Vass Trevelyan, known dumbass, who refused templar training when he was younger and now has no idea how to deal with spirits or demons and never listen to the chantry anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
“Royal Elfroot Wreath”
So I finished the first part of that “Frower Crown Mercs” sketch page I posted yesterday! I’m hoping to get the rest of the crew done soon, as well. In the meantime, here’s Emmet Lavellan!
May I offer you some flowery mercenaries in these trying times?
I don’t usually post sketches, but I was taking a WIP picture to show my friends and my cat had perfect timing. The digital version will be finished soon!
I’d also like to introduce the entirety of Adaar’s mercenary squad from the Valo-Kas! Pictured are Emmet Lavellan, Mirabella Trevelyan, Saartalan Adaar, and the twins Bridgette and Bernadette Cadash.
Hawke, disheveled, kicking down the door of the Hanged Man suite, shouting excitedly: VARRIC, I HAD SEX.
Varric, drinks already poured, quill above the parchment, shirt unreasonably open: Tell me everything.
da2 is what happens when you get a bunch of dnd characters and then don’t really give them a campaign you just toss them into a city to live there and have Shenanigans.
“I’m playing a elven blood mage.” “yeah, okay, what’s she doing in a human city?” “research.”
“I’m playing a dwarven bard.” “….and?” “just a dwarven bard.” “is he, like, a spy, a wandering adventure, what? why’s he away from the mountain?” “fuck if i know.”
“My character is a cleric to the god of justice who’s become disillusioned with the established orders of priests and wants to destroy them and start again. His name is Anders.” “Is he from the anderfels?” “No, of course not. He’s Ferelden.”
“My character is an elf. His name is Fenris.”
“Okay… is he a mage? Does he like… transform into a wolf?”
“No, he’s a warrior! He USED to be a slave to a mage, and as a result hates all magic.”
“Fine. Roll for strength.”
“He can use magic to rip people’s hearts out.”
“His owner put magic ore in his veins and now he can use a magic punch.”
“Why would he-”
“Also he’s in love with a mage.”
“Is hawke hot?”
“Oh, Hawke is super hot.”
[rolls a charisma saving throw against the hot mage and fails] “SHIT”
Meanwhile Aveline’s just over here gritting her teeth because she spent three hours on her backstory carefully crafted to intertwine with the recent game lore (Ostagar) and her tragic dead husband (Wesley) and nobody else even seems interested
“My character is a dual-wielding rogue and also a sexy pirate.”
“Okay, that’s just fine. Well, the party is going into the Qunari compound and-”
“Oh, she’s not going in there.”
“She has… something else to do.”
omg this is so accurate it’s scary.
“Hey everybody, this is my friend who wanted to join our game. I already caught him up on the story.”
“Cool, hi! So what’s your character?”
“He’s a ranger who multiclassed one level in cleric, and he’s super devoted to his deity. Plus he’s an exiled prince.”
“Huh. Interesting. Okay-”
“Oh, and he’s lawful good.”
Sexy Pirate: “Oh HELL no.”
I fucking love this
Can we do this for DAI too, someone START IT
“I’m playing an elf sorcerer who knows a lot about magic and history, especially pertaining to subjects that were once previously lost to time.”
“Okay, cool! What’s his backstory?”
(holding a twenty-page packet behind their back) “I uhhh… I didn’t write one.”
“Wait then how does he know so much about-”
“Dreams and spirits.”
“DREAMS AND SPIRITS!”
[For alphabetiful, who asked for “the first non-amatus pet name.”]
Amatus doesn’t count. Neither do dear or darling; those are Vivienne’s to wield, endearments turned on a sharp tongue, a practice with which Dorian is himself familiar.
They don’t sit right anyway, not when he looks at the Bull. ‘My sweet,’ he thinks. ‘My love.’ Rejects them both, though the latter makes his cheeks heat, and isn’t that something? My *love*, and he blushes. Although–
“Hand me that book, love,” he says later, heart beating too fast in his chest as he reshelves the books he no longer needs. There’s a quiet pause behind him, and he’s loath to look, but after a moment he can’t help himself.
The Bull’s face is, well. He wishes he could take its likeness. His eye is wide and his mouth is open, and he gapes like a fish for a moment.
“I–Bull, that book that’s right–”
“Oh, I know,” he says, the corners of his mouth beginning to curl and then he’s grinning at Dorian like this is the best thing he’s ever heard.
Dorian swallows hard, feels the tips of his ears heat. “Well,” he says, “why don’t you–”
“Maybe–” the Bull steps close, closer, crowds Dorian against the shelves “–maybe I want to hear it again. You said it so nicely.”
“I didn’t even say please.” He tries to scoff, but Bull’s got that look in his eye, that focused look that Dorian’s seen in tents and bedrooms, in halls and taverns and, on one memorable occasion, in a barn. So he tries to scoff, but it comes out breathless and heady and, oh, he still isn’t over how *big* the Bull’s hands are.
“Didn’t have to, love,” the Bull says, and the words zings through Dorian like lightning.
The way things changed in the South was something Bull felt detached from when he first came, observing it like a passing wave, noting it down, folding into the persona he had built for himself without ever really internalising it. That change, violent and abrupt like a tidal wave, belonged to the bas, and the Qun had no real need for it but for its use.
Now, Bull was in the water, and the waves crashed over him, and he found that going with it was better than pretending he was immovable and drowning. Probably how so many Vashoth survived for so long, learning to move with the world instead of fighting it.
That was what he thought about when he left Skyhold one morning on a mission with the Inquisitor and came back three weeks later to find children running around his legs, chasing a magicked flying stuffed toy nug flapping its soft little nug wings that made a circuit around Bull’s horns, leaving trails of sparkles in its wake, and Krem and Dorian - who, if you’d asked Bull, wouldn’t have had any reason to stand so close together if they weren’t literally at each other’s throats - holding each other up and giggling like children in the background.
Bull plucked the nug out of the air smoothly, and it tilted its little stuffed head at him, flapping its wings in what looked like confusion, before Bull let it go and it was off again, taking its cadre of happy children along with it.
He then walked over to where his two Vints were still a bit giggly, though when he stood in front of them and crossed his arms and raised a judgemental eyebrow, Dorian only gave him a raised brow of his own and Krem shrugged as if he had done absolutely nothing to deserve the look.
“You two getting along?” Bull said at length.
“Not at all, chief,” Krem said in a tone that conveyed the exact opposite, with Krem’s arm looped into Dorian’s like they had never been anything but bosom buddies.
“Why, so incensed are we by each other that I’ve gone and cursed one of his precious stuffed nugs,” Dorian said airily. “The usual altus-soporatus hostility. You know how it is.”
“Uh-huh,” Bull said, not letting the smile he could feel coming up from deep in his chest show on his face.
“Well, now that you’re back from what I’m sure was an enjoyable, relaxing romp across the safe and uneventful roads of Thedas, why don’t we treat you to a drink?” Dorian continued, and Krem elbowed him in the side.
“As always,” Dorian sighed dramatically. Bull chuckled, smacking Krem in the back with a strength that would’ve toppled a lesser man - but Krem was hardly that, and Bull felt a surge of pride at the thought. He then lay a hand on the back of Dorian’s neck as his two favourite men disengaged, and Dorian sighed into the touch.
He would get the story out of them sooner or later, but for now, Bull got to enjoy the warm, friendly atmosphere of the evening.
Skyhold becomes the home of a new group of Tal Vashoth, including a number of children. As Dorian and Bull grow closer to them, they must confront what family means to them, and what they might want from the future.
This fic is completed and updates Sundays
Welcome! I had a lot of fun writing this, and have Dorian and Bull interact with imekari and a bunch of original Tal Vashoth characters. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! With writing by me and art by @hattedhedgehog
Thought of this about an hour ago and had to make it immediately.
@amphithere-ascended was the lucky 3rd place winner of my fic giveaway, and they chose such a lovely, angsty scenario for me! Thank you for following me and entering the giveaway, and for trusting me with Emmet <3
Pairing: Emmet Lavellan x Solas
Solas would have thought that by now only big obstacles stood in the way of his plans - that only mountains could stop him, and not ordinary ditches or lumps of stone. He was a visionary, after all. He had seen and done the impossible, and even if this world had been a shock to him, his vision was refocused now. Only the big things remained - how to restore all the things that were destroyed, how to harness and direct the raw energy of the Fade as it poured back into the world, how to ensure each and every spirit in the Fade was not corrupted by the shock of it. He didn’t worry about the little things anymore. Did not even think of them.
And yet, one night when he was in the Fade, and the faint stirrings of a harp reached his ears across a vast, desolate plain, it was as though someone had punctured his lungs.
Solas knew instantly why it hurt him to hear the song. But he pretended for a few moments that it was the work of an angry spirit, a latent ward set by some ancient Dreamer trying to keep others away from some secret of the Fade.
Solas knew why it hurt him to hear the song, and knew that it meant he should leave this place, because it would blur his vision. Still, he imagined that there was a chair for him, and there was, and he sat down, and he closed his eyes, and he let the harp’s voice take him where it would. Whatever memory had been here once, it was clearly gone but for this song. He might as well listen.
The warm, reverberating notes took him back to Skyhold, of course. To the rotunda. To the smell of fresh plaster and newly-mixed paint. The caw of Leliana’s ravens and Dorian arguing with the librarians. The patter of scouts and messengers running to and fro. The rotunda was never a quiet place, actually. Quieter than some parts of Skyhold, but never silent.
Unless Emmet Lavellan took out her harp and began to play.
The sound of her harp was delicate and ethereal and yet also capable of cutting through all of that noise, all of that commotion. The songs never ones that her comrades would recognize, but ones that they would feel, intimately, as though they had known them all along.
And for Solas - who knew the songs, knew the sound of that harp from his earliest days, and who loved the woman who was playing them now - it was never anything less than agony. The sweet kind, the kind you wanted to last just a moment or two longer. The kind that ate you up and made you feel whole all at once. And that was what he felt now, sitting there in the wasteland of the Fade, hearing the song, the strumming of the strings, notes blending and separating and reminding him of her - the black of her hair, the green of her eyes, the sound of her laugh and the warmth that always bloomed in his chest whenever he heard it, the weight of her hand in his as they walked into that grove in Crestwood.
Solas opened his eyes, took in the gold and tan desolation around him, so different from the last place he had seen Emmet. So different from the place where he had taken her hand to save her life.
It struck him for the first time, then. What the fact that he could not save her left arm meant. Emmet Lavellan would never play her harp again.
Solas tried to take a breath but he couldn’t. Not even here in the Fade where he could do anything. Because the thought of Emmet, who delighted in that harp, who had taken such pains to learn to play it from a Spirit of Learning, who treasured this small piece of her peoples’ history - Emmet who deserved everything good the world had to offer - the thought of Emmet never playing it again -
When Solas did manage to breathe it was a shuddering breath, wet and heavy. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to go to her now. He could sense her, of course. One sliver of his mind was always on her. He could go to her dream and he could hold her close and tell her he was sorry for this loss, for this violence his magic had done to her - that he could not believe he would never hear her music again.
But he had a vision to focus on. A duty to uphold. And he knew what she would say if he went to her.
So he rose from the chair and shut his mind to the sound of the harp, did not seek a nearby spirit who could tell him about whatever memory had been here before, about who was playing that song. He did not need to know. In his heart it would be her. It would always be her. The last beautiful thing left in a world of ashes and sand - the person he missed the most - and the woman he would destroy in the end. He rose, and he did his best to move on.
I love this so much!!! The emotion you put into this is so powerful and the details are so beautiful, I can’t stop reading this over and over again. Thank you so much for hosting this giveaway, I had a ton of fun and I’m excited to see the upcoming entries!
Pairing: Dorian x Non-Inquisitor!Adaar, Pre-relationship
Rating: T (for mild mature themes)
Description: Dorian accidentally tears a seam in his robes. Luckily, Saartalan came prepared.
Special thanks to @inkbloodandhottea for beta-reading this for me!
“Chin up, Sparkler. It’s not as bad as you think.”
“Easy for you to say,” Dorian retorted. “Unlike me, you’re completely content with having nothing covering your torso in the middle of the Emprise!”
He shivered and crossed his arms tightly as a bitter wind blew across the path, the torn edges of his robes fluttering against his exposed abdomen. They’d run into some trouble with a group of Red Templars, and one of the Templar Shadows managed to surprise Dorian in the midst of the fight. Luckily, Saartalan was able to yank the Shadow off of Dorian, but in doing so, the Red Templar’s armor snagged and tore open the front of the necromancer’s robes. It was better than getting severely injured, of course, but that did little to lessen Dorian’s annoyance at his current situation.
“Okay, so a seam ripped, who cares?” Varric shrugged, glancing at the tear. “It’s an easy fix, just patch it up as soon as we get back to camp.”
Dorian scowled. “Oh, of course! I’m sure one of the scouts will have a needle and thread, won’t they? Because it’s just so common for a distressed mage to come begging for someone to fix a tear in his best robes.”
Saar glanced over his shoulder at them. “Easy, you two,” he interjected. “Dorian, we have a camp just up ahead. When we get there, I’ll take a look at the damage and see what I can do to fix it.”
Size comparison of Y’gathok, the Ceaseless Hunger and Bjorn, our level 20 Goliath Barbarian.
Hey quick question: why the FUCK do you have that
Imagine, from out of nowhere, your dm casually slapping this thing down on the table like any other encounter.
“Yeah, the fight will start in a sec, uh…I’ll give inspiration to whomever helps me get this fucking box out of my car.”
This is the reveal of this ridiculousness during their game
Please watch this reveal video it’s kickass
FUCK ME the reveal video
“Um, I don’t think our plan is gonna work.”
Always reblog Y'gathok
DM:*Pulls out Y’gothok* *Turns on “Open Your Heart” by Crush 40*
Wow that DM really goes above and beyond
Reblogging Ygathok because it’s been one year since we fought him!!!! It just popped up on my timeline today!
Happy one year anniversary, our precious Old God boi!!!
One year ago today, this boy was revealed.
And for you guys, I have great news: I have the stats of Y’gathok complete and a general design for “how to use him” done. However, an adventure guide is incoming to teach you how to integrate him into any of your worlds!
The hinterlands was a good beginner level y’all just don’t like fetch quests
It really was. The Hinterlands provided new players a huge area to explore and figure out how the game worked without being too overwhelming. I honestly enjoyed the quests, as well. They didn’t take too long, and many of them were rather interesting. Lord Woolsey, the Riding Courses, and the Lake Spirit are still some of my favorite side quests to this day.