, animals then digest the blighted insects, this will have a knock-on effect, more animals, plants and trees will become tainted by merely following their survival instincts until eventually the people of Thedas are infected by their own harvest.

While a lot of the growth of Red Lyrium has been greatly caused by the hands of many Thedosian’s, a great deal of its development into the eco system is simply inevitable. It's merely a matter of days until a Ferelden Farmer has spoiled crops, an Orlesian Noble eats an infected nug, and a predator hunting its prey soon becomes blighted.

And that’s not all that lingers for the future, Red Lyrium has plenty of involvement in many scenarios that awaits Thedas.

The Titan’s connection

When Valta connected with a Titan, she felt pure, wasn’t afraid anymore, and could somehow survive without needing food or water, as if the Titan’s essence was her sole sustenance. The Titan connected with one of their children stopped the tremors throughout the land.

Valta established a longing connection with the dwarves supposed creators, as adult and child rekindled once more, Valta’s consciousness intertwined with the knowledge of the Titans. Vital information that would shake up the entirety of the dwarven kingdom’s foundation.

With Valta’s connection, surely the Titan’s seek to find the rest of their children, becoming one once more.

Red Lyrium Idol

The Red Lyrium Idol is still a mystery. This McGuffin was brought back in Tevinter Nights, instead of being destroyed when Meredith created her sword Certainty, it stayed within her statue-like corpse, preserved for a fair while.

it’s been described as: “a couple hugging, too thin to be dwarves”, or “a god mourning their sacrifice.” However, disregarding what it supposedly looks like, this idol belongs to Solas. It’s his, and he wants it back, he has a purpose for it.

Its current whereabouts have been set up for interpretation, we can assume the Idol is either with a noble’s son heading to war torn Tevinter, or Solas has indeed collected his long-lost possession after some time. Again, we can only assume at this point where it may be, and why Solas requires it.

Red Lyrium Sarcophagus

In Dragon Age: Blue Wraith, the most recently released comic book roster, the comic cast uncover a Lyrium Sarcophagus, originally utilised for Fenris’s transformation into a “Blue Wraith”. The device infuses the occupant with Lyrium markings that grant the host with immense power like the ability to go through walls, and tear an enemy's heart out of their chest.

Towards the end of Blue Wraith, we understand that the Venatori have this device and intend on willingly putting one of Fenris’s trusted friends through the device using Red Lyrium to make him a most formidable, unstoppable warrior.

If successful, perhaps this practice may become common in Tevinter for the remaining Venatori and their elven slaves.

New clusters of Lyrium

Discovered briefly in Tevinter Nights, The Horror Of Hormak, other colours and variations of Lyrium seemingly exist. A massive Lyrium crystal glowing yellow and green hung suspended deep within a lost dwarven thaig.

Above it, a massive lyrium crystal hung suspended. It glowed with a sickly light, tinged with yellow and green. Streamers of energy flowed from it into the pool, sending it bubbling wherever it touched. (Horror Of Hormak, pg. 100).

With more variations of Lyrium deep underground, perhaps we’ll begin to see different properties of this mineral, who knows, perhaps this could lead to other Titans waking up across Thedas.

Origin Of The Blight

And of course, we need to comprehend how the blight began. I attempting at looking at this plot thread, without going to deep into theory, but I do believe it has something to do with the Titan’s war between the Evanuris, because suddenly Red Lyrium pops into the picture and the Elven Pantheon are becoming mad with armour of the Void, turning against each other.

Perhaps a Blighted Titan is the original source of the blight, as it reaches out for revenge against the Evanuris, attempting to establish a connection with their children once more, destroying everything else in its path...

So many mysteries, and so much to go on for the future of Dragon Age! That is it for my first entry in this Road To Dragon Age 4 series, let me know what you thought of it, and tell me your potential theories for the future Dragon Age narrative.

31 notes · View notes

mllemaenad · 5 years

Note

Why is everybody keep forgetting that elves had quite some forces and were not some helpless souls? Why do ppl forget that it's their own racism that initially caused the war in the Dales? Why everybody dismisses Minaeves' story about how her clan treated the unwanted mages? I mean Chantry sucks big time, but can we please stop making elves into some magic creatures that only do good. They do not. None of the races and religions in Dragon Age is perfect, yet one has a particular bias from fandom

Hi Anonymous person.

Um. Sorry, but … what? That’s … a lot of vitriol. I’m … going to do this point by point.

Why is everybody keep forgetting that elves had quite some forces and were not some helpless souls?

No one is claiming that the elves were ‘helpless’ in the sense that they were children, or somehow unable to fight. Elven sources are a bit spotty, for solid ‘in universe’ reasons, but there’s enough on the Emerald Knights to understand that they kicked some serious arse.

But. By the time Orlais set its sights on the Dales, it had already steamrolled over a bunch of other nations, effectively doubling its original size.

The grand nation of Orlais occupies a full quarter of the Thedosian continent and extends its influence far beyond its shifting borders. In ages past, Orlais flexed its military muscle, threatening territory belonging to Nevarra and Tevinter and outright invading Ferelden. One could argue that the Emperor or Empress of Orlais, regardless of competency, is the second most powerful person in Thedas – the first, of course, being the Divine.

…

Together, the two [Kordillus Drakon and Area Montlaures] transformed Orlais from a few squabbling clans controlling their own city states into an empire. Hand in hand, they conquered well into modern-day Ferelden and Nevarra, stamping out any worship of the Old Gods as well as lingering Alamarri and Ciriane Deities.

– World of Thedas Volume II

Sure, we have an account of the massacre of a pacifist nation (note that they are also vilified by the text, even though they are literally ‘helpless souls’ being overrun and slaughtered by an empire), but that is going to be the exception to the rule. Most of these ‘squabbling clans’ would have had warriors and fortifications. It didn’t matter. Orlais invaded, defeated them, forced them to convert – and absorbed the survivors. The Orlesian empire is The Blob.

Do you … not get how massive this thing is? A quarter of Thedas is under direct Orlesian control. That’s what came for the Dales. An almost endless supply of soldiers and weapons and supplies against one newborn nation. That’s what’s so scary about empires, once they get going: they can take the resources of the people they conquered yesterday – including the bodies of the actual people to be used as soldiers or workers – and use them against you today.

So yeah: big picture, they were ‘helpless souls’ being knocked down by the biggest bully in Thedas. They put up a hell of a fight – even took Montsimmard for a while – but they didn’t have the resources of an empire to sustain them, so they were screwed.

Why do ppl forget that it’s their own racism that initially caused the war in the Dales?

Okay so … racism. I feel like I keep saying ‘empires are bad’ and ‘conversion by the sword is bad’ and … these are somehow controversial statements that people want to refute? That’s … just a little bit scary, you know?

The elven people quite famously worked with humans. Specifically with the Alamarri rebels who took down the Tevinter Imperium. You know: Andraste?

At Shartan’s word, the sky

Grew black with arrows.

At Our Lady’s, ten thousand swords

Rang from their scabbards,

A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming:

Those who had been slaves were now free.

– Shartan 10:1.

– Dark Moon

There’s even a whole fucking verse about Shartan and his people making a bloody suicide run on the entire Tevinter army to try to rescue Andraste:

The Liberator drew the blade at his side

And charged the pyre, the freedom of the Prophet before his eyes,

But from the legion came a storm of arrows

Blacker than night. And the disciple who had fought side by side

With the Lady fell, along with a hundred of his People.

And among the Alamarri ten thousand swords fell to the ground in a chorus of defeat.

– World of Thedas Volume II

That’s pretty heroic! And pretty tragic! Elven slaves and human rebels standing side by side, fighting an empire. Winning, in the end, although at great cost. And yet what you’re trying to tell me is that the elves are ‘racist’ (also: not a great word to use in reference to an oppressed people because racism requires social power) rather than, say, justifiably worried about the growing power of a nascent empire?

He [Kordillus Drakon] began his holy quest at the ripe old age of sixteen by taking to the battlefield. At the time, each clan had its own variety of the cult of Andraste, its own rituals, traditions and versions of Andraste’s words. Young Drakon unified them by the sword.

– World of Thedas II

Orlais is aggressive and fanatical. It is running around slaughtering people who disagree with its religious beliefs. If you are a non-Andrastian nation sitting more-or-less on the Orlesian border, watching other nations fall and be forcibly converted – and those people just believed different things about Andraste – you have to know what’s coming. This really only goes one way. Are you really going to call closing your borders and prepping for conflict ‘racism’? Is that really the word you want to use?

Halamshiral, “the end of the journey,” was our capital, built out of the reach of the humans. We could once again forget the incessant passage of time. Our people began the slow process of recovering the culture and traditions we had lost to slavery.

But it was not to last. The Chantry first sent missionaries into the Dales, and then, when those were thrown out, templars. We were driven from Halamshiral, scattered. Some took refuge in the cities of the shemlen, living in squalor, tolerated only a little better than vermin.

– The Dales

Relations broke down completely when the Chantry sent missionaries. Because of course they did. The fact that Orlais fundamentally does not believe in religious freedom is the very thing that the elves are afraid of. It is also, you know, a pretext. Provocation meant to push the elves so they start something and Orlais can say it was their fault. There is almost always a pretext. The empire says it’s coming in to resolve a local conflict, or they’re dealing with an incident on the border, or they’re ‘liberators’. And then they stay. And they take.

Do you really mean to blame the elves for being conquered?

Why everybody dismisses Minaeves’ story about how her clan treated the unwanted mages?

No one has forgotten or dismissed Minaeve. Everyone is keenly aware that – on a meta level – Bioware did some quite ugly retconning in Inquisition to make both elves and mages look less sympathetic. Many people have noted that Minaeve’s story is the exact opposite of Lanaya’s story, and that neither Velanna nor Merrill talk about anything like that. Nevertheless, it is raised at least three times in Inquisition: by Minaeve, by Vivienne and by The Iron Bull. So yes, that is a deliberate retcon made at a late stage in the series in order to allow people to do exactly what you’re doing: yell that the elves are ‘just as bad’. It’s gross.

In universe, of course, it’s worth noting that Minaeve was seven when this happened. Whatever it was, it was terrible – but it may not have been what she thought. It’s also worth noting that the Dalish are wandering nomads with few resources, under constant threat from humans in general and templars in particular, and if they did find themselves forced to throw one mage child to the templars to protect the rest – that is fucking horrible, but says more about the world Orlais has created than it does about the elves.

But I have to ask – why do you think it’s so important that everyone remember a twenty-second pro-templar conversation with a minor character, instead of extensive conversations about elven society and losses with Merril and Velanna? Those are two grown women who have lived their whole lives as Dalish and have a keen understanding of the culture of their clans. Or whole novels about Fiona and Briala, respectively the leaders of the mage and elven rebellions?

I know the novels are supplementary material so I’m certainly not blaming anyone for being unfamiliar with them. But if there were things I wish people could always remember when talking about the elves – it would be those stories of oppression and revolution.

I mean Chantry sucks big time, but can we please stop making elves into some magic creatures that only do good. They do not. None of the races and religions in Dragon Age is perfect, yet one has a particular bias from fandom.

It’s … interesting that you brought ‘race’ into this. Because I didn’t. I haven’t been writing criticisms of ‘humans’. I’ve left the Rivaini alone; usually mentioned Fereldans favourably; I haven’t been talking about Antiva or Nevarra. They haven’t come up.

I was talking about the aggression of the Orlesian empire and its Chantry. The elves were brought up as possibly the people who have lost the most to Orlesian aggression. They’re certainly the best sourced of those people. I’ve talked about the Chasind and Avvar where I can (humans!). I’ve talked about dwarves and Qunari. I bring up the Daughters of Song and the Disciples of Andraste where I can, because I have references for them. I know that a whole lot of other cultures were destroyed by Drakon and his Chantry – but alas, I can’t say anything meaningful about them because there are no codex entries, in game dialogue or other reference materials for them.

Of course the elves are not ‘perfect’. While Zathrian’s rage is understandable, his decision to keep the curse going even when it began to threaten his clan was terrible. Merril’s clan was far too easily led to bully and exclude her; they were her family and someone should have stood up for her. Historically, the Dales probably made a mistake staying out of the Second Blight. I mean – I get it. The Blight softened up Tevinter enough to let the rebels take it down. It could have worked again against Orlais. But in retrospect – bad idea. Didn’t work.

Those are just examples. Of course there are more. But it doesn’t matter. That an elven character fucked up at some point does not change the fact that they face racial persecution as non-humans (and are pretty clearly coded as a combination of indigenous, Jewish and Romani people), that they face religious persecution as non-Andrastians and that the Orlesian empire stole their land and forced them into slums.

And I note all of this because of the … tenor of your Ask. Had you said something like “This elven stuff is great, but I’d like to chat about how the dwarves are basically facing an apocalypse and no one will help them, and also wouldn’t a story about a casteless revolution be great?” I would have said “Yes! Let’s talk about that!” Had you said something like “Isn’t it fucked up that the Qunari are treated largely as savage invaders, operating as an ‘Other’ it’s okay to hate?” I would have said “Yes! Yes, it is!”

But … this reads like a list of ‘reasons why people should stop pretending the elves don’t deserve to be oppressed’. And … somehow equates ‘Orlesians’ with ‘humans’?

I mean – surely you aren’t saying that our sympathies should not be with the frequently enslaved minority group who are forced to live as second class citizens in appalling slums, and who have been forcibly converted to a religion they don’t want to follow … but rather with the empire that took everything from them?

Because … I really hope not.

#dragon age #chantry critical #Anonymous

351 notes · View notes

grakkar-gorefang · 5 years

Text

The Challenge

((Co-written with @kidcatgemini. Follows her story here. ))

Step by step, large-yet-nimble footsteps ascended the stairway. Grakkar traveled light, and quick, making his way towards the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. He’d only heard of it, but everyone told him it was a beautiful and serene place. A place for relaxation. For lovers to connect on a deeper level. A place he had intended to bring Sinafay… All this only upset him more, when he found out where she was. She’d come here - not alone, but with Argonas. The father of the child she carried… and the one who stole her away from him.

Tracking them wasn’t easy, admittedly - especially across continents. But the orc had sniffed out more elusive prey than a pair of Draenei Vindicators many times before. It saddened him to leave Kronk behind on such and adventure; he wanted to take him, too, to the wondrous Pandaria of which he’d heard so many times. But the big lug would only slow him down, and time was of the essence. Leaving him in Aelissah’s care, as he had many times before, made sense. She didn’t have a connection with the beast, but he trusted her to take good care of him in his absence.

The stairs led to a path. The path led to a river. And the river led into a tunnel. It seemed to be the only way to get to Kun-Lai from here. And from Kun-Lai, he could get to the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. To Sinafay.

The orc followed the river as it ran deeper into the cavern. His eyes twinkled in the low light - he had no issues seeing, even in darkness. Navigating the cavern would be a breeze--

He ducked down behind a rock, hearing steps from up ahead. Slowly and silently, he pulled the axe from his back. Breathing controlled and quiet, yet his heart raced. He wouldn’t say aloud, but a fear came over him - he knew not exactly what dangers lurked in Pandaria. And in dark places like this, the most dangerous of creatures tended to dwell… Fear, yes. Fear and excitement. He peered around the rock subtly, to try and catch a glimpse of what approached…

Hoofsteps echoed through the tunnel. Sinafay’s elven guide had left her at the entrance with a few confusing directions, before using some form of arcane teleportation device. It seemed the rogue had other business to attend to...

Unfortunately, Sinafay didn’t have the best sense of direction. As far as she could tell, the path hadn’t split yet. Her glowing golden gaze looked around the cave warily as she made her way along the path. She didn’t know the area; didn’t know what dangers lurked.

She’d left the Vale with only the clothes on her back; a lovely white maternity shirt and purple gold trimmed pants. She’d left her armor and weapon behind. It would have made Argonas question where she was going, and she couldn’t have him following her to Grakkar. Despite this, she didn’t show fear, determined to talk her Orc lover out of this crazy mak’gora idea.

“--Sina!”

Grakkar gasped, rising from behind his cover immediately. He’d recognize that divine form anywhere! … even if it was a little more bloated than last he laid eyes on it. Nonetheless, her shimmering Light-rune tattoos along her arms, and those matching illuminated eyes… the silhouette of her horns and hair… and as she grew close enough, he recognized her divine face! Oh, it had been too long! He was surprised he didn’t recognize her by the cadence of her steps, to be honest - but pregnancy altered her gait as well.

“Sina! I was coming to find you!” he declared, as he approached

Conveniently leaving out the other reason he’d come this far.

Sinafay’s reaction was anything but planned. She’d been set on getting straight to the subject, but the sight of him changed all that. The old Orc hadn’t changed at all. Grey mohawk hair tied back, leathered tattooed and scarred skin, muscular frame showed off by what little armor he wore beneath that tabard…

She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him tightly, choking back a sob.

“Grakkar!” Happy tears ran down her cheeks as she embraced him, “Light! I… I missed you so much!”

The subject of the mak’gora could wait. She’d intercepted him from getting to Argonas and that was all that mattered for the moment. Her anger and sadness melted away in his arms.

She pulled back only to gaze lovingly into his eyes, bringing a gentle hand to rest against his cheek.

“How are you?”

“Hmph! Foolish!” he grumbled in response, lips curled downwards at the corners. “So foolish to run from this. From you!”

Grakkar pulled Sinafay in for another intimate hug. He had wasted so much time thanks to his brash overreaction. Moments he’d never get back. It was all he could do to take them as he could, in interactions like this. He buried his face in her neck, humming contently at being back in her arms once more. Her scent filled him with bliss. He took his fill of it before releasing the second embrace, and looking upon her once again - that regret and sorrow still evident in his eyes.

“Forgive me, my love. I was… angry. Upset!” he explained. “You had it right; I told you I would never leave you… and I don’t intend to ever again. I…”

He brought a hand up to cup the Vindicator’s face, only now managing to smile as his eyes got lost in hers.

“I love you so much.”

“Oh, Grakkar! I love you too!”

She sealed the words with a kiss, rekindling that fire they’d shared over their many years together. Her heart soared, so happy to hear the words he spoke. She could see the regret in his eyes. His words were sincere. How many times had she dreamed of him returning to her like this, admitting to the mistake he made in his upset and shocked state.

A swift kick from the baby in her belly served as a proper reminder at what she was dealing with. Argonas would most certainly come looking for her once he’d realized she’d run off. She had to get Grakkar away from here. She reluctantly broke the kiss, taking Grakkar’s hand in hers and attempting to lead him back the way they came.

“Come, My Love. Let us leave this place.”

Grakkar didn’t budge, despite being tugged at. His smiling face turned to a frown once more - this time, steely and determined.

“... No.” he grunted. “Not yet.”

His eyes turned forward in the tunnel, towards Kun-Lai. Finding Sinafay here was fortunate. But he knew she didn’t come alone. He knew Argonas was around here somewhere, too. Exhaling a growl of a sigh, he looked to Sinafay once more.

“I came here for another reason, Sina.” he stated, plainly. “To challenge the father of that child you carry. To challenge Argonas to mak’gora.”

Sinafay’s hands immediately reached for his arm, grabbing and holding on tightly.

“You don’t need to do that,” she frowned, now that the subject could no longer be avoided, “You have nothing to prove. To me. To anyone! I am your mate, now and forever. This baby will not change that. A mak’gora won’t solve anything!”

“--Of course it will!” he grunted back. “A fight to the death is the only way!”

He wasn’t surprised; as much as Sinafay had done for the orcish people, there were aspects of the culture he felt she didn’t fully understand. The mak’gora was one of them. The Draenei had nothing with which it could compare… no duels of honor, no fighting to the death. Some called such practices barbaric, but they failed to realize the significance of the time-honored ceremony. Once again, his hand reached up to cup Sinafay’s face. His eyes met hers, stern and finite.

“You didn’t want this child with him, right? You trusted him to be honorable… and he broke that trust with his carelessness! He has to answer for that.” he declared. “You don’t love him, right? If you don’t love him… you shouldn’t be opposed to me killing him, so we can be together - free entirely from his influence.”

Grakkar searched Sinafay’s face, lips pressed thin.

“The challenge is due.”

Sinafay huffed, bringing a hand up to slap him across the face.

“Like Fel it is!” She cried, “I do not love him, but he is one of the VERY few friends that I have on this world!”

Hands balled into fists as her anger swelled. In truth, she understood well the significance of the mak’gora in Orcish culture. But she couldn’t understand why it was required in this situation. Argonas didn’t even love her! It was an unnecessary bloodshed!

“This child was my mistake! Not his! I go with you willingly, but you leave him be!”

The slap earned a snarl from Grakkar. He took hold of Sinafay’s arms, holding tight to keep her from lashing out at him again. Clearly, she was upset. He expected that she might be, given the circumstances - but that didn’t make the slap any more surprising in the moment!

“Listen to me! I know he’s your friend; clearly! But what makes you think he won’t come after you? After the child? Especially if you keep him as a friend?” he pressed, frowning deeply. “There’s only one way to be sure he--”

“UNHAND HER!”

A deep, commanding voice echoed through the tunnel. The heavy hoofsteps of another Draenei coming down from Kun-Lai resonated in steady marching cadence. It was an imposing figure; Grakkar knew Argonas was a Vindicator, like Sinafay… but he didn’t quite expect him to be so large. He released Sinafay, and interposed between the two of them.

“You must be Argonas.” he snarled, speaking in Draenic. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Argonas narrowed his gaze - who was this Orc? How did he know his name? He looked to Sinafay, as if for an explanation; confused further as she hadn’t turned to flee from the assailant, or bash him over the head when he turned his back to her.

“... What is this?” he growled. “Sina?”

She opened her mouth to say something… anything! But nothing came to mind. Her eyes were wide, panic evident as she looked from Argonas to Grakkar and back. She hadn’t expected Argonas to discover her disappearance so soon!

While Grakkar was fully aware of Argonas and Sinafay’s relationship, it wasn’t the case the other way around. Sinafay had told Argonas nothing of her Orc lover, out of fear of losing his friendship.

“Argo! You have to leave, now! Please!” was all she could utter.

Her eyes pleaded to him, an obvious fear behind her golden gaze. She reached forward, grabbing hold of the Orc’s arm tightly, her desperate tone still evident as she switched to Orcish.

“Grakkar! Don’t!”

Something wasn’t right. Argonas didn’t know what it was… but this Orc was clearly exerting some kind of sway over Sinafay. A mind control spell? Then why would she oppose him? Blackmail, perhaps? What could he possibly have that would influence her so? His brow furrowed all the deeper at the wave of questions pouring through his mind.

Grakkar, inversely, felt no confusion at all. Only determination. He shrugged Sinafay off, seemingly deaf to her pleas for him to back off, and stepped forward. The initial intimidation began to wane, as his adrenaline increased. A true challenge! A towering Draenei to oppose, to fight and kill - all for Sinafay! This was the stuff of Orcish legends!

“Vindicator Argonas!” he called him out. “I challenge you to mak’gora! A duel to the death! Muster what honor you have to meet this challenge, or flee with your tail between your legs like a cowardly, sniveling pup!”

Argonas scoffed! He knew of the Orcish tradition of mak’gora. An uncivilized and brutish practice, from all he’d heard about it. He didn’t know why this Orc was challenging him to such a thing. He was definitely not an Orc! He glanced once more to Sinafay, hoping for any manner of clarification… but all he could read was that odd panic in her expression. She shook her head, wanted him to run… to defer to this Orc for whatever reason. Grakkar didn’t look like much to Argonas. Strong, sure. But aged. Then again, few Orcs reached such a stage of life without good reason.

Did she really think this Orc was a threat to him?

He shook his head - that didn’t matter. Clearly she was in duress of some kind. Whatever it was this Orc was lording over her, he couldn’t abide it a moment longer!

“Hmph! You chose your opponent poorly this day, you filthy Orc!” he shouted back. “Come forth and be judged by the Light!”

Sinafay closed her eyes, and her shoulders slumped; defeated. She could see she couldn’t stop this now. Without another word from anyone - not counting battle cries and aggressive shouts - Grakkar and Argonas charged at one another!

Argonas’ hoofsteps echoed loudly and sharply as they struck the stone beneath them, each leaving behind a crescent of burning Light in their wake. The Light itself propelled him forth towards his foe! Grakkar didn’t slow a bit - his steps much softer than Argonas’, but no less nimble! He dipped his shoulder low to take the Vindicator down on impact! Instead, the Draenei turned at the last second to meet the Orc’s collision. The two slammed together, both grunting. Grakkar was much more solid than Argonas had expected… but not by much! He reached out to grab the Orc’s shoulder, reeling back his fist to deliver a punch!

CRACK!

The blow landed unexpectedly, square to Grakkar’s face. He stumbled back… as far as he could still being held by the shoulder. Argonas didn’t relent, either - immediately he reeled his arm back to throw another punch. Grakkar snapped back to quickly enough to bring his own arms up across one another to meet the would-be blow before his face took any more punishment. It was like being smashed in the face with a rock - nothing he was in any hurry to feel again! As he blocked the second punch, his hands turned quickly to grip the Vindicator’s arm. He tugged it firmly, bringing his knee up to slam into Argonas’ gut as a retaliation! He would’ve landed it too, if Draenei didn’t have tails! He cursed under his breath - he should’ve expected it, given all his time ‘familiarizing’ himself with Sinafay’s Draenic anatomy… Argonas’ tail swung in between Grakkar’s knee and his abdomen, slowing and buffering the blow to little more than a nudge. The Draenei scoffed, ripping his arm from Grakkar’s grip and dropping an elbow to smash the Orc a second time.

“--Oof!” Grakkar yelped, staggering back again.

The stagger went further than planned, as Argonas not only released his grip, but shoved the Orc away from him. He snarled.

“Pathetic!” he boasted! “You seem to know me, Orc! Not well enough to realize you are grossly outmatched! Too bad, for you!”

Grakkar stabilized, keeping upright despite the beating he’d taken. He wiped the blood from his lips and nose using his forearm, furious gaze keeping affixed to Argonas. He growled, baring his teeth like a rabid wolf.

“I know you well enough, alright.” he spit a glob of blood from his mouth. “A warrior, dedicated to protecting his people. Admirable… admirable enough to catch the interest and affections of my beloved Sinafay.”

“Grakkar! ENOUGH!” Sinafay screamed from the sidelines, hands balled into fists.

Argonas’ prideful grin vanished in an instant - did he say ‘beloved’? His luminous eyes shot wide, in more confusion… and horror. He looked to Sinafay again, praying silently this was some manner of joke, or that perhaps he’d misheard. This encounter grew more and more strange by the second.

“And yet you reward her friendship with betrayal!” Grakkar continued, snarling. “She sought comfort with you. And you repaid her with an unwanted burden! Your baby!”

He pointed back - vaguely - at where Sinafay stood, emphasizing his point as he berated Argonas. He was getting worked up further - adrenaline pumping through his veins quickly and aggressively. The taste of blood in his mouth fueled it further… and calling Argonas out on taking more than he was offered drove it to a raging peak. He let loose a roar that shook the cavern, before charging for Argonas once more!

Argonas scoffed - he readied himself once more for the impact of Grakkar slamming into him as before. At least, what minor impact it was. Stronger than expected, certainly. But Argonas was unmoved before… and expected he’d be unmoved again. But such pride comes before the fall; As Argonas braced himself for the collision, Grakkar threw his shoulder back, and his legs forward. He shifted into a slide, iron-trimmed boots clashing into Argonas’ forward shin and knee joint with a sickening sound! Argonas toppled forward, still poised to resist ahead on impact. He howled in pain; there was no way that cracking sound wasn’t his bone breaking from the force of the blow!

Grakkar kept set on the Vindicator, rolling over and hopping up nimbly while Argonas writhed. He leapt up, and dropped in on his prey, driving an elbow into the Draenei’s back. He straddled his target, gripping his head to slam his face into the stone ground. Once. Twice. Three times, each leaving Argonas’ face more bloodied than the last. Argonas reached back to try and take hold of the Orc and throw him off - to no avail. He took a fourth and fifth face slam as Grakkar continued his assault!

Sinafay began to pace as she watched the fight intensely. She wanted to interfere, wanted to stop this senseless battle. But the two warriors were locked in, and she knew she wouldn’t be forgiven if she were to interfere. Tears of frustration stung her eyes. Despite being the one they were fighting over, she’d never felt more invisible!

Finally, Argonas brought his arms beneath him, and thrusted upwards. He half-spun mid-air to bring himself over Grakkar, who held tightly to the Draenei - a poor choice. Grakkar was stunned, sandwiched between Argonas’ muscular back and the cold unforgiving ground. He held firm, throwing an arm around the Vindicator’s front. His forearm tucked up against Argonas’ throat. He tugged hard, gripping his wrist with his free hand to pull even harder in an attempt to choke out his opponent!

Argonas’ luminous eyes began to roll back, light within them dimming as the Orc strained beneath him. He could feel the oxygen deprivation causing his mind to slow. Vision blurred, heart rate skyrocketing. He tugged at the Orc’s arm to try and pry it free from his neck, to no avail. His tail writhed, legs flailing - the latter was met with excruciating pain as he made the break in his joint worse with every kick. That sharp pain was so stark and sobering, it kept him from going out completely, at least. Much to Grakkar’s dismay. He should’ve passed out by now! It wasn’t easy to strain keeping the stranglehold while resisting being crushed beneath the flailing Draenei. Ancestors, he was dense! If he didn’t know any better, Grakkar would think he was made of stone!

“STOP!”

This looked like the end! Sinafay took a few running steps in-- but then stopped as Argonas threw his head forward - then back - slamming the back of his head into Grakkar’s face! The Orc’s grip loosened, as Argonas flung himself over and off of him. The Vindicator gasped, drawing in air after what felt like hours. Grakkar held his face, stemming the blood which now poured out of his nose. He sat up quickly to keep from drowning in his own nosebleed. It resulted in a brief pause in the fighting, while the two recuperated. But the pause didn’t last long.

Grakkar rose to go after Argonas once more - opening by throwing a handful of loose rocks in the Vindicator’s eyes! Blinded for the moment, Argonas could do little to resist as Grakkar gripped his crest and slammed his knee into the Draenei’s face. A second landed as well, before Argonas reached forth to take hold of the Orc’s leg to intercept the third attempt. Still unable to see, however, it was all he could to do throw the Orc off of him. Grakkar stumbled back, but kept his footing. Argonas took the moment to stand - as well as he could, leg damaged as it was. He wrapped his tail tightly about his knee joint to keep pressure on the fracture, enabling him to stand for the moment. He glared at Grakkar… runic scars on his body illuminating.

“--Hmph!” Grakkar scoffed! “Further proof of your lack of honor! You call on your Light powers to help you win this mak’gora? Pathetic!”

“I could not care less for your barbaric customs, Orc!” Argonas shot back - the runes on his body fading nonetheless. “But I need not waste the Naaru’s gift in defeating you!”

The Orc let out another roar, before rushing at Argonas again. He threw a punch as soon as he came close enough, slamming his fist into the Draenei’s chest. Argonas retaliated with a hook of his own, smashing into Grakkar’s side. They traded blows, one after the other in an impromptu boxing match. It was a series of body blows, with an occasional swing at the face. Most of them were dodged or blocked, once the two combatants began to read one another’s moves better. Finally, Argonas clipped Grakkar’s jaw, sending him staggering back once more. The Draenei pressed, diving into the Orc to tackle him to the ground… and pin him.

The Orc continued swinging, throwing closed fists into Argonas’ sides to try and pummel the Draenei off from atop him. He hit a few against the Draenei’s injured leg, making Argonas howl in agony every time. But enough was enough. The Vindicator would end this now. One hand gripped the Orc’s throat tightly, the other clutching the side of Grakkar’s head. He slammed Grakkar’s head back, snarling.

“Go meet your ancestors, Orc filth! And tell them who sent you!”

Argonas’ hands clenched tighter - crushing Grakkar’s throat closed, as a thumb gouged into his eye. Grakkar couldn’t even scream with his windpipe closed off, despite the agonizing pain shooting through his body! He clawed at Argonas, fingernails scraping lightly - harmlessly - along Argonas’ arms and sides. Heels shuffled against the cold ground as he kicked helplessly.

“--S-S-Sina…” he managed to wheeze, with what should’ve been his final breath.

“NO!”

A blinding flash of Light shot out and struck Argonas in the shoulder, knocking him clear off of Grakkar. Sinafay ran in as Grakkar coughed, wheezing as he drew air back into his lungs. She placed herself between the two, wrapping her arms protectively around the Orc. Light still danced around her form, further stimulated by her tempestuous emotions.

“He saved my life,” she finally explained, “He rescued me from Draenor!”

She turned her head to look at Argonas, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

“The fight is over… you’ve won,” she managed, “But I won’t let you kill him.”

Argonas stared in awe - shocked, and further confounded by everything that had happened. He had won… he thought. The fight should’ve ended with the satisfying crunch of another Orc’s skull in his hands… and instead it ended with Sinafay - his friend, his confidant - cradling the filthy creature like a child!

His mind raced, questions upon questions flooding his thoughts - too many to speak at once. So many, the pain in his leg was forgotten for the moment. Just as well; he made no effort to stand. Instead, he simply stared. Hurt, confused, angry. The pieces slowly began to fall into place, once by one, as this bizarre and frustrating exchange played out again in his mind’s eye. “He saved my life…” “my beloved Sinafay…” It was too terrible to believe, yet nothing spoke contrary to it.

“N-No…” Grakkar wheezed, finally catching his breath.

His eye was bruised, swollen shut. His neck, too, had already started to swell. Coughing was hoarse and violent, but he managed to sit up. His arm wrapped around Sinafay, holding her for support. He shook his head, frowning deeply.

“He… has to finish it.” he whispered. “The mak’gora… does not end until one of us is dead.”

“To the Nether with your backwards customs!” Argonas shouted, seething in anger - it was easier to lash out at the Orc than Sinafay for now, it seemed. “Be grateful she stopped me when she did, lest I would have uglied you up beyond what even another Orc would recognize!”

He spit derisively, a globule of blue blood. Disgusted. Disgusted with this Orc, this situation… and Sinafay, too. He wore it on his face, visible well enough even beneath the bruising and discoloration. With a strained grunt, he brought his legs back underneath him, hurriedly standing. A groan as pressure set on his busted leg. Wrapping his tail around the joint as before staved off some of it, bracing it to operate semi-functionally. But even that hurt less than this devastating revelation.

“Tell me I am mistaken, Sinafay.” he huffed, allotting a final chance - a hope - he was reading this all entirely wrong. “Tell me this is not your lover. Your Orcish lover!”

She was silent for a moment. Only the words were missing, really; the way she looked at Grakkar, the way her hand cupped the side of his bruised and bloodied face, the way her tail curved in around him. There was nothing platonic about it.

Sinafay had feared this moment. Dreaded it, even. She looked at Argonas, his disgust conveying exactly the reaction she’d expected. In a way, she felt justified, knowing he would have never understood, even if she had told him from the beginning. But in another, she was disappointed and hurt. Part of her had hoped… foolishly, that he’d be able to accept the fact that things happened differently in her timeline.

“We’ve been mates for years on Draenor,” she admitted, “And we still are.”

Despite Argonas’ obvious disgust and anger at her, she spoke the words clearly, unapologetic. He’d already figured it out. There was nothing left to hide. She met his gaze steadily.

“I love him.”

It wasn’t nearly as shocking for him to hear as Argonas expected. Then again, he knew it was true. He had expected those words to pour forth from her mouth, now that he’d come to learn it all for himself. He glanced between her and the Orc - the disgusting creature that had somehow earned her love - with a gnarled, furrowed brow.

“... So be it.”

There was little else to say. Little else to do. Carefully he turned, and began to pace away. He winced audibly with every step of his broken leg, clearly favoring it as he left the two behind him. He didn’t bother looking back.

Grakkar coughed again, violent and coarse, as he clutched Sinafay. He, too, frowned, as he peered at Argonas through his remaining good eye. He shook his head.

“Th-The… mak’gora…” he wheezed.

It was far too late for that, now. He collapsed back in resignation, turning his eye to Sinafay.

“I’m… sorry.”

“Idiot.”

Sinafay sighed, turning her full attention to Grakkar now that Argonas has left. There had been no point in calling to him. She brought a hand through his hair, the Light energy that surrounded her dying down considerably as she calmed down.

“It is what it is,” she said, “But you get to let me heal you for that one.”

Despite his hatred towards the Light, he was in terrible shape. She kept one arm around him as the other began to glow. She started over his throat, to ease the worst of the damage Argonas’ hand had caused, then helped the swelling around his eye.

“I know I should not have interrupted,” she admitted as she began scanning his body for further damage, “But I refuse to live in a world that you are not part of. You are not allowed to die. Not like this.”

Grakkar’s frown softened. Due in part to the swelling reducing as the Light Sinafay channeled through him soothed his bruises. But also at her words; he knew the sentiment well. He’d felt it before, when he was first whisked away to Azeroth, leaving her behind. Living here meant nothing without her at his side. His hand reached up atop hers, despite how it glowed with the Light. He didn’t care. That didn’t matter now. Only she did.

“You broke tradition to save me before.” he smiled, lightly. “I can break it now, to stay with you.”

“I do not need tradition. All I need is you.”

She rested her crest gently against his forehead, closing her eyes as her hand hovered over his rib cage. There were a number of broken ribs due to the crushing treatment he’d received. Her Light mending couldn’t heal him completely, but it served well to accelerate the progress and dull the worst of the pain. Overall, she expected Grakkar would recover well enough. Her channeling finally ceased, and she allowed herself to relax.

Sinafay was sad about Argonas. She had never meant for him to be hurt, and she feared losing his friendship completely over this. Telling him earlier would have been preferable, but with the faction war only now coming to an end, exposing her relationship with Grakkar was a risk she hadn’t been able to take.

She looked over her shoulder, where the Vindicator had limped off, wishing she’d had a chance to mend his wounds as well. The baby stirred in her belly, a reminder that she still carried his child. She’d have to go check on him later, once he’d had a bit of time to process and brood. Hopefully, he’d be receptive, despite all this.

For now, though, Sinafay turned her full attention to Grakkar.

“The Vale is beautiful. I cannot think of a better place for you to recover. Once you are well, we will begin looking for a place to live together, yes?”

Despite the dramatic and upsetting altercation, she couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of excitement. After all the years of waiting and suffering, they could finally openly be together.

She tilted her head and pressed her lips to his.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he whispered, smiling. “And I love you too.”

It wasn’t the start he’d envisioned for their vacation to Pandaria together… but he definitely needed some rest and relaxation now.

#character story #Grakkar Gorefang #Sinafay the Defiant #Argonas the Ironclad #mak'gora #kun-lai #revelation #fight sequence

8 notes · View notes

ohgoddard · 3 years

Text

Storyteller.7.

Holly often wondered why they traveled where they did. Well, she knew why she traveled, but not why Armak did. He truly seemed to just be wandering the world as he has been for millennia upon millennia. There was no real purpose behind where he went, at least none that Holly could discern. Everywhere they went, no matter if it was some sleepy town on the border between Golrokh and the Concord or in the shadow of the Acropolis, Armak seemed to have a story about it. She wanted to think she was doing it for her, taking her to places that held interesting stories behind them that he had the graces to be at. Often though, his stories were benign. The real interesting parts were the details he omitted because he thought them ‘uninteresting’ or ‘unimportant’. Like how the Acropolis wasn’t always floating high in the air or how the dwarves far up north originally lived in small above-ground homes. She still doesn’t believe him fully on that last fact, it seems too unlikely, but regardless he held a wealth of knowledge that only he seemed to know and have a memory of. Even knowledge of Holly’s favorite era of the continent’s history: The Great Divide.

Holly has long been fascinated with the era of history, it is the only one her parents bothered to tell her about outside of the elven conclave. Several members of the conclave left to fight alongside the Kroven clan when that war was still happening, and they were even granted an appearance by the leader herself, Seoven! Holly had grown up with stories from her parents about The Bladed Rose of the East showing up to thank the elves for their expert trail making and ranger skills, and to promise them a seat at the table when the continent was united from Gukrag’s despotic and bloodthirsty reign. At least, that is what her parents told her. She often wondered why Seoven never came back to the conclave after that, or why her parents often went on cynical diatribes about the nation of Golrolkh and betrayal. She didn’t even know the Empire or Concord existed until she left the conclave in the dead of the night and eventually found herself mugged and robbed until Clermont, where all who are chewed up by the land are spit out to. She wanted to know more and wanted to record it all to boot. But the libraries are in the hands of those who won’t share, and those who would share have motives all too ulterior. It was refreshing when she came across the drunk immortal in the town falling to pieces, which she thought was a sad statement on her travels in the world.

She always asked questions, and when the old man was feeling it he would even answer some of them. She could tell he enjoyed her company, even if he had trouble showing it. This did not stifle her frustration with him, as she swore he made it a game to make her as mad as possible sometimes. He would always get away with it in the end, though. Usually by telling some long story about a random rock in the road that is actually the last remaining stone of a huge castle keep he once saw the assassination of some regional noble at. She always questioned where they were going, and always got the same answer: “We’ll know when we get there.” He tried so hard to sound wise, but she knew better. No matter his dour attitudes though, she knew Armak had his bearings straight and would lead them in the right direction.

Armak had no clue where he was.

When you live as long as he has, the lands no longer look the same as he once remembered them. Events he thought as no more than a decade ago were actually a thousand years prior. The oldest men and elves he encounters are children when compared to him. He always looks alien wherever he goes, yet he was once commonplace in these lands. How times change, and how slow he consistently is to change with them. Armak is also not so prideful to admit he is a small amount stubborn as well and is not willing to buy new maps. Armak has been here before, things cannot change that quick. Sure, a few hundred years have passed. But mountains do not appear or disappear in that time. Forests may grow, rivers may change route, but the largest of landmarks must stay.

Armak tells himself this, trying so hard to disregard the extreme world-shaping the Yaldor did which eternally messed with his internal compass. Because those damned Gith, those gods damned mindflayer fuckers, took it upon themselves to do exactly what no one asked for. Ruined so much in terms of natural beauty. And so much more, but Armak is trying to maintain a happy attitude. Especially for Holly. Recently, the stories that surface the way to the top of his memory have been rather morbid ones. Night raids with Seoven, usurping regional rulers through violent coups, tales of arriving at border towns just minutes after the Scartooths’ Warband arrived first. War was not a pretty time, nor were there many happy stories he could tell that he could fill up Holly’s notebook with. There were bound to be fun stories, the war lasted for-gods-damned-ever. It technically ended only a hundred-ish years ago. The veterans of the war are already old men, and there are generations of people who have never known conflict on the scale that used to be commonplace. He hopes it stays that way.

He has been trying to go to places with happier memories. Armak doesn’t know when or even if he will leave this world behind him finally, but he wants his legacy to be better. The years he spent as a spymaster of terror, whose name was spoken among the Scartooths with the same tremor of terror when they spoke of Gukrag. His accomplishments are wide and greatly unknown to even himself. Mostly, he was just there to observe what happened. His involvement is negligible at best, but that does not mean his influence is insignificant. Bloodlines have ended because of him, magical items lost forever, borders changed. He does not want to be remembered for that. He wants to be a folk story people tell. The wise and older than the trees or field they sit near who comes in with stories and advice.

Of course, he’d have to actually talk to people to do that and he abhors conversation on a deep base level of his personality. So, he’d settle with telling his story to Holly. She has more or less forced herself into his life, and he wasn’t going to make any great effort to remove her. He forgot how nice it was to talk to someone. And she has helped him regain some semblance of happiness in his life, so he’s trying to give her some great stories to record in her book.

Now, if only he could find where the hell it was he was moving towards. The desert is a lot bigger than when he was last there some...300-ish years ago. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Armak, I know I ask this a lot, but where exactly are we going?”

Nighttime in the desert was always paradoxically cold. When someone walks through the dunes in the sunlight it feels like the heat walks within you and is twice as intense as your willpower to go on. Yet, when the sun finally leaves you at the crest of night, the cold seeps into your body with the absence of the heat. The two travelers sit close to each other, huddled around the dancing fire Armak summoned on the sands. Armak doesn’t hear Holly the first time she spoke, instead being lost in the stars above him.

She gives him an elbow into his ribs. The serenity of the night has now been shaken from his eyes.

“Armak, please tell me how long we’re going to be in this desert. I hate wearing all these face wraps and heavy clothes. It makes me sweat like a hobgoblin!” Holly was covered head to toe in clothes obviously not designed for her, as they hung off her body in great amounts. Armak snickered, bringing a hand to cover his beak as he looked at her. When he told her they were venturing into the desert, she was initially thankful for the change of scenery. So far, all they have traveled was repeating grassland and cold, snowy mountains. Yet, when the grass began to appear less and less and the air begins to turn arid and hot, she had worry she never thought she would have. Intense dehydration and sunburn.

So, with Holly being unprepared for the situation, Armak gave her a spare set of clothes and wraps he had to protect her from the harsh sandstorms and intense temperatures.

“Oh Holly, you look so ridiculous in that get-up. My goodness, who let you dress like that?” Holly tiredly punches him in the arm for that comment, causing another laugh from the Immortal. “It's not like you can talk,” she mumbled through the wraps on her face,” Mr. ‘I forgot my winter time gloves in Byhurst’. And how about the other times where I've had to give you spare jackets and spare hats and -”

Armak groaned.

“Say what you will about Elf development, your sense of humor matures at a much slower rate. Holly, I mean no harsh feelings towards you. It was a joke.”

The elf glares at him. “I’ll have you know, Elf humor is very refined and hilarious. You just need to know all the prerequisite history and references to understand the hilarity ingrained into every word. Like, ‘Why did the Despoiler of the Elven Faith crack the God Crystal?’ ‘To ascend into the higher realm of being!’”

The desert was quiet, and not a creature moved or made a sound.

“Holly, I have been to most of those events you reference in your jokes and stories. I ‘get’ the elf humor. Sometimes it is funny. I just think that...maybe... You should stick to writing stories instead of jokes.”

If looks could kill, this one would do it via guilt. Holly’s death gaze was further accented by a flush face, something Armak didn’t know to chalk up to embarrassment or anger or the heat. Detecting that a change in topic was needed to avoid conversation in uncomfortable territory, Armak thought quickly.

“This place, Holly, hasn’t changed much since I’ve last been here. At least, in any great amount. The rocks are in the right places, the skeletons of the cities still stand where I once shopped and slept. It's the least changed place in this whole world, Holly.” He stared up into the sky again. Holly’s gaze softened, though she still said nothing.

“Change has been hard for me. It's hard for any long-lived man but on me, it has taken a toll. People whom I have made friends with live their whole lives and give birth to children who will introduce me to their children, ad infinitum. I am friends of families, not people. No one can stay with me. The artificial, even, eventually wither away from damages not even the best artificer can fix. The few who can be in my company I’d rather not be among. They are all evil men or beasts with no morals, with only a desire to consume to keep living. Liches, Demons, lords of dark realms. None are good house guests.” His gaze falls from the stars and into the fire, where he stares.

“I have witnessed much, you know that. I have seen and been through so much change and I remain remarkably the same throughout. Whole forests grew where once was a field. Towns have been founded, expanded, and wiped from history before me. The oceans have risen and sunk, and here I am all the same. Only here, Holly, only here in this desert can I be the thing that changes. A desert doesn’t have to change, it knows it is the end state of all. It is patient. It doesn’t have to see the change to know it will happen.”

Holly looked into the fire with him. Traveling with Armak was...difficult. He has spent centuries on his own, interacting with him was like talking to an elf raised by the wolves. His feelings were not complex ones, but the reason why he felt the way he did was unique. Sure, some may feel life rushes past them, and they are worried that they do not change with the world and have fears of being left behind. Armak was left behind, and no matter how much can try the world will change before he has caught up. He will always be chasing what people who are born and killed in his lifetime will experience threefold. Plus, when he was depressed Holly felt sad too. Holly needed a way to make him happy and fast, otherwise, she’d feel bad about this the entire night and she needed her sleep lest she becomes an actual feral elf in the morning.

“Not all change is bad, you know. There is a good chance you must have seen that has made the stay on this lovely eroding rock of world pleasant. C’mon, I bet if you think about it you can find some good ones.”

Armak chuckled, still looking into the fire.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Holly. I get it, I do. But that isn’t what the problem is. The problem is -”

“Yeah yeah, you’re old and seen a lot. I’m not going to let you dwell on this any longer. You’re going to think some happy thoughts right now or else.” She stood up, crossing her arms at him. His feathered head turned to face her, a quizzical look upon it.

“Oh? And, pray tell, what you might do if I refuse to be the happy boy you want me to be?” “I’ll stop making the strawberry shortcake you like.”

She means business, Armak thought. He better start thinking happy or one of the tastiest things he has ever eaten in his thousand years of life will be taken from him much quicker than he would have liked.

“Well,” he said while dragging on the last ‘L’,” I do remember being in this absolute hellscape some odd hundreds of years ago. The ground was up-heaved, the trees and grass were in flames, the sky itself was red and black from the flame and smoke. It was torn apart by a large Warband that devoured itself a few months later. I remember thinking it was such a waste, the whole land benign devastated over some petty squabble. They’re always petty. I come back to that same spot only seventy years later and it is the most beautiful spot I have ever witnessed. The greenest of fields and most bountiful of game. Trees that gave sweet fruit and not a Warband in sight.”

Holly smiled, laying flat down next to him and propping her head upon her arms with her usual happy listening look.

“Then, I was in this very same desert. Remember the story I told you about the djinni and the sphinxes? I found that very same nomadic tribe, the one of which I have saved the princess from. Turns out, she had united the tribes under her banner through masterful politics and marriage. She also said she had an immortal whose magic and cunning could defeat even that of a djinni. I was made into a story people told around campfires, Holly. Children spoke of me as if I were some saint who watched over them. Mothers used me as a threat to make sure they didn’t go wandering either. It brought about a small era of peace to her spot in the desert. It was a good change. That good can happen, even preceding bad, makes change worth it sometimes.”

Armak raised his head from looking into the fire, glancing over at Holly. A smirked snaked its way onto his face.

“Another positive change I saw was the princess of Fresonia, a long-gone nation. She changed very well. First, she took off her dress, then -”

Holly’s frown and disapproving look was all he needed, causing Armak to go into a small laughing fit. And try as she did to stay looking grumpy at him, she couldn’t completely hold back her smile. After the laughing from Armak died down with a cough, he looked amused with himself. But Holly wasn’t going to let a happy Armak go just yet.

“What do you think was the biggest, positive change you’ve seen?”

Armak raised his hand to face in a pensive manner, holding his beak and stroking it as if it were a wise man's beard. His eyes look into a far-off place, but a smile soon grew on him.

“I have one. Though it may not start all that positive, it has a happy ending. Well actually the story itself is pretty damn dramatic, but it has a happy end overall. Technically.”

This piqued Holly’s curiosity. She righted herself from laying down, brushing the sand off her clothes and hurriedly throwing things out of her bag for her journal. This little panic she did every time Armak was about to go on some long tale always amused him. Reminded him of a time when was a professor at some university somewhere. Eventually, Holly found her ever disappearing notebook and broke out her nifty invention she started leaving in every town they came across; the pencil. She looked up to him, eyes wide with eagerness. “Well? Are you gonna tell it or not?”

He smiled. “Alright. By the way, this story may be of interest to you some. It has some big names in it.”

He cleared his throat, glancing at Holly and knowing that she was racing to try and remember what she considers big compared to what Armak does.

“It all started in the war court of Seoven when the news that Oshphim, the Great Wizard Exarch, died.”

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

When one imagines the celebration of a coronation, there is a certain amount of fanfare one expects. Parades, people cheering in the streets The Exarch is gone, long live the Exarch!, and a grand event any and all can attend and witness. They are events that many do not get to see, as those in power often live lavious and long lives compared to the common people. It was a time of celebration of the new ruler, yet always clashed with the grieving of the old. How someone deals with that delicate balance of emotion is critical to the beginning of their reign.

It would have taken a god themself to drum up any excitement in the royal hall of the great Southern Holdings. For the monarch they lost was beloved by all. Exarch Oshphim was a wise and gentle ruler. His knowledge knew no bounds, and he used it to create a shining jewel in a land where people still separated themselves up by tribes and fought wars by destroying whole peoples. He created cities, his skills in planning were unparalleled. He knew what was needed where and when. And his knowledge was not limited to the functions of the mortal realm, either. He was a wizard of great renown, being able to shape the very earth to his liking on a scale not matched until the Unakran Invasion. He diverted rivers to feed the farms and create fertile land to grow food. He raised the flood walls so buildings and the economy could prosper. He made sure no natural disaster happened unless he wanted it to. And since he never felt ill of those he ruled, it never happened. He fed the hungry, housed the homeless. All worked a decent day and were content under the Exarch. You know, he’s related to that princess I told you about? Wild, isn’t it?

Anyways, the Exarch was beloved by his people. His children on the other hand? Much different story. His children have often been a matter of discussion. They are not wholly Yuan-ti, like their father. In fact, when they were born out of wedlock the country was in upheaval. Such births often caused great succession crises. Hell, the kids didn’t even look that much like the guy. I remember merchants fleeing the main city en masse. However, through his expert statesmanship, he convinced the country that his children were no signs of the end times but an omen of prosperity. For you see, the children were half-celestial. The Exarch, in his wisdom and apparent powerful charisma, found love in a full-blown celestial. The children were, by definition, Aasimar and Immortal.

Now, ignoring the problems of having an Immortal ruler for deep discussions on politics later, the problem the people had with the coronation was with who was ascending to the throne after Oshphim died. His two children could not have been more different in every aspect. To start with, they were born wildly different. The Celestial who divided her body into two was a being of the stars, and as such had a part in the changing from night to day. One of her children was born with the powers of the sun and the daylight, able to influence the sun’s rays and use them to her whim. The other child was born with the powers of the moon, controlling the tides and able to influence the thoughts and minds of those who dreamt. Though, she never did.

The sun child was dubbed by her father “Solaris”. Her stature was staggering, ahead of long dark auburn hair and eyes of pure glowing gold. She walked with authority yet spoke with a voice that reminded you of those sunny days. She inherited most of her father’s physical traits, her face having sharp angles and a hard brow yet a welcoming smile that literally glowed. Her soft and pale skin always glowed strikingly in her ever-present warm radiant light. Yet, she never shied from the heritage of her mother. She always had these wings of orange and yellow, striking like an angel, furled on her back. We’ll get back to Solaris, as I can assure you Holly you have the wrong idea about her.

The moon child was named “Tungi”. A name from Oshphim’s culture that simply meant ‘moon’. The Exarch was not a creative man, but the names were apt. Tungi was not quite as tall as Solaris and nowhere near as outwardly imposing. Her hair was dark shades of purple which seemed to shift and change into other colors of the night sky. Her skin, like her mother’s, was a dark brown. Her eyes were swirls of stars and splashes of comets, mesmerizing to look into and incredibly hard to have a conversation with her because of it. She spoke with a shy voice, but one that was deep and soothing. Her aura was one of tranquility, one always felt calmer when they stood close to her. However, she liked to blend into the crowd. Despite having most of her mother’s traits, she rarely ever showed her wings. Instead, she often just passed herself off as a human member of the court. She was also amazing at chess.

Tungi was the Exarch’s favored daughter. She looked the most like her mother and carried much the same personality. She would always assist her father in his studies, catch onto magic quickly, and devoured books at the most astounding rate. However, unlike her father, she loathed talking to people if she had to. Not due to any hermit-like personality, or some deep antisocial tendency. No, she was just so incredibly awkward and shy that a conversation with her was next to impossible. This isn’t to say talking to her was hard by any means. She was incredibly charming in her own way. She could talk for hours and hours about the most interesting things she’s read or seen. Or a magic scroll she wrote which could yield greater-sized crops. She never kept on topic. A great scholar, magician, alchemist, city planner, but Tungi could not hold a consistent conversation to save her life. Which, sadly, is what ended up happening at the coronation.

It was no secret Tungi was the Exarch’s favored daughter. It was also no secret that it was Solaris who would ascend the throne. Both children being born at the same time down to the second, it was a matter of private discussion among themselves who should rise to the throne. Tungi put up no fight for it. She knew her limitations but also held no desire to rule. She would be content to live in the castle forever researching magic and being a loyal desire to her sister. Her sister. Now there was the problem, Holly. Solaris rising to power was something no one wanted. Despite being a creature of the light, Solaris was a backroom and dark political monster. Her favorite game growing up in the castle was to find and blackmail members of the court into robbing the kitchen for her. She made deals with foreign dignitaries that ended wars before they even began. Her wit so wicked and her tongue so sharp it was no wonder she rose to have great political control of the court. Every noble, whether they wished to or not, supported her. And this was not limited to her lands either. Exarch Oshphim swore fealty to a higher monarch: Seoven. When the Great Divide happened, he sent his daughters in his place to the War Court to assist in the war.

In the war court, it was very much the same story. I remember when they arrived, Seoven paid them no mind. Solaris went for the attack, trying to butter Seoven up about some victory or another to gain her favor. I swear, the cold shoulder she gave Solaris extinguished her flame a great deal. However, that changed when Tungi approached the map Seoven was surveying. She pointed out several flaws in the supply lines, which when fixed saved hundreds of lives. Tungi quickly became the favored daughter over Solaris once more. This was the last straw, in Solaris’s mind. At least, this is my theory. I could feel something inside her break when she was quite literally passed over by the only other authority figure she has met in her life for her sister.

Solaris was declared heir on the deathbed of Oshphim, the man was that hesitant to name her the monarch. Solaris cultivated a public opinion of herself to the lands like she was the one who brought them their food, their happy memories. The public was in her hand. Yet, those who knew even a little bit of courtroom gossip understood that Tungi would be the better leader if only she could talk to a damn person. As such, the coronation was a dour mood. No one in the room wanted to see Solaris sit upon the throne. It was just the practicality of the situation that she arose to power. Cunning, deceitful, she would be an excellent monarch.

Or a tax collector.

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

Holly lets out a loud and humorous snort on that last joke, still hurriedly writing.

“Armak, I appreciate the backstory a lot here and all. And your jokes are top-notch in this story, really. Yet you’ve told me nothing about the actual coronation?”

“Well, Holly, to understand the importance of the change I'm talking about here you’re going to need some ample background information. I’m leaving a lot out too because I know you’re a tired elf right now. And when you’re a tired elf at night, you are often an angry elf in the morning.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘elf’ like that?”

“Like what?”

Holly rolled her eyes.

“Nevermind. What are you leaving out? Make it short, though. My hands are getting tired.”

“Well, first off: their father died when they were out at the war court. It was a very awkward cart ride back. Not just atmosphere-wise either, Seoven was quite large. The sisters also had a huge schism between them. Solaris was always jealous of Tungi’s preference and it was obvious to any observant man. Tungi would never say anything about it. She was optimistic that way. Oh! Solaris was also only kept on Seoven’s war court because she was one of the best generals she ever had. It was almost scary how great a strategic master she was. Tungi was the master logistician, fueling the army her sister led. As well as the rest of the Kroven clan. They were useful in their ways to Seoven.”

The sounds of lead drawing across the paper at speeds never recorded filled the night as he waited for Holly to catch up to his dictation. Armak stared at the sky, smiling. He liked talking of Tungi. She was a good friend of Armak, being the only one who could talk about old events as if they just happened. Mostly due to her studies. He always liked her excited attitude when she got invested in something she loved. A very dedicated woman to whatever craft she wanted to become a master of. Armak glanced at Holly and could remember Tungi doing the same thing on the floor of a tent in War Court.

As much as things change, some things just stay the same.

“Alright,” Holly said, putting down her pencil momentarily to stretch her hand. “I’ve caught up. Now, I love the backstory. And I will be sure to ask you about it later when I flesh out all these notes I'm taking. However, can we get to the big event itself already? It is getting late after all.”

Armak chuckled. “I forget others don’t have all the time in the world.” Holly made a face at him, motioning with her hands to continue the story.

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

Right, the coronation itself despite its dour moods was set in an extravagantly decorated throne room. Red banners depicting the sun rising were hung from the rafters, a not so subtle indication of a new age rising in the land. And also the sun ascending the throne. Solaris was never a subtle person if she could help. Not that she couldn’t sneak, she just preferred to get away with it in open daylight. I remember I was standing with Seoven near the throne, a simple wooden chair by any other name. She wore an elegant dress of her minotaur people, something you won’t see anywhere else. A beautiful purple and gold accent thing. I wore rags compared to it. I think I wore actual rags… Regardless. I was there with Seoven because this was an important event. Not because of the coronation itself, but for the war effort. Sure, while the Southern Holdings had the manpower to supply to the war effort, it wasn’t what made them useful to Seoven. It was the high concentration of magic users. The country was the only one with a magical war college and had the best war casters in the Kroven Clan. Gukrag’s spellcasters consisted no more of a few souls who could create small bumps in the road. With this advantage, the Kroven Clan was advancing towards victory closer and closer. Seoven said to me,” I would rather Gukrag take this kingdom than watch her rise to the throne, but if it means I never have to hear that orc’s despicable name I will swallow my opinions.”

She had such a way with words.

I remember eyeing up the feast table to my right when the doors to the royal hall finally opened. Walking down the aisle was Solaris, tailed by four priests of the Celestial Faith (a very new change made towards the end of Oshphim’s life. One that was controversially thought to be not one made entirely of sound mind or outside influence if you catch my drift here Holly). Dressed in a trailing white gown, adorned with gold accents that reflected her radiant light, and her wings were fully unfurled. It was a spectacle show, one which Seoven visibly did not care for. Coming in, the last of the procession following Solaris, was her sister Tungi. She dressed for her father’s mourning, a simple black gown. A more striking statement could not have been made to the public. As Solaris walked up the steps to the throne and sat in it, I could feel the room tense. It was an uncanny feeling. It felt like the split second you saw someone’s fist before it collides with your nose.

The shoe had been raised and was now waiting to drop.

The priests walk up the steps to Solaris, two of them carrying a small box of obsidian and marble in their hands. The two priests carrying nothing turn to the crowd in the room, nobles and common folk alike. They said, “A new monarch sits upon the throne. The Exarch is dead, a new one rises like the sun. A phoenix from the ashes. Do those of the land’s holdings swear fealty to the ultimate, the one?”

A cry of,” For the Land, we swear fealty” echoes from the crowd. However, I could not forget that Seoven and Tungi remained quiet. For that matter, so did I. But in my defense, I had no idea that was going to happen. Seoven of course did not speak for she was above Solaris. The Empress was not about to swear fealty to a petty queen. But Tungi, she remained silent. A pained smile was on her face.

The two priests with the box opened it, removing a large and spiked golden crown from its interior. They raised it slowly above Solaris’s head and lowered it onto her head. The previous two priests turned to face Solaris and said aloud, “Solaris, daughter of Oshphim, by which power do you swear to keep the lands safe and prosperous? To lead us and keep our lands that shining beacon atop the hill?” Solaris raised one hand and simply laid it against her heart, speaking not a word. She didn’t need to. Murmurs among the crowd spoke for her. By her own divine powers, she declares in her movement, her reign is ordained. With the gesture understood by all, the priests bow their heads to Solaris before turning to the crowd once more.

“The lands have entered a new era! Praise be to the Celestials, who have granted us so much! Praise be to Exarch Solaris!” And as the people cheered, I suspect in fear of what would happen if they didn’t, Solaris rose from her throne. Her wings unfurled and spread wide, beams of light shining bright. The stained glass of the hall cast colors onto every surface, and the bells of the churches in the village below rang in immaculate chorus. The hall all knelt before their new ruler. Except for Seoven and me.

And Tungi.

And I could feel the shoe begin to lower.

“Rise, my loyal subjects. Rise and see your ruler speak to you.” Her voice carried through the very wind, sounding austere and serene. “These are confusing times, I know you all have your worries. My father was a great man, and deserved the praise and love you all gave him. I can only hope to do but a quarter of what he did for you all.” Her speech flowed like a creek in the fall, snaking its way into every ear. This is why she sat atop the throne.

“However, I am troubled that I am to bring more strife into your life.”

And like that, the show dropped.

I looked to Seoven, whose face shaped into one of concern and confusion. This was not how things should be happening. I looked at Tungi across the room and saw a similar look. I began to piece things together in my mind.

“There have been attacks on our lands recently, many of you are aware. We thought it to be the wretched Scartooths, those who broke through our brave soldiers’ front lines to pillage our people. However, I learn of a darker truth. There has been espionage among us! A traitor to us all has allowed bandits and worse to wreak havoc on our homes and farms! One who betrayed not only the people of our fair land but her father.”

The realization hits Seoven first, then I saw it shoot to Tungi across the room. I saw two guards, decked in white and gold armor, shut the mighty doors to the throne room hall. I stopped Seoven’s hand from reaching for her great ax at her hip. I knew what was happening, but if Seoven did what I thought she was going to do it was all for naught. We had to watch it happen. We were powerless.

“Tungi! How could you do this? Betray us all? How could you betray our father? The one who taught you all you knew and more? I know what you did! I know during our missions on the field of the war you would disappear for days only to return without a reason. Now I know the reason why! You were paying off Scartooth bandits to raid us! You sabotaged the supply lines and for what? I’ll tell you why she did it, my people.”

Tungi was shaking, her hands shooting to her mouth in shock. She was backing away from the approaching guards, their halberds drawn. The crowd was dead silent, not daring to make a sound. Tungi was being pushed closer and closer to her sister. I can remember the look of terror in her eyes as she approached me. I can remember the shaking rage of Seoven. The smug, sadistic look upon Solaris’s face.

“Dear sister is a Scartooth traitor!”

It took no great deal of magic to subdue Seoven’s rage. I could feel her anger at Solaris for these baseless accusations. But I knew that action here would only cause more harm. We could not afford a Civil War. So I could only watch in pain and regret the events play out. My entire being was spent trying to keep Seoven was bursting into a rage.

“Well? Have you nothing to say in your defense? Would you merely stand here before me and accept what I say as truth?”

A dirty trick and she knew it. Tungi was in shock, not a word would escape her. You could have put the quickest politician in her spot and not a word would be uttered. She trapped her. Everyone knew this was a ploy, Tungi would never. There was no ground for Solaris to do this. But she was the ruler. She was the law. And if they wanted to keep their heads, they would play along. Such is the game of politics.

As Tungi stood there silent, Solaris laughed.

“Just as I thought. The guilty would never own up to their failures.” Solaris stepped down the steps, standing over her sister with her incredible height. “You will pay for the terror you have put upon our people, and It will be harsh. You will rot in the dungeons for as long as I rule above.” Solaris smiled. “It is what the ruler would prefer happen.” Solaris then mentioned for the white and gold guards to take her sister, turning to walk back up the steps to the throne.

But the guards would never get Tungi.

A shockwave emanates from the Moon princess, sending onlookers and the guards back several feet. Even Solaris was shoved into the steps. Glorious wings of white and soft blue unfurled from Tungi as she rose into the air, arms stretched before her. The stained glass windows all shattered, and the great doors to the throne room were thrown off their hinges. The candles in the room all snuffed, and the sun outside was masked by rolling clouds of rain. I saw Solaris turn in shock and fear, such a look was never before seen on her face. And I felt it genuine.

Tungi as she floated in the air looked powerful, yet I saw on her face were tears. In a voice never before heard from her, it echoed deep and powerful. “Sister, why do you betray me so?! Why do you lie to our people as your first act as ruler? Do you truly hate me this much? Have I been this bad to you that you would banish and imprison me than talk? That you would make a power grab when no one dare opposes you?!” Another shockwave, sending cracks into the stonework of the castle. “Solaris! We are sisters! We are of these people! Why act like you’re above them! I do not see a throne of gold, but one of wood like any other might sit on. You rule a kingdom of wax, and I fear the day you burn too bright and watch it all melt!”

Tungi flew to open doors of the great hall and faced the crowd and her sister.

“I will return!” As she spoke, her voice cracked in a sob. “I-I will be back! I will reclaim this land from you! For I have no ambition of power, only ever wanting to serve my people. Yet I would rather be a reluctant ruler than one who would turn it to ruin. A traitor you call me? Then a traitor I shall become!”

With that last line, she looked forlornly down to me and Seoven, mouthed a word of sorrow and apology, and flew out the door. Never to be seen again in the realm.

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

“The cart ride back to the war court was awful, let me tell you. It was just me and Seoven, Solaris staying behind to ‘serve’ her kingdom. I had to endure hours of yelling on betrayal, how it was all horsepiss that Tungi would even think to betray, that Solaris would be killed on sight if she ever saw here again and so much more. She also socked me for magically subduing her, but she understood why. We had a fun relationship like that.”

Holly looked up at Armak, shocked. Pencil unmoving.

“But what happened with Solaris after all of that?” “Oh, Seoven tried to ignore her as much as possible. Stave her influence off the war court as much as possible. However, Solaris had a chokehold on the most valuable resource ever; war casters. Plus, when news got out the Scartooths had an all-power Archmage it was only a matter of time before Seoven brought in Solaris’s magic again. Not that Solaris ever left the Southern Lands after that, she was afraid of Seoven, and rightfully so.”

“Who was the Scartooth’s new mage?” Armak grinned. “Who do you think?”

Holly’s face exploded in surprise. “TUNGI?! But I thought you said it was a lie that she was a traitor?”

“And it was. However, with nowhere else to turn in hope of regaining her throne, she went to Gukrag. It's funny, though. You are aware of Gukrag, right?”

Holly nodded. “Yes, the Warboss of the Scartooths. Big orc.”

“Exactly. When Tungi approached him, the story goes, he yelled into the sky ‘FUCKING FINALLY’ then proceeded to make her in charge of his nation.”

Holly blinked. “Wait what?”

“Well, not in charge of his nation per se. It took a while for Tungi to gain his trust. He saw her amazing magical skill. He saw that she could puppet hundreds of people, disintegrate whole armies, flood battlefields, and win things without a fight at all. This was incredibly boring to Gukrag. But, he was convinced of her loyalty to him in as far as reclaiming her old land. Gukrag then did perhaps the smartest thing he ever did. He put in her charge of making his country better. Holly, this orc could not run a major nation to save his life. The whole country was held together by fear of them disobeying Gukrag. She built schools, paved roads, healing buildings, made living spaces, she transformed that rough collection of tribes into a nation that is revered and respected to this very day. All according to Gukrag’s plan. He’s not an idiot, he is insanely clever and smart in ways outside of books. He knew he was no expert in nation-building, only in combat and battles. But the preferred daughter of the great nation builder Oshphim? You don’t have to be a genius, Holly.”

Holly sat there, speechless.

“This..this changes everything I thought I knew. But Armak, I’m confused. How is this a positive change? The rightful and good Monarch was usurped by the evil! Everything in that story was bad!” “Ah, but you think in the past. Think of the now. Ever heard of the Lunavla Empire?”

“You’re not saying..”

“I am. The most prosperous nation, the best place to live hands down. Accepting of all, turning away none. The noblest of places. I’d say that is a good change, wouldn’t you?” Armak stood laid back in the sand, getting comfortable. Holly, still scribbling away in her notepad, leaning against his long and gangly legs. “Armak, this..this is so interesting. I wish I could speak to another person there that day.” “Oh, you can.” Holly gave Armak a look of doubt. “I don’t want to use necromancy again, it makes me feel sick.” “No, silly girl. They are still alive. Two of them. I am good friends with one.”

Holly was growing tired of getting shocked. “Who? How old are they?” “Oh, she would not appreciate it if you asked her that. But I’m surprised you can’t piece it together.” “You don’t mean Tungi is still alive?” “Do you actually listen to my stories? Remember, she is half celestial.”

Holly closed her book and threw it in her bag, exhausted. She stretched out before returning to laying on Armak’s legs.

“You owe me an audience with a monarch.” “I owe no such thing.” But it didn’t matter, she was fast asleep. And as Armak looked up into the starry sky, he smiled.

A positive change indeed.

#St:A&H

0 notes

dmcracy · 5 years

Text

Solo Campaign p.6 - A Bad DM

During this short period of traveling through the marsh, Myrta and Drýđ met Orik. Orik “Silent Birch” or, in his elven name, Dína Nimbreth, was a thousand years old archdruid protecting the whole continent. When he approached them Drýđ felt uneasy but to Myrta's surprise, she did nothing reckless. Orik was as polite as he could be and tried to explain things to the still quite a naive duo as simply and understandably as possible. Off course, they did not understand, how could they? They were young girls and despite one of them being a druid they simply could not understand the grey morality of powerful beings. It was just beyond their understanding. But one thing was clear, Drýđ lied to Myrta about what happened. Orik was very stern when they tried to confront him with the facts they knew and elaborated upon everything they said. He even tried to stop them from their quest, warning them about the dangers of that path. But their attitude was very stoic, so he gave them his blessing and departed.

Traveling further they encountered a Wyvern. The fight was very quick and after they defeated the monster, they ventured into its cave to look around. To their surprise, they found eggs and younglings in the cave with some minor treasure. So they gathered any treasure they could and left (the other sources might say they took the cubs to the Wetland - this was added later as a part of a legend about Myrta). Moving to the north through the bog they found a village called Wetland. The village consisted of a few houses scattered across few patches of dry land and a big longhouse on the western side, where local mayor resided. They spent some time in here, heard some local rumors and met few new people - most colorful figure was probably a local drunkard called Setanta (an immortal champion of Neru and very depressed young man). While talking to a local barman they shared their story and, to their surprise barman was not moved at all. He said that it is a normal business in these parts and told them to share their story with the Wyverns with the local mayor. So they agreed and after talking to this weird individual (mayor) he sent a rescue team for the cubs because they have a knack for Wyvern riding in these parts. Soon after that Myrta and Drýđ decided to move further north and they left. While back in the nightmarish country, Myrta had another deadly encounter. I used a few Blights for a random encounter and it was almost fatal. When I calculated this it should have been a trivial encounter. But Myrta failed her perception checks while keeping watch and these little creatures surrounded her, unnoticed. The fight began and it went south shortly. Drýđ eventually saved her, but I almost killed her with twigs. They could have been another nameless windswept pile of bones in this vast nothingness.

Next day, they finally came into a little town called Pastures. This small wooden town was quite new - still smelling with fresh resin and wood and the buildings were still white. Drýđ brought Myrta to the house of her parents and another disappointment arose. The parents were blaming Drýđ for all their misfortune and they were treating Myrta very poorly from the start. At the end of their visit, Drýđ announced that she must stay here, taking care of her grandma, and they can not continue to travel together anymore. So Myrta left and, again, was on her own after a long time.

I did this on purpose. I saw Myrta saved by Drýđ (me) and pure luck for far too many times and I wanted to change that. I wanted Myrta to grow up a bit and kinda find her own path. Yes, she still had the protection of Brandobaris, but it was not the same case as with the Drýđ. I gave Myrta enough magic and options to stay alone and alive, at least in my opinion. The thing I always say about this is “I want you to think outside the box”. But I do not want to push my players too much, I do not want them to be to “my liking”. That would enslave them. And Myrta being Myrta showed me her true colors (powers) very shortly after that. And I was sure, that druid is not a class for her - she would shine more as a rogue or bard, the classes that excel in manipulation and assassination (in a good way).

Myrta, in a few days, found a new ally, Arto Brísing. He was a local historian and an author of a dozen books discussing local history, folklore, etc. Together they studied the case and Myrta even lived in Arto’s house. While she was alone in the town, strange things happened to her and she started to believe she was haunted. Her bed was scorched and not even a circle of salt helped her to protect herself. Eventually, she gave up on that, because the haunting was not hurting her for real, she just could not rest well (long rest). But she wanted to push this investigation further and when a local boy disappeared she decided to look into an old copper mine.

This copper mine was abandoned a few decades ago and the whole town surrounding it, called The copper mountain moved further to the land and founded Pastures. All the evidence of supernatural activity pointed to the copper mine and Myrta was almost sure she would find some clue there. In a time, Myrta paid several visits to the mine. Once she found nothing and went back to study the case more. Another time she lost her pet grass snake due to the influence of strange magic there and was urged to fight all the bears she convinced to help her. During this visit, Arto Brísing died and Myrta was more hopeless than ever, but Arto came suddenly to life a day after and the situation grew weirder for her (and me) every day. Between the visits, she tried to spare some time with Drýđ and talked to a few locals, one of whom was a strange figure - a priestess of Chauntea called Agatha.

I felt kinda lost in this situation and was very desperate for any new option for her to handle this adventure. Those visits to the mine - there and back - for many times with almost no advancement in the story did something to me. And I must admit it was not a good thing for a DM. I lost trust in my player. Talking about the fear earlier was not just for drama. It was a real thing and I think to this day that Myrta’s fear led to this. A point of no return where you do not know and are unable to do something. But I am not blaming her, because it was my fault. I thought that she might not do it alone. And now I see how wrong I was. But in those days I did not see this situation clearly. I did not trust her anymore and we both (in my opinion) - Myrta and I - needed help. So I asked my friend to join our game and he accepted. And Heian was born.

#d&d character #d&d story #d&d 5e #D&D shenanigans #d&d dm

0 notes

jackdawyt · 4 years

Link

For this episode, I'm delving into the most realistic and potential character concept for Dragon Age 4's main character, and that is the role of a spy.

Playing as a spy is most likely going to be the next player character because according to Kotaku's report on the previous iteration of Dragon Age 4 - known as Project Joplin - we were initially playing as a group of spies in Tevinter, with a large chunk of the game centring on heists.

[You’d play as a group of spies in Tevinter Imperium, a wizard-ruled country on the north end of Dragon Age’s main continent, Thedas].

[A large chunk of Joplin would centre on heists].

That's right, we were originally going to embark on heist missions throughout the Tevinter Imperium! With systemic gameplay built around many choices like persuading or extorting guards.

[The developers talked about building systemic narrative mechanics, allowing the player to perform actions like persuading or extorting guards without the writers having to hand-craft every scene].

There was an emphasis on “repeat play,” creating the world to be as reactive as possible to major aspects of the game like the passing of time and mission progress. Giving the player the incentive to revisit old areas, experiencing new and interesting things based on your decisions.

[There was an emphasis on “repeat play,” one developer said, noting that they wanted to make areas that changed over time and missions that branched in interesting ways based on your decisions, to the point where you could even get “non-standard game overs” if you followed certain paths].

We don't know how much of Project Joplin has been scrapped, and we've been told that plenty of the previous work will pass on into Dragon Age 4's next iteration - Project Morrison. So, we could still be playing as a spy in Dragon Age 4 based on the very initial concepts and prototypes of this game.

With that, I need to preface that this video has been made with the assumption that our protagonist is a spy based on Joplin's initial work. The next Dragon Age project may be very different from Joplin's concept. However, this video was made to speculate at anything the future of Dragon Age may convey based on that previous work (because that's all we've got so far).

Even still, we're at least talking about content that was originally going to be in Dragon Age 4, and it still could be! So there's hope right there!

Anyhow... let's delve into the dynamics of what it would mean to play as a spy protagonist in Dragon Age 4 and how heist missions would take the narrative into an interesting direction!

The first question that arises is why a spy, in particular?

The pinnacle reason Dragon Age 4 is set in the Tevinter Imperium is based on the Inquisitor's final mission - to get help from someone Solas doesn't know. We already knew that we would be somehow connected to the Inquisition or the Inquisitor because operating in secret is required in order to avoid getting infiltrated by Solas' spies again.

The natural direction to go from the remnants of the Inquisition army is into a small covert group of spies. Someone who can get the job done unnoticed, without any hassle. Basically a nobody.

Secondly then, what would our purpose as a spy be?

Essentially, we'll be tracking down influence, power and information about Solas in Tevinter. As a spy with no knowledge, understanding or experience with Solas, we'll be the best person in Thedas for this task.

The title 'spy' implies a handler, someone who is in-charge and has given us the task of infiltrating and instigating an enemy for their bidding or personal gain. The question is, who's in charge of us then?

Could our spy relate directly to the Inquisitor? Or are they among a new covert operation in Thedas, with a new leader?

Dragon Age has absorbed itself in the world of spies lately with the number of shady organisations in Thedas. It'd be a likely avenue that our new group of spies would come from the ashes of the Inquisition, however, it also may not.

We could simply be a contracted agent in an unknown Tevinter group with the mission of tracking down information on an Elven God or stealing magical artefacts by organizing strategic heists, and that's all we'll ever know until the narrative kicks in and we either have a new purpose or a new role.

What I love about Dragon Age is that in each game, you personally earn your title by completing a series of events that define your character. You're not just given your title, you have to gain it through proving yourself and only then you can become the Inquisitor, the Champion or the Hero of Ferelden.

So, perhaps in Dragon Age 4, we'll start as a small spy, until the narrative opens up and then through trials and triumph we become the defining hero of this game.

Next question, what do 'heists' in Dragon Age look like?

A key element of this game involves setting up heists in the Tevinter Imperium, which in my opinion sounds epic! But I've seen some hesitation online as to what "heists" specifically mean for Dragon Age. I feel like "heists" are a negative buzzword for Dragon Age because you instantly think about robbing a bank or mugging old ladies like in a Rockstar Game.

In actuality though, I see heists in Dragon Age as set-piece quests very much like Wicked Hearts And Wicked Eyes in Dragon Age: Inquisition with its strategic quest design and key choices that set up a completely unique experience based on player actions.

A heist doesn't necessarily have to be a standard bank robbery, if you look at Mass Effect 2's suicide mission, to some extent I'd call that a heist - as a team, you're each embarking on a mission that will most likely end in your demise, with a slim chance of success. However, as you make choices and the squad works together, you pull off one of the galaxies most renowned missions - to end the Collectors. So, think to this scale of a heist for Dragon Age 4.

In a similar fashion, Mass Effect Andromeda had vaults that were essential to the narrative, these dungeon-like set-piece levels that invoked a high risk, but a worthy reward. Again, another example of a BioWare heist. Even though it'd fun to rob old orlesain ladies, there's a greater aspect to heist-missions as BioWare have showcased in the past.

And judging the initial brief 'Joplin' followed, it seems BioWare were originally going for epic choice-driven, set-piece moments.

So, ideally, for Dragon Age 4, we'll be following a plot that centres on pulling off high risk and heavy choice based missions. Not just robbing a bank, or committing causal thievery, but operating heists with a greater incentive at mind - to stop Solas from tearing down the veil.

With that, what is the purpose of heists for Dragon Age 4?

The Tevinter Imperium exists largely on parts of the old elven empire and has many of its magical artefacts and relics. Potentially we're searching and raiding said artefacts, and that'll take the narrative's centre stage. As we know from Solas, each of the Elven Gods have their own foci's, like Solas had the Orb of Destruction, perhaps our new protagonist is on a race against Solas to reach these artefacts first.

The Orb of Destruction was supposed to destroy the veil once unlocked, however, since it was destroyed after the defeat of Corypheus, Solas will need another way to destroy the veil. Could he need another McGuffin item, like the Red Lyrium Idol or an Elven God's foci? Is this the purpose of completing heists, to get to the weapon before Solas does?

It seems pretty likely, again especially with the fact that Tevinter was founded on the ruins of the Elven kingdom. It'll be a hot spot for anything pre-veil, so the perfect place for both Solas and our spy protagonist to chase after ancient relics. Like I said before, it seems like Dragon Age 4's plot could be a race against time.

The narrative going forward is all about The Dread Wolf Rising, it's super exciting to see this original concept on how we'd stop Solas by taking on heists throughout Tevinter. I don't think this will be canned, it sounds way too vital to the main narrative, so I hope we can still have this dynamic as a huge element in Dragon Age 4.

Attempting to wrap up. The Dragon Age games have always thrown us into the shoes of a new protagonist with a very specific role or characteristic that sets them apart from the other heroes. Each character has a somewhat distinctive quality about them. One of my worries with fulfilling the role as a spy is just that - what exactly would be strictly unique to our character?

That's when I start to think about abilities, powers and other attributes that have more influence in the world. For instance, our Herald was "The Inquisitor" but also had the "Mark" which gave them special abilities, perhaps we'll have something new for our spy? I think being a "Dreamer" would be pretty cool, and could play a vital part in the narrative...

Even if elements of Joplin are sacked for Dragon Age 4, there's still a huge emphasis on spies and a future narrative involving them. The Dragon Age comics are giving me a sense that the narrative is building up a plot for a spy protagonist.

Currently, the comics characters are looking for red lyrium that has been imbued into a weapon. They're heading on their own heist to Castellum Tenebris, a fortress of House Danarius in Tevinter for a further investigation. So, we're just going to have to keep our eyes out on what the comics foreshadow for the future of Dragon Age's narrative!

32 notes · View notes