Kitchen And Craft Wix Corner (Exciteable Bird, Enter At Own Risk)

Atish'an Lavellan, worry

 

Spoiler

It was hours before dawn. Several in fact, by the glow of the fire still in the hearth. And Elouan was once again questioning why the Maker hated him this much. Elandrin, the light of his life, had done so well before, sleeping through the night at a decent frequency. But the last few nights he had begun waking up again earlier and earlier, and Elouan was beginning to lose his mind. He had no idea why this was happening, but--

A quick look over to the other side of the bed told him that Aodh had not yet returned to turn in for the night. Darn. Of course they would go sneak through the night instead of staying in and helping, now that their child made sleep difficult to get again.

With a groan he sat up and reached over to the crib, lifting the whimpering and whining infant out to rock slowly. He was so small, but Lady Lavellan had assured him that this was normal for elfblooded children, that Elandrin would catch up to human infants soon. He felt like a solid bundle of warmth in Elouan’s arms, at least and he was quieting down, wiggling his little hands out of the bundle of sheets to paw at his father’s chest. Ah. So he was hungry, perhaps?

Unlacing the last bit of his shirt to let the babe drink was well practiced by now, a necessity he had arranged himself with.

Or would have thought he had, were it not for a sharp nip to his breast.

“Andraste’s flame, did you bite me, child?” he hiss-whispered in the darkness, lifting Elandrin a little closer to his face (and away from sensitive bits) so he could see better in the dim light. Indeed, two tiny points of bright white were emerging from the gums of his tiny infant son. No wonder he was having issues sleeping through the night. A quick press of lips to his son’s forehead also revealed a bit of feverish warmth emanating from the skin, no doubt also quite uncomfortable.

“Alright then. Teething. How difficult can it be to get through,” Elouan mumbled, standing up to rock his son a bit more and wander over into the kitchen. He needed to… check a few things, in case-- One glance down at Elandrin and sure enough, Elouan would have to find something else for the babe to chew on, fingers were not a good idea most likely. And nothing was also not a good idea, apparently, since he immediately began whining quietly when Elouan gently grasped his tiny hand and pulled it out of the infant’s mouth. Void and damnation, why could this not happen to Aodh instead of him.

At least he had a supply of willow bark on hand still, in case the fever grew worse or Elandrin seemed genuinely in pain. And-- Ah, yes. A bone left over from the last boar he brought home, that he had set aside to carve a toy from. Maybe the beast could provide his son with some strength.

The whining from his baby son shifted a bit, more to the side of his usual hunger complaints. Elouan sighed. This would be a long night.

“Biting a warrior that is trying to protect you is not very honorable, my little one, you will have to stop that eventually,” he mumbled, settling on the rocking chair in front of the hearth.

Spoiler: disclaimer bc i am a weirdo

don't give infants, children or teenagers salicyclic acid/aspirin in real life, there's hefty health risks associated, but elouan is not a doctor and also nsaids he would reasonably have access to are a bit limited due to the approximate era of DA.

 

Gonna be cruel: cullen wondering how the fuck he fell in with the Hell Threesome

 

I hope this is even close to what you had in mind, i wasn't sure if you meant 'vs' as in her struggling, bc Brejan actually loves harts and would have been halla keeper of her clan had she not been a mage :P

Spoiler

Dennet had left a small note in her house, asking her to come down to the stables outside, so despite the bitingly cold wind of Haven, Brejan bundled up in a couple furs and trudged outside, shielding her eyes against the glare of sunlight. It was a short trip all told, but she was still already shivering by the time she passed the gate. Oh but it was so worth it.

Dennet was holding the reigns of the most beautiful animal she had ever laid eyes upon, tall, majestic, and crowned by impressive antlers.

“Knew you’d like ‘im, Inquisition. Not a halla, but then I reckon you lot wouldn’t part with them so easy, yeah?”

“He’s beautiful, where did you find him?” Brejan breathed, floating closer to pet the Hart, resting her forehead against the beast’s. It snuffled quietly, a solid and calm presence.

“Got in contact with a Southern Fereldan Clan. From the Brecilian, passing West through the Frostbacks. Got lucky, they had a young’un got seperated from his mother, he may’ve been injured and nursed back by them, given how trusting he is. Seems a smart one, and he’s sure-footed. Was worried for a bit they meant he was still a calf, but I’d reckon he’s old enough to get used to riders by this point, especially given yer so small. No offense, Inquisition.”

Brejan laughed quietly, scritching the hart between the ears.

“None taken. You’re sure he will be fine? I’ve never trained an animal for riders, just pulling the aravels. He’s already more solid than a halla would be, I suppose, but I’m worried…”

“Reckon he’ll let you know if he dislikes what’s happening, but we can try him in a saddle for starters if you’re worried. He’s a strong lad, though, so long’s you don’t treat him like a beast of burden.”

Brejan hummed quietly, letting the stag nibble at the fur wrapped over her shoulders. He looked so beautiful, and she had always wished to meet a Hart. They were so rare now, despite all the stories of the Emerald Knights riding them into battle. No wonder another Dalish had done his best to rescue the poor thing.

“Enansal. I think that is what he is. A blessing sent by Ghilan’nain.”

Dennet made a small noise in the back of his throat like he always did when something reminded him that she and Andy weren’t Andrastean. Not a confused or offended one, just a small grunt of mildly surprised acknowledgement.

“Whatever you say, Inquisition.”

 

No this is purrfect! I mean vs as in encountering!

 

MERAUD VS DORIAN ACADEMIC SLAPFIGHT: GO

 

Spoiler: referenced doribull, post trespasser, some spoilers maybe

The room was sweltering with stiff unmoving air. It pissed her off to no end, and so the first thing she did upon entering was stomp over to the window and throw open the shutters forcefully.

“Ah, my most loving nurse has finally come. What will it be, today, yelling for being a careless idiot? Punching me?”

“Shut up, Dorian, I’m not here as punishment for nearly getting yourself assassinated.”

“Could have fooled me, my dearest friend.”

Atish’an whipped around, scowling at him. Dorian was… pale, one of his high cheekbones bruised an ugly green and yellow color and bandages peeking out of the undone collar of his shirt, but he was alive, and awake and clearly alert enough for snark. Small mercies.

She leaned against the wall, running her hand over the stubbly fuzz on her head. She should have guessed that this would happen, It was politics bullshit, Tevinter politics bullshit no less, and Dorian liked living dangerously. It had been only a matter of time, really.

As usual his sharp grey eyes seemed to pluck the thoughts right out of her head, as he rolled his eyes and opened his arms.

“Oh come here, you silly woman. You’re going to worry yourself prematurely grey and then where will we be? People will lose their minds even more for your beauty.”

“You’re an ass,” she rasped, climbing on the bed without an ounce of grace to hug him, mindful of the bandages. Just a quick hug. No one needed to force anyone into awkward back pats.

“Did you actually miss me that badly? I knew you were obsessed. I am so sorry my dear,” he mumbled, grinning like a smug cat. She smacked his thigh slightly.

“You’re insufferable, a horrible menace, and a sponge for validation. Of course I missed you. I came as soon as I heard from Bull what happened.”

Then a curious scent wafted to her.

“... and I’m going to fistfight stitches. There’s a far better poultice for burns than what he put on you!”

Dorian laughed quietly.

“As much as I appreciate my healers wrestling over my treatment plans, I would rather you just stay here and tell me how you’ve been.”

“... fine but only because you asked so nicely.”

 

ryol, doing something catty?

 

Spoiler

Distinguished readers will no doubt have come across treatises stressing the importance of amassing a roster of dependable companions and allies, from the likes of terrors and fears, to bolster one’s arsenal, but this is a line of thinking born of a distinctly northern style, spearheaded by the likes of Enchanter Pavus of Minrathous.

Unlike these northern necromancers I aim to reconstruct and preserve a style of death magic originating in the chasind and avvar traditions of our forefathers, aiming to widen the spectrum of uses for those of us willing to find material applications of the spirit school.

Of the Avvar styles one thing seems most striking: unlike the northern death mages that deal with undifferentiated scraps of fade matter (and otherwise try to force the application of a very narrow spread of spirits for as much as can reasonably and unreasonably be made to work) Avvar Augurs in the stories seem to match the spirit to the needed task in question, belying an unmatched strength and resilience against the meddling of Fade creatures. As such the style of these hedgemages of course comes with a great deal of risk for those uninitiated, but I would argue it need not be a hurdle for those willing to put the work in to master and formalize the discipline from a new angle.

As such, the following is what I propose as indispensable foundational knowledge for burgeoning Death Mages willing to use this work as instructional, and for those willing to deepen their understanding of spirit magic as a whole:

• A solid working knowledge of the manipulation of mana and life forces, both draining and augmenting which in general means one is expected to have passed at least a few classes both specializing in Spirit and in Entropy magic. I recommend Wenselus’ lectures on the topic personally, and will pass on transcripts from my own hand to those who send a Raven asking for such, so long as the petitioner’s name is not ‘Pavus’.
  
  
• A copy of Enchanter Mirdromel’s “Beyond The Veil: Spirits and Demons” on hand for reference, and at least passing familiarity with Senior Enchanter Bader’s “The Maker’s First Children”
  
  
• A solid understanding of Fereldan/Alamarri myth regarding the dead and their rising
  

Additionally for those who favor a more hands on approach, the same methodology as for beginner Entropy Mages is recommended, ie. using various vermin lurking in your accommodations for practice.

Henceforth, when referring to ‘spirits’ I am stressing this once more, I do not simply mean Fears and Terrors, like many death mages favor. In fact my travels and time among the Wardens has lead me to believe that Faiths and Justices provide much more dependable companions, if one can reliably attract them. As such I will include references to Spirit Healer compendia and meditation techniques in the last third of this volume for your convenience. Be warned that this form of death magic requires an honest and straightforward approach, with no room for dramatics and flourishes of such flamboyant mages as are usually drawn to the discipline initially.

- From the foreword of Fereldan Death Magics: A History and Introduction by Warden-Commander Meraud Surana, formerly of Kinloch Hold​

​

 

Spoiler: BIT SHORTER THAN THE REST SADLY, SORRY

The party had, so far, been a bore. The usual partners were dancing around each other, the usual pleasantries were exchanged, the usual barbed backhands inserted into conversation drip by drip like so much sweet arsenic.

Enchanter Salvia slid onto the bench next to him, softly resting a slender hand smelling of fragrant oils on his arm.
“My dear, it is such a pleasure to see you here. I heard about the dreadful news far too late to disinvite that horrid snake. Knives at a ball! How crude. Have a drink, my sweet, it's the least I can do.”

Ryol glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. Took the crystal cut glass of dark red wine she offered him and held it up to the light, musing for a moment. Then he turned to her with a private little smile, the kind that held dark promises for later in the night. He could see the triumph in Salvia's eyes. Hah.

“Not as crude as your attempts to stoke an ongoing conflict for your own amusement. And here I thought fucking the Liberatus at the helm of your house guard was enough amusement for one well bred lady, but clearly the voracious appetite doesn’t just extend to food and wine. A shame for your parents, I’m sure, but maybe you can pretend a little harder and they won’t disown you.”

She let go of his arm like he burned her, going an ugly shade of red.

“This is-- How dare you, I am--”

“-- a sad excuse for an heirress and a shrill harpy, yes. I noticed. Go back to playing hostess. I will dance with Leocadia later. Much sweeter to delay gratification. Not that you would have experience with that.”

Of course, this would have consequences. But starting a petty slap fight with Salvia would potentially endear him to her twin brother, who he was decently sure actually had the keys to their father’s study, unlike Salvia herself, ever cursed to languishing in mediocrity and irrelevancy. It helped that Ryol genuinely disliked the handsy bitch while her brother at least was not actively infuriating, too.
He dipped a finger tip into his wine glass and let a drop hit the blue gem on one of his ring. It changed to a sickly purple color. Ah what an amateur Salvia was.

 

<3

Spoiler

Dawn found him staring out of the hole in his ceiling, wide awake and surrounded by another man’s children fast asleep on his chest and arms. Elgara especially liked to bearhug onto his left arm like a small barnacle. He still wasn’t sure what to make of this, but how could he ever tell her no.

Children. He never thought… Between the order, and his continuing fight for recovery and the Inquisition, he never thought he would have a family. Such blessings tended to avoid him like the plague, and for good reason.

He still had trouble recalling how he even ended up this way, not particularly helped by the fact he had a hard time remembering much of the letter kicking things off. Drinking was definitely something he should not indulge in. At all. Not if this was the result.

Threatening Roger into giving him Anders’ location should have made the three go even deeper into hiding, not… not this. What breed insanity led a man to pack his two children, his pregnant wife and their mutual lover up and come visit him here at Skyhold instead of running for the hills never to be seen again.

Well. He knew the answer to this. The unique kind of insanity that led to expeditions to the deep roads, to facing the Arishok in combat, to staring down Meredith and denying her the blood and fire she demanded. The same kind he briefly saw in the set of Carver Hawke’s jaw when he met the man in said fight. A good fit for a Warden, that kind of insanity. The absolute worst quality for a Champion if Kirkwall was supposed to keep him, but that had never stopped a man like Roger Hawke.

As unexpected as Hawke was for a companion, Merrill was no less so. She was… sweet. Bubbly. Caring and a little bit confused sometimes but endearingly so. The polar opposite of what the chantry and personal experience had taught him about blood magic. Void’s damnation, she even made sure to warn him if anything she was doing would involve her opening a vein, like it was the most natural thing in the world. No judgement, nothing, just an ‘Oh and maybe you should watch the children outside for a bit, Cullen? That would be a great help’ and then she would shove him out with her surprising strength and that was that. A tiny whirlwind of a woman that never quite seemed to realize the sheer breathtaking impact she had on those around her. No less brilliant than Roger himself at magic, and with the same kind of casual disregard for common sense and safeguards. It was maddening to see her so blithely ignoring every single rule the chantry had laid out for mages and then turn around and honestly ask him if he was alright when he took too long to start in on his dinner. He did not deserve her.

… Or the mage that was climbing up the ladder looking dangerously close to a fight. Cullen barely had time to sit up, careful not to dislodge Elgara or Revas in the process, before Anders shoved an earthen cup into his hand. Cullen must have looked confused because Anders rolled his eyes.

“It’s your morning tea. Merrill insisted on letting you sleep in while she and Roger are out gathering herbs, but you can’t miss your doses.”

Cullen shook his head slightly, then began sipping his tea when Anders narrowed his eyes at him.

“No I-- I know what my medicine smells like, what I’m confused by is how you knew I took any at all? It’s not exactly public knowledge…”

“Oh please,” Anders immediately shot back, crossing his arms. “You smell so strongly of elderflower most days I’d have bet my last staff on it. I know it’s been over a decade but you know I’m a Healer.”

Cullen was still… unsure. Suspicious. But he also had to bite back a small grin. “You weren’t exactly good at Botany if I recall correctly. Maybe had something to do with running away so often you never attended a single one of Enchanter Ines’ lessons.”

Anders looked surprised for half a moment, then covered it with a grimace. “It’s not like anyone ever listened during her lectures, we all just passed with notes copied out of her books. I’m a decent herbalist anyways, no thanks to her. Drink your damned tea, Rutherford.”

Cullen settled in to drink properly, mostly as a means to hide his smile, then, on a whim, reached out to cover Anders’ hand with his, lacing their fingers together.

“Thanks.”

Things were still difficult, and Cullen was never sure when a single wrong step wouldn’t make the ground crumble beneath his feet and send him falling from this careful delicate equilibrium. All of them were still raw in some ways, and it was difficult to foresee what may hurt and what was safe. But that he was allowed to try was a blessing in and of itself.

 

Also I want y'all to know that behind the scenes Lady Leocadia and Enchanter Salvia are super definitely fucking and it's the most dysfunctional thing ever and half of Ryol's spynetwork is suffering from secondhand embarrassment at the mess that their relationship is

 

i'm dyiNG

 

(also prompts remain open if ya want anything else written, like no promises but I will Try)

 

Marisela and the Inquisition :p

 

I definitely want to do this but i may have to brainstorm a bit to decide on the specific angle and i have plans for today BUT it's on the list!!!

 

Spoiler: somehow this turned more into marisela and cole, OOPS?

Marisela had come to truly hate the cold, nevermind the winter. An imposing fortress it may be but getting anything edible was almost impossible! It was infuriating, and no less so for the persistent young man shadowing her. Ugh.

Dancing over another few mud puddles to get over to the market in the courtyard took hardly any effort at all, but it earned her confused and offended looks and the persistent tittering of Orlesians hiding behind masks and fans. Did they think only the rich avoided mud? Was she supposed to just track dirt into the hallowed halls of her Signora’s office?

She pulled the tattered wool cloak closer about her slim shoulders, giving the piles of turnips and apples a sour look.

“She doesn’t mind that there are no cherries here. Apples are just as sweet when sweat and soul and sorrow are paid off in work and the rewards are reaped.”

Marisela’s frown deepened and she moved to the next stall, weighing one of the apples in her hand.

“Apples are as apples and-- no… that doesn’t help…”

Maybe the pears instead? Poached in spiced and mulled wine and then sliced artfully on the good dishes…

“Poached in poison, portioned, paid, parted, not pardoned. She will pardon you if you just ask.”

But what to do with that? It was hardly enough to break the Signora’s fast with to bring her a single pear.

“You can hear me but you don’t like my words, so you pretend I’m not there. Like you forgot me. It hurts less if you pretend nothing is wrong, or…?”

Maybe easier to just go with the apples and make a big batch to go on oatmeal, though the Signora abhors eating oatmeal too often-- Ah. A pale hand reaching past her to rearrange the pile of produce in front of her, unearthing a simple basket. The self same hand taking hers and forming them into a cup to pour a bit of the basket’s contents into.

“She misses chestnuts. No one here makes them right. You make them like at home, make her at home. Can’t speak because the walls are listening, but she wanted you to come, didn’t dare wish for it. You make her feel light and bright.”

Marisela pours the chestnuts into her own basket, then picks out the finest pears, giving the young man a look from below the dark fan of her lashes. “Only took you five tries to speak straight, no? I would recommend not digging too far, you seem a good boy, if a bit strange. My head is no place for good people.”

Cole blinks, and stares after her as she returns to the kitchens, light on her feet and weaving through the crowds like a pick amongst ends. Clean, calm, cordial on the outside but tangled, torn, terrified on the inside. A single thread in Josie’s gentle hand could unravel her. But not yet.

 

day clinic starts this friday, goes till monday in two weeks. might make getting stuff done a bit difficult.

Quartz's shoulder portion has been modded, next step is upper arm and figuring out lower arm and hand portion out, then doing the primer coat. I still need to order/buy a pair of small stick magnets for the elbow joint.
On sunday I can glue her hair on tho and then I can Get A Feel For The Vibe >:3

 

me @ me: ur a moron why did you have to pick a joint for modding that needs hinge AND rotation articulation

 

technically several even i literally just remembered wrists rotate too, sdfghjk