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My Dragon Age Inquisition character card embroideries all together! Each is 11.5x19.5 cm. Dorian took 73 hours, Cassandra took 89 hours, and Sera took 75 hours.
I wonder which character I'll do next...
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[Image descriptions: Embroidered versions of the Dorian, Cassandra and Sera character selection card from Dragon Age Inquisition.
Dorian holds a book under his left arm while casting magic with his right. There are white glyphs in the air and a white snake running under his cloak and under his arm.
Cassandra sits atop a war horse with Inquisition soldiers behind her. She wears black armour with a gold-trimmed cloak, and the Seeker flag and he cloak stream behind her.
Sera stands atop a slanted tree trunk with her bow held suggestively between her legs, looking at the Skyhold tower in the distance, where the tiny figure of the inquisitor is present in the window. Mountains and turrets make up the background behind her.]
Neither dragon was hurt, but here's what about these two...
I can't believe I've never showed off my wonderful Inquisitor, Oromis Lavellan. Living rent free in my head since 2014, here is the boy !
Playful and charming, his flirting is as sharp as his arrows. Beware of his frivolous manners, he's more likely to order an assassination than extending a helpful hand with no strings attached.
Bonus outfits : Haven winter coat, dalish summer, Orlesian party
A little Cole Chibi! I may make him into a stick as well as the rest of the Inquisition Crew!
✨If you want a chibi of your own or just want to support me, feel free to send me a kofi! :D my commissions are open~
I have a hot take.
And I understand that a lot of it comes down to opinion and interpretation. The "official canon" for the game is your own damned canon, and I frankly love that for all of us. It's beautiful and freeing and sets us up to celebrate a variety of different worlds and that's pretty rad.
But (of course there's a "but") I'm coming to understand that…
…my canon interpretation of this line is very different from a large majority of this fandom.
And I guess it's not really a hot take. No one's interpretation is wrong, and I would never want someone to think that. No one should ever have their fun taken out of the game, it's a game. I think mostly I'm just looking for folks who read this the same way I do. Because to me?
Solas' greatest fear is not to literally die all alone.
Like, all by himself.
Not only do I believe that that's a large oversimplification of the meaning behind that statement, but I'd also argue that dying all by himself is precisely what Solas intends to do. He has had every opportunity to avoid it, especially in a Solavellan run, yet he's made zero moves to do so whatsoever.
At the end of Inquisition, he was still a member of the single most powerful and influential religious and paramilitary organization across the entire southern half of their continent. Aside from defeating a sea of demons and darkspawn horrors, and closing a breach in the sky between the Fade and the material world, they've also singlehandedly redesigned the flow of commerce between two nations, they've seated a ruler on the throne in Orlais, and chosen the next Divine to serve on the Sunburst Throne in the Chantry. They're responsible for shaping the future for the whole of southern Thedas, and the leader of that organization is potentially very sympathetic to Solas' beliefs and perspectives. There was much they could have accomplished together, and yet…
He left. Vanished into thin air, even, for two years. With no word.
And when we finally got the chance to confront him, and wrestle a larger kernel of truth out of the man, he told us that he walks the din'an shiral. A journey of death. And he made it unequivocally clear that he intends to walk it alone.
By himself.
There are a lot of ways to interpret what the din'an shiral even is, but the solemnity and weight he used when he referred to it carried a sense of finality. He intends to bring about the death of the world, that much we know is true, whether he sees it that way or not. But could his own life be the cost?
His ritual artifact is a blade, believed to have been fashioned from his red lyrium idol after having been recovered and cleansed. But it could've remained an idol, or it could've been made into an orb. It could've been a staff or a crown, or a necklace with the jawbone of some other critter. But it's a blade. Is it simply because rending the veil involves a certain act of piercing or tearing? Or is it still a weapon? An implement of violence or self-defense? Or even… of self-harm?
Regardless of the interpretation, there's nothing about Solas' future that suggests to me that he's safe. Or accompanied by anyone who intends to keep him safe. And there's nothing about Solas that suggests to me that he isn't acutely aware of all of this.
I don't think Solas has any fear whatsoever of literally dying all alone, at least according to my personal canon. To me, I think Solas views his death as his duty and he will not bring anyone down with him.
I believe that "dying alone" means something much bigger and deeper and more meaningful to Solas than it does to us, the player. And he goes to great lengths to identify and define what this fear means to him through a series of conversations he has with Varric during party banter.
There's quite a bit of self-discovery Solas conducts through this dialogue. It starts when tells Varric that he read Hard in Hightown. He then asks him if there are other trickster figures in dwarven literature, presumably because stories of Fen'Harel stated he walked as kin amongst both the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones and there could could be some tie or some clue about that here, whatever that means. He goes on from there to begin asking pointed questions about Orzammar and what he perceives to be a lack of dwarven ambition. He makes remarks about how they could have a larger hand in shaping global affairs through their control of the lyrium trade and he seems genuinely confused why Orzammar would never consider reuniting with Kal-Sharok.
But he really circles down into the heart of the matter when he asks Varric if he ever misses a life beneath the stone. Varric responds by asking how he could miss something he'd never had, having been born a surface dwarf. And he tells Solas that even if the stone called to him in the manner he's describing, he's very happy with who he is and the life that he has, and he has no wish to change anything.
And from there, we watch Solas grapple with his answer. To him, Varric is someone who is just as sundered from his own identity, and he cannot fathom finding satisfaction in a life like that - a mundane life without magic or the song of the stone. He cannot rationalize it against his guilt and his regrets and his pride, and cannot let it go. So he then spins up an anecdote of a man he saw in the Fade.
He saw a man, alone on an island. His tribe had fallen to beasts and disease, and his wife had died in childbirth.
He was the only one left.
He could have left to find a new land or a new people. But instead he stayed. He spent his days catching fish in a little boat and he spent his nights watching the stars and drinking fermented fruit juice. (That's wine, Solas. That's called wine. You can just call it wine.)
To Solas, this man has surrendered to his defeat. And he gives us our first glimpse into what his fear might actually mean, right here.
"Knowing it will all end with you."
From there, Varric even asks him, "What's with you and all the fallen empire stuff, anyway?" And they go on to discuss what it means to give up and what it means to fight back, what costs are truly associated with each, and how those meanings can vary so widely between individuals whose lives have been so different. The analogy we didn't see at the time however, that we can now examine through hindsight, is that the man on the island wasn't just a representation of the old dwarven empire, but also of the Elvhen.
The man on the island was supposed to be representative of Solas himself.
(I also think it's cool that Varric mentions Orzammmar being too proud to ask for help.)
We are supposed to hear the anguish in his voice when he asks Varric whether he has any concept of what his capitulation to live as a surface dwarf has cost him.
Because Solas knows. For whatever reason (that we're about to discover in Veilguard), the remaining Evanuris were so horrific after the death of Mythal that the only solution he could devise that had any hope of protecting the world was to create the Veil and drive a wedge between the dreaming and waking worlds. To create a divide between magic and reality. To silence the song from the stone. To create a barrier that the blighted gods could never cross.
But one that also trapped the spirits.
And afterward, while he slept a dreaming sleep for centuries, the toll of creating the Veil having been so great, he watched as his people also began to quicken and die. He watched as their spirits also crossed the Veil to be trapped behind it forever. Everyone he ever knew and loved. All the chains of slaves he broke were for nothing. They simply traded one cage for another. Because of him.
And while Abelas and his company still guard the Well of Sorrows, they are bound to Mythal. (Also, I'm pretty sure you can make a choice to kill them? I never have, but I think you can?) They are still creatures that are beholden to her, and thus they are expendable. Mythal was even willing to sacrifice Flemeth to gift her power to Solas, to cure his weakened state after waking from uthenera, and hopefully prevent the risk of future mistakes being made. Like Corypheus.
Even Solas is expendable in the line of his duty, if it means he will succeed. He would gladly sacrifice himself to rectify his greatest mistake, and restore his people to themselves. Because they've been sundered for so long, they've forgotten who they are. And they are not his people anymore. He will make them remember.
He will restore their connection to the Fade, he will reveal lost paths to ancient libraries, and he will reawaken their relationships with their spirits - archivists, and spirits of purpose and wisdom and valor and faith and all of their ancestors that lived before them. He will make them what they were, as they were when he knew them. Because without that, they are incomplete. The spirits are incomplete. He is incomplete.
Our job in Veilguard will be to either help him find a better way to accomplish his goal, or help him find a way to find satisfaction and completion in this world. (Or, you know, kill him, but not in my canon, thanks.) Either way, we have to get him to accept help.
Because the burden that he carries within himself is the sole memory of a vast nation, and it is heavy. Far too heavy to bear alone. He is the last living key, a fragile remnant, a final, solitary link through dreams to the history, the knowledge, and the entire cultural identity of the Elvhen people. (The People people? Is that redundant?)
And without him, all of that is lost.
Forever.
To him, he is the last of the Elvhen.
So, my interpretation of Solas' greatest fear is not that he is afraid to die all by himself. It is something I feel is truly much more heartbreaking.
It is that he is afraid to die the last of his kind.
He is afraid to die alone.
hi. do you see my vision?
Merry Christmas to the absolute fantastic the-tallboy-that-fell, whose inquisitor is an actual fairy prince whose hair probably attracts moths if you stick him in the dark and put a lantern behind him.
Decided to take part in the We are now the Inquisition -project and actually managed to get my entry done.
//EDIT: Couldn't decide on a version, have both.
Favourite fantasy animal
Imagine meeting your husband at the top 3 most traumatic event of your life
"Well, fancy meeting you here."
The main hall is quiet at night. Not for long, of course, just a moment between the midnight's fall and just before the sunrise, when the room gets so eerily quiet Dushan thinks he could count the mice around the corners just by the sound of them. The fireplace is the only light inside, he squints at its gleam with slightly blurry eyes before slumping down a and finding Dorian's worried gaze.
"Fancy indeed," Dushan echoes, eyes following the slope of the mage's shoulders, buried beneath the fur — it's one of those robes he managed to salvage from home, he knows it just by the shape.
From the Trevelyan house, that is. Something about the way the fibers cling to Dorian's slightly sweat-damp skin, how he shivers barely noticeably, something about that makes Dushan's guts ache, dull and weary. He gets up from the throne with some unexpected effort and crosses the distance to the chamber's door, pulling Dorian into a hug.
"Why are you up?" his lips find the left temple, his fingers find the back of his neck, pulling the heavy head into a cautious embrace.
Dorian, unusually cold palms hidden beneath the fabric, wraps his arms around his middle in return. Stands like that for a few seconds, chest to chest, beat to beat, breathing shallow and just a bit too fast.
"Couldn't sleep without you."
There's an unspoken implication that something woke him, one of those heavy night terrors that leave him panicked and gasping for air. Dushan kisses his temple again and hears a quiet chuckle muted by the layers of fabric. "You look terrible like that, you know?"
Dushan pulls away slightly, arching a brow. "Like what?"
Dorian breaks the embrace, taking a few steps aside and slumping down on the throne — legs thrown over the armrest, arms folded over the chest. He bounces a foot in the air, eyes finding the fire Dushan was staring daggers into minutes ago. "Like this. Like a ghost of an emperor looming over his lost kingdom. Was afraid that if I look at you for too long you'll start turning green."
Dushan snorts and makes a scary face, letting the anchor shine and light his frame. Dorian rolls his eyes to that, idly bumping his heel into the golden binding. "Oh shut up."
He doesn't see the painful vince, Dushan makes sure of that, grabbing him and turning him in his seat like the mage weighs nothing. Dorian yelps, almost offended, as Dushan kneels down in front of him. A brief eye contact — the Inquisitor marvels at the sight of him against the starry skies, and then lets his own head fall, burying his face into the robe, into the tense thighs. I'm tired, he wants to confess. I'm so tired and I can't keep my eyes shut for more than mere seconds no matter how close I hold you.
Dorian doesn't really need him to spell it out, does he. Dorian runs his fingers through his thinning out hair and whispers gentle words Dushan can't yet understand.
"Amatus, come back to bed."
"Marry me."
The silence rings. Dushan doesn't lift his head, not until Dorian lifts it up for him, hands squeezing his cheeks in a deadly grip.
"Have you gone mad on me?"
They stare and stare at each other, Dorian's sheer panic against Dushan's stone calm. He palms at his forehead, grips his cheeks again, something hysterical in his posture. "No, really, you impossible bastard, have you lost your mind?"
Dushan's stoic expression turns to amusement, as he finds a wrist to kiss. "I'm on my knees already, I can beg."
Dorian huffs. Dorian puffs, one hand flying up to cover his mouth, the other pushing Dushan away with a force he doesn't really mean. The Inquisitor sits back willingly, looking up open and offering, eyes squinted in loving humour.
Dorian shakes his head. "Absolutely I will not."
And weak, awed curses follow, as he stares down at the man at his feet.
Dushan leans forward again and pulls one bare, frozen foot into his own lap. Kisses the knee, does the same with the other. There are hands in his hair, still feverishly pushing him away without any real strength to them, lips whispering something inaudible and "get up, get up before anyone sees you, matula" as they grow trembling and unsure. Dushan hugs his legs, like he's afraid Dorian will set off running, and looks up, face suddenly stern.
"I've done many things wrong and I will do much more. But I want to do this, this, right, while time remains."
The anchor burns, his eyes burn, as the hall grows green in color. His own panic rises as he speaks urgently.
"Whatever you want, however you will have me. But when the Herald dies I want him to bring your name to the grave, Dorian Pavus. I'm no Trevelyan. I'm no Inquisitor. I'm but a man devoted to you and I want to go as one."
There are tears, Dushan can't see them gleaming in the dark but Dorian chokes on his breaths like he can't find his voice or any air around them. He hits his shoulder last time, then slides down to the ground until there's nothing but his limbs and chest and the oh so familiar smell of his oils as he grips Dushan so hard that neither of them can breathe now.
Merely a whisper, "You cannot say such things. It's cruel."
Dushan nods and kisses his lips pressed together in a salty line.
"I know. I am."
"You're not," comes out as a louder cry.
"Now you're talking nonsense."
"The whole castle just heard you pledge allegiance to my father's name. Don't nonsense me."
"I did no such thing. I asked you to marry me."
"And I told you I won't."
"No trouble," Dushan says contently, leaning against the base of the throne. "I will ask you again."
I walked into your dagger for the last time in a row // It's like trying to start a fire with matches in the snow
You can't seem to hold me here // You can't seem to let me go
So I can't find surrender, can't keep control
Dushan lore (2/?)
He sides with mages, meeting Dorian. Around the same time Viv appears and they slowly grow closer. Him and Dorian drunk kiss like a few days into knowing each other but, at that point, it's left at that. Dorian moves on having some thing with Cullen and Dushan spends time running from Haven into battles and helping the war refugees. That and mage support/affiliations put him on a cold shoulder with Cassandra
Haven falls, Cullen rejects Dorian and a lot of forming friendships and relationships in the party fall out in general. It hits Dushan hard, the loneliness of it all, once again. He saves a lot of people in Haven and generally gains a kind-hearted reputation in the entire Inquisition by this point. He slowly starts to creep into the party's hearts too, easing the tension and gluing people together
Over time, once the eldest sibling, he pulls in Cole and Sera like a magnet. Silly rogue family that they become. He also forms a deep bond with Mother Giselle despite their rocky relationship. He turns the Skyhold garden into a chapel for her, attends her services and comes to speak with her a lot
With Solas, it's weird. The fade kiss from his romance happens and they're always on the edge of something starting between them, but somehow it doesn't feel romantic. It's complicated. With Viv becoming more and more important in Dushan's life and with others giving more input on him they begin to kinda grow more distant then in Haven
Dorian romance resumes somewhat late in the plot and they're uncontrollable. Absolutely insane dumpster fire of a fling that grows into purest devoted codependency. They start off edgy in Skyhold, after the grief dies down, because Dorian can't work out what Dushan wants from him exactly and Dushan mirrors the energy. They fight, drunk kiss more, play pretend relationship for diplomacy and Dushan declares Dorian his lover to mother Giselle way before they actually get together. Dorian isn't any less bonkers, after Dushan goes into fade and following conversation he ties them together with a spell that would alert Dorian if anything truly bad happens while he's away and would set off a singular huge blast to protect the inquisitor as the last resort. It might or might not involve Dorian's blood. Dushan doesn't know, he had his eyes closed and they agreed to never speak about it. But, after that, Dorian shares the mark Dushan was given in his family cult, giving it new meaning
They're my favourite telenova honestly
And all things end
All that we intend is
Scrawled in sand
I felt like drawin my boy Alek, my inquisitor as I’m replaying dai
Didn't expect to casually see Solas in Naples
I expect nothing but chaos from this entire situation I have put myself into
Dragon Age: Inquisition mod but it just fixes the broken stone wall outside the war room.
Love these three
so I read the comments on my last picture and here you go, they are competing on who can make it flashier, not shown above Solas conjures a giant fade stone hand and Dorian raises the dead to flip him off for him, Viv joins in at some point, it goes on for hours
Warmup drawing of young Solas looking bored and pretty
Ayo bitches, it's angst time
Okay so I just played through Here Lies the Abyss and now I have headcanons about what Lavellan sees in the nightmare realm because even though I completed it with my Trevelyan Inky, I am apparently in love with my Elf Mage
Angst below the line. Look at how enticing it is. You want to hurt dont you >:)
I don't think Lavellan sees spiders, that's absolutely ridiculous. They lived in the woods ffs. I think they see other Dalish.
Some of the Dalish are random elves, they scream and yell at Lavellan that they've betrayed their own kind and once Lavellan starts fighting back, they claim that Lavellan is no better than the shems -even though I know "shems" is city elf slang- that hunt and kill the Dalish.
Some of the fears stole the faces of Lavellan's clan members: these fears beg Inky to come home, to stop fighting, that all will be forgiven if Lavellan just puts down their weapon. Other's however scream at inky, calling them insane, a murderer, a betrayer. Either way, Inky Lavellan has to kill their own clan members, and you bet that these deaths are dramatic throwing Lavellan into a state of mental distress.
At the end, Lavellan doesn't immediately see the nightmare demon, they see the Keeper. The Nightmare Keeper does all she can to convince Lavellan to stay, convince Lavellan to give up their bad memories, that Lavellan is a disappointment to their clan, that Lavellan betrayed them and it is the party's job to bring Inky to reality and realize that as terrifying as their clan turning against them or hating them is, that this isn't real. Kind of like a reverse DAO mission.
In the end, the Nightmare reveals itself and all goes as normal: except now Inky Lavellan is sufficiently more traumatized <3
I dont know if anyone caught this and I really hope people see this but I have come to a realization:
"Solas" in Dalish quite literally translates to pride, further more there are common phrases within the Dalish language that speak of pride ruining everything and blah blah blah here's my source.
What I find funny is that Fen'Harel/Solas shows up and is like "YEaH iTs ME, YOuRE LocaL ELVen ApOSTAte PrIDe" and if your playing a Dalish inky they don't question it or mention it, it's even funnier if your a Dalish Mage because then you're the First of your clan and you're supposed to know this shit. Like they're literally like "Suspicious amount of Fade knowledge, weird ass name, able to drag me into the Fade... Yeah isn't shady at all lemme continue to trust this guy."
Furthermore, Solas' fear is dying alone and the Dalish sayings are quite literally "Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din." Which roughly means: "Your pride is responsible for everything that has gone wrong; you will die alone." And there's another one thats: "Dirth ma banal. Mar solas ena mar din" which means "You have learned nothing. Your pride be your downfall." The wiki also says that these are common Dalish phrases so...
This likely means that Solas is probably super self aware and we, the fandom, can take this a bajillion ways. One way is that past Fen'Harel was often told that he was prideful and that it would lead to his misfortune and so in DAI he brands himself by his shortcoming to stick it in the faces of his fellow mages but fast forward to DAD, pride will be Solas' downfall and the DAD protagonist will leave him to die alone and pondering what would of happened if he wasn't so arrogant because he wouldn't have lost his friends, his lover (if romanced), or his future.
READ READ READ READ READ WOMEN I LVOVE WOMEN WHU IS CASSANDRA STRAIGHT ***READ PLEASE***
10/10 made a man cry. And that man...was a Monk (sad cowboy hat emoji)
To Touch the Sun authors note: I wanted to write sad lesbian inquisitor fic for a specific audience (me) for a game that is 10 years old, enjoy! < 1k female inquisitor x cassanda tags: yearning, unrequited love/feelings, religion mention
I never believed in a higher power. But now, as I stand behind you on the balcony, the sun settling into the lines of your scars, Maker, take me—I want to meet your eyes the way you meet mine.
You cursed me at first; you blamed me for her death and all of your suffering, yet even as I was your prisoner, I couldn't hate you. Trying to ignore you was like trying to ignore the sun. Even if I was blind, I could still feel your heat, the beams of light dancing across my skin. Your presence was everywhere, forcing its way through the cracks of my heart, making me believe there could be something more each time you say 'we' or 'us.' The Inquisition, being your Herald, I told myself I could maybe believe in the Maker if you were standing there beside me.
Back at Haven, I watch as you, again, sharpen your sword, steel shavings falling and staining your trousers, your whetstone scraping against the blade, again and again. I watch, mesmerized by your calm confidence, no arrogance to be found. I wonder what sort of woman you are when you aren't sharpening yourself, the blade of your mouth sharper than any weapon. I wonder if you realize how your presence is hotter than any forge.
You learned to trust me, a woman of no standing, with decisions greater than any I have ever known. You prop me up, light my path when I feel like the darkness of the Fade will consume me; you turn my head up from the ground to face the road ahead with dignity and strength I didn't even know I had.
It's hard not to love everything about you as much as you try to force everyone away. Your orthodoxy, your tradition. It should have turned me away like it has turned many others away. Your dedication to the Maker grounds you, and yet you will never know how those same roots have woven tendrils into my heart. You are so rooted to your ways, so assured of what is right, your ideals toeing the line of bigotry. But I am blind to all of your flaws, maybe not blinded, but accepting. Because the sum of all your qualities draws me in instead, a glow from inside you that cannot repulse me no matter how different we are.
You say as the right hand of the Divine, you give, you take, you make a fist to be the enforcer. But who stands beside you at your right hand? Do you know how badly I want to take your fist and soothe your bruises? Kiss the scrapes of your knuckles and feel the calluses of your sacrifices against my face?
You don't need protection. Your guard is up to all, not just me. Yet, I daydream more than I should, much more than I ought to. Feeling the crushing weight of never knowing what it could be like to soothe your aches, to hold your heart in mine, to tell you that I can take your pain away. Will you ever know me?
I feel the ache grow each passing day, your attention never drifting, Maker, how I wish it could drift to me. Another battle comes and goes, metal against metal, and I watch as you carve out your place and our destiny in this chaotic world.
As strong as you are, you are not immune to suffering, to pain. I see it in the flash of your eyes as you speak quietly about your brother. And for all of your muscle and discipline, you still are flesh. You can be cut down just as anyone. In those moments, as I push a flask of potion to your lips, all I can think about is how I wish I was made of glass so I could be the one to give you the kiss of life that keeps you tethered to this earth, to me.
I am no worshiper of the Maker, but Maker, take me, the void that lives in me where religion should be; when I look at you, you make me truly believe in the Sunburst throne. You draw me to my knees, like a page from the Chant; you turn me from skeptic to devout; your light is a balm to my weary, tired soul, outshining the anchor in my hand.
When I finally tell you how I feel, you are flattered of course. But you are swift and polite in your rejection. Like most things, you treat my confession in your own pragmatic way, which I've come to love to hate, cutting my feelings off quickly and cauterizing them so there's no chance of them growing back again. I try to tell myself it was nothing but harmless flirting; it meant nothing, and I can return to simply being your friend, the one that teases and pushes, the one who doesn't take anything seriously, the one who can get over my little crush. But as I turn away, my humiliation is fresh, a raw, open wound that makes it impossible to believe that it won't ever stop the scalding ache that lives in me now.
Maybe the distance you've given me now is a small mercy; you're giving me a chance to realize nothing can happen, to return to my work, and to be the Herald you believe I am. And that's all I can do, return and play my part for you, always being in your orbit, but never being able to venture nearer again out of my predetermined path. I should have known not to try to reach out and touch the sun. Because, in the end, I have nothing but a burn to show for it.
Now her hand is raised A sword to pierce the sun With iron shield she defends the faithful Let chaos be undone —Victoria 1:3
header/divider credit to @saradika !