Aves “Rook” Laidir

Blog for Veilguards Photomode. Main account @medlilove

[medlilove]

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AVES 'Rook' LAIDIR 28 at start of game. Mage Dagger - Fire/Necromancy later. 5’3”

Born on the edge Dairsmund, the capital city of Rivain. Her father was from an upper middle class merchant family. He was unusual in his business that he would regularly trade and do business with neighbouring Dalish Clans. Though his prices were always higher for them, not that they were aware. 

In his early adult life he had an affair with an Elf from a neighbouring clan. When she became pregnant he convinced her to leave her life behind and be his wife in the city. Swept up in the romance she agreed and left her clan. However, after the dust settled he pushed away and his family pressured him to distance himself from them for the sake of the family business. 

He did, but at the same time would keep her wrapped around his little finger. He would say over and over that it wasn’t the right time and to be patient, using her ignorance of the society they were in to his advantage. He hid her away in their home and she developed a deep depression and loneliness. He convinced her that it was safer for her and the baby to live as a servant, but it was more to protect his own business and reputation. Aves grew up half in the servant's world and half not.

Her mother lived with terrible guilt and regret, believing her clan would never take her back but at the same time, for years she still held out hope that he would bring her into his family for real. This was held up by the fact that he would regularly come to spend time with them and when alone he would shower her in affection, but around others, act like he hardly knew her. 

After six years she succumbed to her depression, Aves found her in their bedroom in the servant quarters. In a rare show of kindness (or obligation) her father formally adopted her into the main family, but made her swear to never speak of her mothers heritage, convincing her that doing so would destroy her fathers business and result in them losing everything. She developed a complex about it mixing it with misunderstanding the shame her mother felt about her life with shame of her own heritage. She never even knew the name of her mothers clan, her mother would never speak about herself.  

Three months after her mother died, her father married a woman Aves had never met. Her father and step mother ended up having 5 more children. She was the black sheep of the family and was shown occasional affection from her father, and was barely acknowledged at all by his wife. Her father looked at her like a burden and her step mother wouldn't look at her at all. 

Her magic came in at 12 during a heated argument, in the form of a circle of spitting fire that shot out like fireworks. Her father had a distant cousin who was a mage who agreed to take her on as a pupil, she went to Ayesleigh to live with him. She learnt the basics, but found him unsettling, after two years she had had enough and ran away. 

She bounced around the next few years living on the beach and meeting fellow vagabonds. Learning magic and life skills informally from wanderers and beatniks. 

She eventually ended up travelling up and down the coast with an acrobatic troupe who would go town to town doing risky and elaborate performances for onlookers. It was run by a hard edged money hungry, yet extremely charismatic man who barely paid them at all, they would often perform for ‘room and board’.  

She met the most extraordinary people being part of that travelling show, eccentric, creative, different. They taught her how to be the best version of herself, kind, empathetic and strong. She performed the high rope with 3 others, all elves, and learnt to control her magic from an old Qunari woman who tended the animals. Aves would take her second name with her when she left. ‘Laidir’. 

Though it wasn’t all fun and games, they were expected to perform twice a day 6 days a week, often travelling at night and rehearsing on the 7th day. Additionally each performer was pressured into getting facial scarification to mark them as members of the company, one mark for every year. She got all her arms and legs tattooed by a dwarf who would perform as a ‘strong man’ who was so heavily tattooed and had such a long beard you could barely see two inches of free skin. 

The show eventually fizzled out and closed down, and most went their separate ways.

One day, she got caught pickpocketing a woman who turned out to be Isabella. Isabella was so impressed that Aves had managed to get so close that she offered her an opportunity to join the Lords of Fortune.

Meme that represents her the best:

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Happy one year anniversary to this special game, this miracle, this tragedy. Thedas, you will always be famous.

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Neve Gallus appreciation post for Neve Week over at @datvcompanionweeks!! She took charge under cataclysmic circumstances when no one else could, and we thank her for it.

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Lace Harding for Harding Week over at @datvcompanionweeks 💙🩵

[medlilove]

Keeping my Comms sheet simple in the year 2025. Please reblog and help my jobless self out. xoxo

Feel free to PM me if interested. you can see all examples of my work here: https://www.tumblr.com/search/medliloveart?src=recent_search

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Who wants an OC drawn?!!

[medlilove]

I saw these stunning bespoke fashion pieces by @mutsu_by_pf a while back over on Pinterest. For months now I’ve been meaning to draw Emmrich Volkarin modelling them, they were just too perfect for our fruity, romantic, stylish necromancer. Please give Mutsu by PF a follow on instagram and click on this image for full resolution. I never meant for this to become such a detailed image but I just could. Not. Stop. Physical print likely incoming…

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I thought these two looked good together

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Endless shots of Davrin ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

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Haven’t been active here for a while, but finally getting through the third arc of Ise’s play through. He’s a Dalish non mage healer who runs off into the sunset with a certain necromancer ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

[medlilove]

↓↓DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED VEILGUARD + Click for full res.

Harding’s mother knew her daughter's work had taken her far and wide, and she had connected with many different people. But never did she ever imagined so many would come.

It was a stunning sight. In robes and armour, in scarlet and blue and gold and green, they had journeyed across all of Thedas to their sleepy little hamlet. They had filled the humble inns and the surrounding fields, full of spring heather, transformed into colourful campsites. They had come, with gold jewellery and shining armour, they had come with holes in their shoes and worn-out leathers, they had come and sat side by side. To honour her sacrifice and celebrate her memory. She had seen then how her daughter had known the whole world, and in return, the whole world had loved her—the hero of the final blight, the hero from Ferelden.

(click for a lot more detail) ↓

Her home away from home—the Veilguard—had arrived first and stayed the longest, some had helped set up, others had gone about fixing old roofs, helping the farmers repair their equipment, planting gardens, bringing ingredients from all over and cooking large meals, and talking to her and her husband about all Lace had done.

Then more and more started arriving, celebrated for three days and three nights. Many Harding’s mother had not known at all—Tevinter civilians, assassins from Antiva, fortune seekers, and seers from Rivain. There had been Elves with beautiful, delicate tattoos from far-off northern forests, Grey Wardens in uniforms so different from what she had known, Dwarves dressed in peculiar garb who had not stayed long, and Nevarran scholars with dark jewellery, black robes, and warm, generous dispositions.

And old friends too.

Commander Cullen, Lily Trevelyan, and their young family had brought fruit and fruit seeds from their small farm in the valley over.The Iron Bull—the tallest Qunari Harding’s mother had ever seen, and the kindest and most respectful—he and his Chargers had brought crates of honey mead, before starting up a game of sport with the village children. Soon after, they had been joined by Sera, Lace’s fellow archer, who had offered to let each child try out her bow. Watched by Dorian, who had soon grown bored and returned to the garden to Neve, whom he had walked around and introduced to old friends.

Josephine had arrived late, flushed, and emotional without a hair out of place, but had made up for it by immediately taking charge of herding the crowds this way and that. The Herald, Lavellan, had sat outside in the sun watching her young daughter play in the grass, frail and weakened by what the mark had left—and was still taking. Yet she had spoken to every person who had passed by. Many faces had wandered through to sit beside her and speak. In particular, Lady Cassandra—silver lines of hair mixed with her black—had sat with her the longest. Both had been stricken with the loss and the burden of leadership, a hole in each of their hearts for the knowledge that Harding had died dressed as an Inquisition Scout.

Harding’s mother had never seen the Divine up close, but had heard a great deal about her from Lace. Her strength as a spellsword, quick wit and sharp mind had made her an intimidating idea. Yet, she had come dressed in simple robes—perfectly tailored and beautiful, but simple. With just a cape and a modest headdress. No guards. If you hadn’t known who she was, you would have been forgiven for mistaking her as a high-ranking Circle mage—nothing more. She had arrived with no great entrance, heading immediately to her and her husband. She had sat with them for an hour, as the sun had glistened in a golden afternoon light, before walking with them to the small chantry that sat in the centre of the village. After that, she had gone to old friends, sitting on a wooden bench beneath the cherry tree, speaking with a rugged, rough-looking man with a black beard streaked with grey and looking like he had lived a thousand lifetimes—a complete contrast to her well-kept, elegant appearance.

As the friends and family had gathered for the formal ceremony, Vivienne, had performed the Chantry rites. Afterwards, a few people had taken turns to speak. The Herald, then Rook—their young leader of the Veilguard—before the dragon hunter, tall and stoic, and so young, who had been so blunt and informal it had been almost funny. The days spent in Harding’s home with her mother had softened Taash’s heartbreak just enough.

The Inquisition Spymaster and the Witch of the Wilds had made an odd pairing as they had stood away from the rest, beneath the oak tree on the hill. They had stood so close you might have mistaken them as sisters—or perhaps simply two people who had experienced too much together. Later, as the sun had begun to set, they had been joined by another. A man, around the same age, but his face had been in shadow. He had worn simple travelling robes, and a cloak with his hood up, a strawberry blond beard speckled with silver, and a sword at his side. The three had stood informally in a line looking down at the gathering. Later, in the evening, as guests had begun to wander off for rest, the man—brown eyes, heavy yet still shining—had asked to speak to Harding’s mother and her husband privately, to pay his respects to a “Hero from Ferelden.”

(if there is anyone I forgot to mention, they were also there, what do you think they were doing?) I had this idea for months but could only finish it now. I hate that it feels like it was meant to be harding, the sacrifice.

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We stand of heathen land

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They match each others freak weird confidence

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Let the devil in

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Was he always this tall?

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The lighting in my game was glitching out for a while, it made the lighthouse really sunny, it was lovely!

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Drink deep of the ale while it's still cold. Marvel at the breadth of the hall. Once you couldn't move for the host. The Stone now embraces them all

―Shaper Tole

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The dragons crooked spine will never straighten in to line