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

YOU SHOULD

 

i should... probably warn for like vague allusions to possible character death and Making Plans For The Worst Scenario.

Spoiler

Sylvia looked… even messier than usual, she was well aware of that. The threadbare, oft mended coat she had taken off of some thug in her first year in Kirkwall was a deliberate quirk she cultivated, like her bare calloused feet, to aggravate the nobility, keep them on their toes. The game had kind of lost its luster without Carver or Mother fussing at her for it. Her mansion felt yearningly empty despite four other people still living there with her. Four people who would rush to her within a moment, as she crumpled on the bench in the foyer, trying to catch her breath. Dammit all…

Aveline was waiting on her already, face still pinched in disapproval for haring off with Isabela instead of following her. Fat load of good that had done, but Sylvia didn’t have time right now to wallow in misery. Merrill came loping down the grand staircase, beautiful face pinched with worry. Ah, crap.

“Ma vhenan, if you need a break--,” she mumbled, crouching at her side and looking up into Sylvia’s drawn face, reaching out to touch her cheek. Sylvia forced a little smirk on her face, leaning into the touch briefly.

“Ah, it’s nothing, I’ll live. Listen, Love--” she cleared her throat briefly. She wasn’t-- she couldn’t afford playing dumb anymore, not if her people were to be safe. She had heard the whispers. The tensions in lowtown and by the docks were almost thick enough to cut with a knife. And Sylvia Hawke refused to let anyone else die on her watch. So, she had to think fast. Luckily she was a Maker-damned genius, and Isabela had already taken off, making her checklist of people to keep out of the way blessedly short.

“Yes, ma vhenan?”

“Something’s brewing. And despite being pretty much perfect in every other way I can’t be everywhere at once, so I need you to take the secret passage from the cellars and get Anders and take him to Lowtown to the alienage. Tell him to bring all the healing draughts he can carry, people may get hurt, and you know, the idiot will feel better if he can stay useful. I’ll never hear the end of it if I snag a kill right in front of his nose again.”

Sylvia could read in Merrill’s little frown that her wife knew exactly what she was doing but thank Andraste and every saint, she didn’t argue, just briefly rested her forehead on Sylvia’s knee.

“Stay safe, Hawke.” she mumbled, before standing up again. Sylvia snorted, trying to keep things light.

“And here I was thinking of throwing myself on the nearest templar sword-- I’m joking, Merrill. I will be careful. I love you?”

Merrill hesitated briefly, then darted back in for a short kiss before taking off, rushing for the secret passage. Those were two worries less. Aveline frowned thunderously, but Sylvia shook her head slightly. There were other matters she had to attend to before she could go, darn it. And she had to think fast. Sebastian was… in all honesty likely going to be safe in the chantry, but he would appreciate a warning and the chantry would be a good place for people to seek refuge if the worst should happen. But she also needed some other folks at her side. Aveline wouldn’t leave her alone, she could expect as much, and Varric would be cross with her if she left him out. Besides it was easiest to keep those two safe if she could find them important things to oversee in the moment. Which left… well the one man she needed if she were to venture into the Qunari compound with any hope of de-escalating things. Sylvia sighed, rubbing the aching spot of tension between her eyebrows, then rounded on the slight elf standing in a corner, fists anxiously balled in her skirts.

“Orana, there’s something very important I need you to do. Can you run to Master Fenris’ estate and tell him I have urgent need of his presence. You can even wink if you want. Once you’ve got him coming over, go to the chantry and tell Prince Vael to stay put and get ready to defend the place.”
“Y-yes, Mistress-- but, isn’t it a bit late…?”

Sylvia reached out and gently ruffled the girl’s hair.

“No one is going to bother you, you’re wearing my crest. It’ll be fine. I know you can do it. I trust you Orana.”

It felt bad to exploit the elf’s desperate need for approval this way but at least she brightened immediately, curtseyed and hurried to the door.

“Bodahn, you know the way to the Hanged Man, right? I require Master Tethras’ aid as well. Tell him to meet us at the entrance to the docks, and take Sandal. And… probably warn the barkeep that things may turn sour. He’ll be able to tell you if it’s safe to stay there.”

“Messere Hawke…”

“Please, Bodahn. I know it’s silly, but c’mon, appease silly old me.”

Bodahn sighed, nodded. Sylvia could feel a gauntlet clad hand on her arm.
“Hawke…”

“It’s going to be fine Aveline. I have a good feeling about this. It’ll be just like old times, us two, a surly warrior and-- well, we’ll have double the amount of wisecracking with Varric, I guess.”

Aveline knew exactly what she was doing, but at least she knew better by now than to argue. She just had to make sure Aveline was far enough away she couldn’t throw herself into the line of fire if the worst happened.

Sylvia Hawke had never expected the thought I could die tonight to be accompanied by grim accomplished satisfaction, but better that than tearfully raging against done deeds.

 

New Ultimate Funeral Hymn

 

more of the same

Spoiler

When the groan turned into hacking coughs Cullen had to lean back, still awkwardly supporting Hawke’s back with his uninjured hand. His other one somehow had fund its way into the mage’s vice like grip as she pulled and pulled on his blood, a nauseating swirl of red that… did not come from just him anymore, no, there were ghost like vapors of the same odd power swirling towards Hawke from the entire room, slowly settling on her hair like a nightmarish imitation of the halo crown the Maker’s Bride was depicted with.

Somewhere behind him, one of the ice spikes left over from the fight cracked loudly, broke apart.

The coughs subsided just as suddenly as they had come. The Maleficar in Cullen’s arms stared blindly past him at the ceiling, idly playing with his little finger, feeling the contours of his hand.

“Mm, nope, you’re not Carver. You’re much worse at kissing than he is.”

Cullen snorted, despite himself. His back felt too exposed. His front felt too exposed. She could kill him at any moment, once she was done toying with him like an overgrown cat toyed with her prey.

“I don’t think this display of grotesque feeding counts as a kiss. How very fitting that Hawkes would make a habit of regurgitating like this to bring their weak through the winter.”

Fenris’ voice was rough, like a chipped knife’s jagged blade. A desperate attempt at humor.

“I’m not going to throw up in not-Carver’s mouth, that would be a terrible date.”

“You say that, but I’ve had worse first dates,” another woman’s voice sounded from somewhere above, Rivaini timbre perfectly in line with the telltale sound of a coin purse being tossed. Almost cliché. Fenris grabbed it out of the air as if he had done the same thing every single day of his life for years.

Cullen sighed and pulled a healing draught from his belt.
“I have an elfroot potion here. It’s not a proper healing but I cannot see your Warden friend anywhere close by, so it will have to do.”

“Ohhh, Knight-Captain! I didn’t recognize you, everything’s blurry and gross.”

All at once the foul whispering surrounding her died down, as she reached up vaguely to grasp for the flask. Cullen could not think of a worse idea right now. He pulled the cork from the flask with his teeth and neatly wove around Hawke’s arms to gently press the glass to her lips.

“I believe this will work much better,” he mumbled, doing his best to ignore the low Ooo from the pirate up on the dais. He kept his eyes trained on Hawke’s lips. To make sure she didn’t choke of course, not just because it made it easier to ignore the horrifying scene around him, and the delighted gossip hungry eyes of Isabela.

“Why can’t she--”

“The vitaar Qunari use is highly venomous to anyone else. It can’t have been much but there’s traces of it on her face, likely wiped on her during the fight. Some must have gotten into her eye. It might take days until it’s even clear if she will ever be able to heal from that.”

The elf seemed to know an awful lot about all this. Another Qunari? Many elves converted recently. But then he would not calmly stand by Hawke’s side after she killed their leader.

am i playing fast and loose with canon toxicity levels? yes. yes I am.

 

posts weird only dubiously canoncompliant fanfic about my own player characters at 2:30 am like a man

 

weird dubiously canon compliant fic is self care!

 

Sylvia is A Mess I'm love her

 

Sylvia is a garbage goblin stray cat who refuses to wear shoes now she's been introduced to the concept of 'just not giving a shit, but like culturally' by her elven friends, and she's so fucking valid

 

Sylvia Hawke-Amell: A noblewoman, successful business partner for a decently productive mine and probably a few merchants, keeping an iron grip on the night streets of the city and beating up all kinds of gangs trying to make things unsafe, Champion of Kirkwall, folk hero for the Fereldan refugees in town who want to Become Something
Sylvia Hawke-Amell's wardrobe: sexy pirate costume, corpse robe picked off of a thug four years ago that's five sizes too big and is literally more patches and mending than original substance, no shoes, weird rough hewn pendant that whispers when you look too close. Probably five different Dubious Stains on her at all times.

 

Spoiler: quod erat demonstrandum

 

The more a character looks like they rolled straight out the garbage heap the more likely I am to find them loveable

 

it's very easy to play a garbage frolicking hawke, honestly? a bunch of the robes for female mages that aren't just 'standard obvious mage robes' at least have an endearing level of detail to make it very obvious things are taken in with bands of cloth, or just left kind of. loose and fraying.
and of course the Mantle of the Champion is A Hot Mess of spikey stuff and random leathers and some bits and bobs of chainmail, and then a sloppy bicep tat for additional Grunge Punk Mage look

 

OF ALL THE THINGS I HAVE TO DECLARE NON CANONICAL ABOUT THE ACTUAL GAME EXPERIENCE I DID NOT EXPECT "DID NOT ACTUALLY HAVE SIGNIFICANT TROUBLE DUELLING THE ARISHOK" LET ME TELL YOU

 

i was half way writing those bits to like emotionally prepare for a fight that easily took me an hour of sustained effort on Idris, bc he was skilled very very differently and had almost no offensive capabilities on his own, force mages being mostly made for harrying and crowd control
Blood mages aren't super good against solo enemies but i made her an elemental/arcane mage on her other skilltrees, which is offensive as hell and has good ground coverage, while idris was primal/spirit which is actually pretty garbage for offensive stuff? So he got kicked around a whole lot.

 

Varric, frantically scribbling to get his version of the story out to the public, where Sylvia wasn't half dead from blood loss, temporarily blinded and thought Cullen was her brother for a few moments:

Spoiler

 

the more i write of this the closer i edge to just taking another one-off side character as an OC. why am i like this.

 

me: this is just to fix some logic holes i wrote myself into
dark me: karasten is new beefy husband, learns about humor, kisses Cullen
me: we can't make everyone kiss cullen
dark me: ......... blocked

 

i love the positive ratings on the last two posts despite not even having shared the next snippets with anyone but mirrors :P

 

we all love to enable you

 

gasp
anyways here's me, continuing to throw more and more of the canon Varric version of EOA2 out of the window with a gilded spade of DON'T CARE

Spoiler: i also believe i have a sense of humor, this remains to be proven

Hawke had just about managed to drain the potion when Cullen heard heavy steps behind him, his entire body tensing up. He didn’t have a hand free, no way to reach for his blade this quickly--

“Basalit-an. The Basra are growing weary of waiting, as are the rest of the Beresaad. They demand the results of the duel.”

This was a Qunari. Almost certainly. Shockingly calm in the face of their leader laying lifeless and beaten to a pulp just a few steps away. Sylvia clumsily pushed the flask from her mouth and cleared her throat.

“Right then, Karasaad. Time to face the adoring public, I guess.”

How could she possibly know his name? What was going on here?

“I am Karasten, not Karasaad. My Karataam was tasked with securing the perimeter should your ‘nobles’ attempt escape.”

He sounded, if anything, almost amused. And like he was looming right behind them. The only comfort Cullen had was that Fenris was glowering at the Qunari, presumably, and he could hear that dwarf’s crossbow somewhere to his left. Still he hesitated, until Hawke tweaked the little finger of his injured hand once more.

“Don’t tell anyone, Knight-Captain, but I believe you will have to help me up. That will probably cause less scandal than if the big guy here carries me out in his big strong arms. Right, Varric?”
“I hope you know I’m going to include your rampant fetish for Qunari in my next book, Hawke.”

“He agrees with me!” she sounded cheerful. “Just set me on my feet, Ser, I can walk on my own once I’m up. Probably.”

Cullen was fairly sure the combined load of all the threats in the room and the nonsensical nature of Hawke taking this on with irreverent humor would be enough to make most men burst at the seams. The headache all this was giving him was likely the least unhealthy result of staying in Hawke’s presence for too long.

There was a beat of silence as Cullen shifted so he could stand with Hawke still in his arms, but without sacrificing the ability to react to any potential attacks. Turning slightly he could see the inscrutable face of the Qunari -- Karasten -- stoically silent, with a small frown around his brow.

Then after a long moment he slowly answered: “It would not do to carry a worthy foe out to parade in front of lessers. You are not an invalid, Basalit-an, nor have you lost to be presented for approval like the prey of a great hunt.”

Cullen very suddenly realized that most of the Qunari likely did not speak Trade well, if at all. From what this man said he was some sort of Commander, likely the only reason he did speak as much as he did. There was no accent, but he clearly was missing some of the nuance. No wonder communications had been so strained.

Sylvia muffled a small laugh in a cough.

“No I’m not, you are right, big guy. As I said, walking will be just fine.”

As if to prove her point she patted Cullen’s breastplate, then pushed off from him, taking a staggering step. Her bare feet were slick with blood he belatedly realized just as she almost stumbled. He caught her by the elbow with a curse, Karasten and two other Qunari who had abandoned their posts at the doors staring at both of them with… what, disapproval? It was difficult to read them.

Which reminded him. “Why’re there only three Qunari and three of your people in here Hawke?”

“Sent everyone else away.” She sounded inappropriately smug about this. “Pissed the Knight-Commander off something fierce but i set her and the First Enchanter to run sweeps through Hightown, inform any other Qunari platoons the Arishok had offered a duel to settle things. Aveline and the rest of the big guy’s boys were to guard the doors and make sure no one could rush in and get their fool selves killed. Fenris was my appointed second, Karasten here there Arishok’s. Varric and Isabela and the two Ashaads at the door made sure our wouldn’t interfere and things were conducted ‘As The Qun Demands’.”

She raised one hand to do the air quotes, then winced and dropped it again. Cullen could do naught but stare at her for a moment.

“So no one out there has an idea you’re a blood mage.”

“Bas-Saarebas, one as bad as the others. Why would the spilling of blood matter?” Karasten said with a snort, moving to flank Sylvia on her other side. “Basalit-an. Loitering is beneath you.”

“Karasten, I do believe, nagging like a fishwife is beneath you.”

“What a depraved custom, taking fishes for wives.”

The Rivaini who had just descended the stairs almost choked on a laugh. Even Fenris had to cough to hide his surprised chuckle. Sylvia simply smiled like a cat who had snuck into a dairy. “Maker I wish I could see your face when you say things like that you’re a riot. Are you sure you want to leave with the rest of your men, I’ve got a room free in my estate for harboring some runaways.”