The Veilguard soundtrack slaps every time. I love all the soundtracks to all the games. They capture the essence of each games so well.
DAO -forlorn, spanning, ethereal, epic you can feel the darkspawn approaching
DA2 - oppressive, contemptuous, rebellious, with constant edge-of-survival/fighting-to-the-death/having-a-ball-at-the-man’s-expense
DAI - gritty, hopeful, you can feel the open world and the end of the world all at once. That cello feels like the fade bleeding into the structural composition of the past games’ more oppressive feel.
DAV - instantly feel the pressure, the first few notes of DAO in the fist notes of the melody of the theme pulling you all the way back, the orchestration builds to being surrounded by fights and literally twisting your way out of it.
This started with a drive home that instantly got better with the DAV theme shuffling into my stereo. I got curious. I listened to the DAO soundtrack and literally the first notes of the DAO theme are used as a refrain for DAV theme. Zimmer/Balfe literally married Zur with Morris in so much of his work and the critmaxxers are out there literally trivializing it
I have a hard time thinking about Veilguard without wondering about Rook’s Prison of Regret.
I’m constantly writing about them. What the guard is doing while Rook’s gone. How it plays out to each with back stories and cannon and everything in between.
Day (oh who knows) of Reddit r/dragonage being filled with obstinate people who literally dig their heels in so hard about their feelings about Veilguard they don’t realize they are experiencing the exact thing they say it lacks.
I’m debating someone who claims Lucanis’ possession has zero nuance. That it is ridiculous and “friendship is magic” is the only takeaway.
As the comments flow, the nuance is fed. And yet…is there a version of Veilguard Bean Soup that doesn’t have Beans?
Who do you think possessed Lucanis?
A demon of Spite and Lucanis made a deal
A spirit of Determination that was corrupted after
From the first playthrough of DAI, after we get back to Haven, we wake up, the brother is in the war room trying and gets dismissed by Cass…and she pulls out a thicccccc book. Looks absolutely familiar. I’ve seen this book.
“Do you know what this is?”
Me: THE TOME OF KOSLUN!
I guess you have to read the spine cuz all Thadosean books are bound the same.
Why can’t (again, specifically Reddit) some people understand that the myriad possessions we encounter throughout the IP IS THE LORE!??!
The nuance. The hypocrisy. The double standards. IS. THE. LORE.
Also, why can’t people realize the brilliance of DA2 is that it is Varric’s story!? Andraste’s flaming tits. He tells Cass exactly what she wants to hear. Hides so much in the negative space. You cannot trust this narrative AND you have to account for every moment of it to find the truth.
Again he fell. Again he hit the cliff with a bone shattering stop that should have ended him.
The pain was there. The pops and cracks of bone and tendon. His breath eluded him for minutes. Each time was harder. Longer. Each time he found his breath. His bones mended. His heart raced. His mind fell instantly to Bell.
He turned onto his back and tried to find the path from the ritual site. The buildings and statues. The obstacles that cracked his skull and bloodied his mouth were absent in the green maw of the endless fade above. He knew he could stand. He knew he could do anything. And the more certain he was of anything, the more real it all became.
Perhaps, Rook thought, if I think of nothing, clear my mind and imagine just being back there.
Emmrich’s voice called to him to take the dagger. Bellara noted the tear in the fade. Just hold that. The moment before. Go to the moment before. Then just don’t take the dagger. But his hand would reach out. He would pull it from Ghili’nain’s fresh corpse. And he fell again. Landed anew. Broke again.
He turned to his back and stared.
A prison built for gods. Mages with the ability to change the very fabric of the fade would stand no chance here. How could a mortal, mundane city elf?
How many times has he done this? Living the worst moments of his life over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.
If this were a dream, hours would be measured only. Wherever his body lay.
“But I’m not dreaming.” How many times did he remind himself this?
Bellara. If he closed his eyes he could feel her on his skin. The electric buzz of her kiss. She never materialized here. And he ached for her. She’d say something that would get him out of here. She’s run headlong into the solution like a lightning bolt.
Rook gasped. His breath sputtered as his body fought the inevitable. Bellara pulled Rook into her lap, his body limp, weak, fading.
“Is everyone okay?” Rook grasped at her. “They all knew. They believed. Are they fine?”
“The fight below went our way.” Neve placed a steady hand on Bellara’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Bel.” Rook began to sob. “I made it so much worse. The gods. The Veil! I shouldn’t have rushed in after you. I should have-“
He coughed as his body fought the consequences of killing an archdemon.
“Rook, hush. It’s over.”
“I can’t hear the whispers. The blight?”
“It stopped calling,” Davrin knelt and took Rook’s other hand as it floated, looking for something to hold on to, “you should have let me kill it. I was trained for that.”
“Why can’t I hear it?” Rook’s eyes scanned far horizons, focusing on nothing in the dark that clouded his vision. “I can’t feel you! Why can’t I feel you?”
“Rook!” Bellara choked back a sob.
“Stay with me.” He clawed at her hold to keep her arms around him. “Nothing. There’s nothing.”
“Calm, Fen. Breathe.” Lucanis was at Rook’s knees.
“The air is too thin.” Rook’s chest heaved with each breath. “I can’t get a breath in. It’s so dark.”
The veil began to writhe and peel around them in fantastic flashes of light. It started to lap at Rook like lightning. Rook yelled with the pain of the searing light.
“Ah!” He clasped his hands over his ears “there are so many whispers! So many voices!”
The Veilguard held each other as they watched the veil crackle around him, deaf to the voices that haunted Rook.
“Bellara!” Rook called to her, unaware he was in her arms. The light dancing around the guard, avoiding them and threading into Rook’s scars.
“Bellara! Are you here?”
“I’m right here, Rook.”
“Why can’t I hear you? I hear so many others! So, so many!”
“I’m with you, Rook, we’re all here.” The others reached down and held on to him as he jolted with each flash of light.
“Stay with me, Bellara. The veil! It’s falling. I can’t feel it anymore.”
“Rook, we’re here.”
“Don’t let go.” Neve pleaded to Rook.
“Don’t let go.” Lucanis took her hand in his free hand.
“Don’t let go.” Taash pulled Harding in close to her, both sobbing uncontrollably. “Don’t let go.”
“Don’t let go.” Emmrich commanded. He started to pull at the raw fade, desperately trying to keep it under control.
“Don’t let go.” Davrin barked. Trying to be louder than the deafening power.
Rook held his hands up to shield his eyes from the blinding light. Bellara leaned in and tried to block the Veil from consuming him.
“Bellara!” His voice softened to a coo. “It’s you!”
Bellara looked up and saw they were cocooned in a ball of light formed by the raw magic.
He stood slowly, testing his sudden wellness, pulling her to her feet. They looked around at the vast empty, the dancing lights swirling and skipping into the endless fade.
“You’re shining.” He laughed.
“You’re shining!” She leapt into his arms.
They kissed. Nothing was more important. Nothing remained but the other.
Someone was keeping time without day or night, but it wasn’t Rook. He had sat and stared absentlymindedly. Not completely absent. His thoughts were on Bellara. He couldn’t see her anymore. He tried to think of the Veilguard. Once. It angered Elgar’nan and threw Rook onto the ground in pain. They would go on without him.
His body buzzed. The red in his veins did not recede. Nor did the pain. Like a knife constantly drawing across every inch of skin with scars. He had forgotten how much of his body had been marred in his youth. It all but healed in the nearly two decades.
“Stand.” It was all Bataris had to say to bring Rook to his feet. Only when he stood did his body understand how long he had sat, knees pulled up to his chest. Chin resting on his knees. Eyes staring through the hole in the wall.
“Follow.” The Magister lead Rook through the suite and down a long hallway. “We have a present for you.”
They pushed through heavy double doors. Bound, gagged, and unconscious sat Bellara.
Rook started for her.
“No.”
Rook froze, his body seizing in pain.
“Wonderful.” Bataris held a staff. At the top was an orb of red lyrium. He relaxed the tip away from Rook and Rook also relaxed.
“What-“ Rook was wild-eyed.
“Still so much will.” Bataris laughed. “You thought you got that little relic from my hands? Our risen god saw to it I was gifted a better one.”
“How?” Rook panted.
“Wake her.” Alvin Bataris waved a hand and Lath, the Qunari manservant, shook her.
She was beaten, pale. She saw Rook across the room. But it wasn’t her Rook. He was naked, glowing red. But he watched her with eyes she had come to know. Lath removed her gag.
“Rook?”
Rook looked to Bataris. The mage nodded.
“It’s me, Bel.”
“Where are we?”
“The-“ pain seized him again.
Bataris clicked his tongue. “Now, now, somethings are not to be known.”
“Let him go!” Bellara pulled at her restraints.
“But he’s already learned so much.”
Rook relaxed and drooped forward. Bataris pet Rook’s head. He lifted his hand and wiped the sweat, blood and blight that cling to the elf.
“Shall we try again?”
Rook looked up helplessly at Bellara. He had all the power to free her right now. But that staff.
“He is Lusican’s now. As are you. He can only save you through obedience.”
“Rook!” Bellara sighed. “Stay strong.”
He looked up at her, tears welling in his eyes. He stood up again and took one step toward her. Slowly. And stopped. He looked at Bataris.
“Acceptable. But Lusican has plans for her. This will be the last time you see her before she is risen to a better purpose.”
“What!?” Bellara pulled at her ties. A bolt of lightning zapped near her, as she tried with every power she had to be free.
Lath slapped her and she calmed. Rook stiffened. His breath sped up. But he didn’t move, clenching his fists to reroute the fury that raced through him.
“Interesting.” Bataris watched. “Hit her again.”
“Please don’t.” Rook turned to the mage. Bataris held up a hand staying Lath.
“You will instead.”
“Please.” Rook begged.
A mild burst of heat rippled up the scars on his back. Rook stepped forward slowly. His walk was jagged. Unnatural. He was at Ballara’s feet.
“What will you do if I don’t?” Rook was calm, inquisitive.
“I’ll make you kill her.” Albin smirked.
“Slap me, Rook. It’s okay. You can’t hurt me worse than already.”
“Bel!” Rook’s face contracted. She sat up more. His body worked without him. He raised his hand, paused, and raked the back of his hand across her cheek. Instantly he knelt and took her in his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re so strong!” She tried to lighten the mood, hiding the blood he drew across her cheekbone.
“They changed me. Already. I’m-“ he said less. Burying his head in her lap; he cried. She ran leaned forward and dropped her forehead on his back.
“Now you’ll really see change!” Bataris chuckled.
Lath pulled Rook up. Rook shook him off snd knealt at her feet.
“Does it hurt?” Bellara asked, her curiosity ever present. cheek was streaming.
He pressed his thumb to the wound. “Incredibly.”
Lath put his hand on Rook’s shoulder to pull him from her. He turned and backhanded the Qunari, sending him falling a few meters away.
Rook threw his arms in the air, to surrender to Bataris. “It was a reflex.” Rook smiled a bit.
“Control yourself or I will.” Bataris watched as Rook turned back to Bellara.
“I will find you. I’ll always find you.”
“Rook, I don’t think this time-“
He quieted her with his lips. If it was the last chance he’ll have to feel her kiss, he would snag it to silence her doubts.
He stiffened and fell to the floor in pain.
“No!! No! Stop! Please! Stop!” Bellara began to cry.
“He is not yours! He belongs to the risen god now!”
“Just stop!”
Rook panted and shook as his body tried to escape the pain. Suddenly it was gone. And so was Bellara. Lath pulled up Rook by his neck and threw him into the chair she vacated.
“Cut his hair. Clean him up. We have work to do.”
Blight wrapped around Rook. It was cold. For something so alive, Rook was unnerved it was so clammy. He was offered gave no protection from the sensation or the way it tugged at his skin. Skin that already hurt. He breathed through the pain like a Crow.
“Such good training. Such a fine specimen.”
Elgar’nan.
Bataris escorted in a barber. She had all the airs of a cultist. She paused in front of Rook. Her long fingers grasped his chin and she turned his head from side to side.
“Elves are so attractive. This one has strong Dalish roots. The bone structure. I only keep the most staunch Dalish in my service. Much more pleasing to the eye.”
Rook wanted to spit in her face. An image of Bellara being hit again, quick, like a flash of light from an alchemical flask, blinked across his vision.
Did his thought actually harm her? He tried to swallow his contempt. He blocked out the rest of the conversation. Disassociating. Removing reaction. He’d keep Bel as safe as possible. If he was alive, she’d be alive. He had to trust that, if anything.
The barber began shearing off his hair. The shoulder-length locks of blood and blight stained sliver fluttered to the floor. Bataris gave suggestions, a bit of length on top, make him look aggressive. Dangerous. Indomitable.
“And this. A gift from our risen god.” He handed the barber a small red crystal. It looked like a tiny warding crystal.
“Yes!” She laughed, knowing full well its purpose. She braided a chunk of hair left long tightly, weaving in a spell, Rook could feel the tingle of magic in his skull. As she knitted in the crystal, his scars throbbed.
“Perfect.” Bataris stepped back. “I am pleased. He looks like the weapon he is meant to be.”
Rook shot a look at Bataris. Before he could think, Bel was back, a scream. Rook calmed his face and looked beyond the cultists to the window and the rainy sky beyond.
“Lunch is served.” A masked figure in black robes cut at odd angles opened the door hesitantly.
Bataris waved his hand and the blight dropped from Rook. He stood, compelled more than desiring to. The barber scanned his entire physique.
A second slave brought over a pile of clothes. Handing them to Bataris, he inspected them and the slave circled Rook.
“May I?” The barber asked Bataris, gesturing at Rook.
“See the glory of Lusican’s work! It is exquisite.”
The barber ran her fingers along the scars. “You can feel the warmth of the lyrium. Hear it’s song! Do you hear it?”
She leered at Rook.
“I hear only Elgar’nan.” Rook wondered if that was the song.
“How blessed!” The barber clapped her hands in front of her mouth, tears filling her eyes. “Albin, his eyes!”
“The work is nearly complete. He is nearly an extension of Lusican’s already expansive reach. Only some minor modifications, you know how slaves can be.”
“Some are so stubborn.”
They laughed. The robed slaves dressed Rook. It was a perfectly altered suit. Light. Flexible. Somehow his scars glowed through the material. It had the asymmetric hems and seams, deep reds cut by strong blacks. It wrapped around him like a fist.
Rook recalled the fit of his first Crow leathers. The pride. The sense of accomplishment. The eagerness to utilize his new skills. Excel. Bring reputations to his House.
He spared a quick thought for Viago. He held a second thought and any emotion it would bring. Everything was about protecting Bellara. The only connection to self he had left.
He was following Bataris before he realized he was moving. The scars hurt less now. The charm tied him his hair was a focus, stabilizing the lyrium.
The dining hall was filled. It reminded Rook of conventions. He had targets at them from time to time. Important people gathered to talk about how important they all were.
“They are beneath you yet, Rook.” Elgar’nan whispered. “You will ascend to heights they cannot even imagine.”
Bataris lead Rook to the stage at the front of the room.
“Our risen god wants to unveil the newest weapon in his army. Time is shortening before the upstarts find a way into Minrathous. But the Wolf has been silenced. And his pawn has been castled. The king is safer now than he has ever been.”
“This is the famed Rook?” A voice, unimpressed, called from the crowd. “An elf?”
“Your god is an elf!” Rook spat before he could stop. “Sublimated. Devine. Ancient.”
Rook was not speaking. Elgar’nan spoke through him. Something the charm allowed.
“Step forward!” Bataris pointed out into the crowd still wielding the staff that could control Rook.
The mage stood and sauntered up to the stage.
“Care to duel?” Bataris cleared the stage.
“He has no weapons. I have magic.”
“Then this should be easy for you.”
Rook stepped into a fighting stance. He panicked. He had faced mages plenty, but spells were only blocked or deflected by steel. The mage took stance and readied his wand.
The mage was adept, silently flinging spells at Rook. All his Crow training came into play. As he figured out the rhythm to the casting, he embellished his dodges for theatrical effect. He hit the ground as a quick, unexpected spell smashed across the stage, rippling blood magic at him. He absorbed the spell.
He paused. He absorbed the spell. The effects rippled through his scars. They lit up as he stifled the pain, refusing to seem even remotely affected by the magic. He leapt across the stage, landing just to the side of the mage and spinning, dodging another attack, and wrapping the mage in his arms, locking his head in the crook of his elbow. No match for Rook’s strength, even without the enhancements, the mage tried to force him off with magic.
The crowd gasped as the force blew open the back wall, sending Bataris flailing, the curtains to the stage came toppling down, the front row of tables was toppled and the cultist scattered. But when the dust settles, Rook held the mage tightly. The clawing at his arm slowed until the mage passed out. Rook would kill him, he didn’t care.
“Release him.” Elgar’nan stepped through the hole in the wall as fog from the exterior bellowed in around him.
Rook dropped the mage and then dropped to a knee. He could feel the god’s magic moving him into the position. With a sweeping wave of his hand, the room was righted, the wall fixed the curtain hung, as if time reversed.
“Who is next? If you can shed one drop of blood of my keenest weapon, you will command armies!”
There was hesitation. So many faces Rook remembered from the throne room. Ripping him open, rending his flesh, killing him over and over as Elgar’nan brought him back to life. Rook’s red irises glowered at the crowd.
For an hour he dueled without exhaustion. He was always stopped from killing any of the pretenders. Always denied a lusty revenge.
A woman took the stage, her blonde hair and black eyes were enchanting.
“You killed Zara.”
“Illario Dellamorte killed Zara.” Rook clarified, sassy. He held back being too haughty.
“Not before you and the Demon had her on her knees!” She hissed.
“It was more her ass.” Rook was glad he still had reign over his sarcasm.
“She was my blood.”
The woman inched closer to Rook.
“My condolences for your loss.” Rook spit.
She slapped him. Hard. Clean across his face. He felt his cheek tear. He swallowed blood that seeped into his mouth from a clean cut through his cheek.
He didn’t fight back. Or couldn’t. Before he could move he was thrust into the air and pinned, stretched to breaking a few feet off the ground. His cheek healed almost as quickly as it opened, the blood caging him.
“Very well done, da’len.” Elgar’nan clapped, slowly until the crowd fully joined. “Elana Renata. Niece of the deceased. Heir to the magistrate Seph Renata. Commander of Legions.”
The crowd was compelled to rise and bow.
“What would you have of Rook?” Elgar’nan lowered the elf to kneeling at her feet, face forced down.
“I bid him kill The Demon of Vyrantium, and his cousin, Illario, for the murder of Zara Renata.”
“Is that all?” Elgar’nan was unimpressed with the petty needs of humans.
“To serve you is enough for me, my lord. To see him kill one whom he loves as family is for entertainment.” She hooked the crook of her serpent shaped staff under Rook’s chin and made him look her in the eye. She was pleased to see the terror behind the lyrium glow.
“Inspired.” Elgar’nan laughed. Rook was allowed to stand.
He would never let anyone within arm’s reach of him again he would suffer whatever consequence. It would never by choice let one of the cultists get the best of him. He didn’t think about the sentence. He didn’t give a thought to the possibility. If he ever was in the same room with the Dellamortes again, more would have transpired against this god and his followers.
It was a fight he was not sure he could win.
Bataris and Elgar’nan spoke out of Rook’s considerable earshot. Albin bowed. Elgar’nan stepped through the veil and was gone.
“You rest. Food and confinement and then we work again tomorrow.” Bataris took joy in waving his staff, crumpling Rook to a knee in pain as he passed. When he was far enough ahead, he released the elf. Rook followed to his cell. A full meal, with wine and coffee waited for him on the side table.
He ate. Tentatively. The food was excellent. The wine top quality. The coffee rivaled…the best cups he’d had in his life. He thought little more beyond that. A bath was prepared for him. It smelt of lavender and mint. As he sponged his skin, the essences cooled the fire within. As he washed away the lingering blight, he felt his old life also washing away. There was something terrifyingly enticing about submitting to this role. It would be easy to fight, exert his training and kill. As he was always meant to. To be of service to a god his elders once taught him to esteem. Keeping in service ensured the veil would remain in tact. Ghilan’nain was dead. The threat of the worst of it seemed lessened.
She held a hand gently out to Rook. Her face was calm but cautious, listening for any effects of breaking the charm.
No one noticed the darkened eluvian in the corner, nor that it was activating.
“That is a certainty.”
Elgar’nan’s voice whined from the mirror like metal scraping in metal. Before anyone could move, a tentacle of blight wrapped itself around Bellara and sucked her into the mirror with a squelch.
Rook did not hesitate. He leapt in after her. Quicker than any. Quicker than Davrin’s hand that caught naught but the mist of the remnants of blight. He ran after them, but the mirror went dark and he smashed it face first.
“Rook! You idiot!” Lucanis screamed. He paused at the lyrium dagger Rook dropped in his haste.
Rook heard none of it. The blight tendril moved faster than he could keep up. And more blight caught at his ankles as he worked every bit of acrobatics he knew to catch her. All he could hear was Bellara. He called after her.
She screamed. Reaching out to him. He leapt and caught her hand just as a tendril wrapped around his ankle. They were held aloft in a large chamber. Bellara stopped by Rook’s grasp five or so meters from the ground. Rook below her one hand clasped on her wrist, the other flailing for anything else. Holding fast as long as their grip would keep. But the blight was as strong as Elgar’nan’s will. Rook grunted as his body was pulled taught. Whatever strength he had would overcome the power of the blight. He would not let Bellara go. She yelled in pain as the tendrils strained to part them.
“Rook! Don’t let go!”
“Never, Bel. I’ll never leave you! I Lo-“
A third tendril shot up and smacked Rook square in the jaw. His hand dropped instantly. Rook tumbled to the ground and hit the blight with a wet thud. He was out cold. Flopping forward over a tendril. Bellara wailed and screamed until another wrapped its fleshy finger over her mouth.
Rook folded forward, motionless. There was no sound but the gentle pulsing blight that bounced about the room. Rook softly groaned. Bellara could hear Solas in all of it. Like he did early on in Rook’s sleep. Shots of magic pulsed over Rook’s scars as the Dread Wolf sought to wake the elf.
They hung like that for what seemed an eternity. Then the chamber shook. Hours upon hours later. Rook was still unconscious. He went silent. Bellara wept into her binds, stuck wondering if Rook was dead just meters away.
The room was engulfed in a terrifyingly bright light. The sound of an archdemon roaring. But not just roaring. The guttural cry of pain and anger. Elgar’nan used his dragon thrall for immense blood magic. Bellara blinked through the light as her eyes adjusted. Everything was a weird blue. Colors were skewed.
The tendrils moved and she and Rook were raised and passed through another eluvian. The blight dumped them at the god’s hems of his battle robes. Three high ranking Venatori magisters and three Antaam commanders flanked the towering elf.
Bellara struggled to find strength enough to rise to her knees. Most of her body had fallen asleep. Rook rolled across the ground, stopping on his back, his head resting facing Bellara. She fell to him. He was cold, life-less.
“I have caught two birds with one enchantment, it seems.” he pulled Rook’s body up to his height with a tendril wrapped around the dwarfed elf’s neck. “Awww, Rook. How you shall make them pay for what they have done to my sister.”
“Let him go!” Bellara thrashed against the tendril.
He waved his hand and two Antaam grabbed the Veil Jumper and dragged her off. She kicked and screamed and cried out to Rook.
“Rook cannot help you. Yet.” Elgar’nan looked at the remaining magisters. “By the time he wakes you will have him enthralled to me. Let’s see how Solas likes my castle.”
The last thing Bellara saw before being shuttled to her own doom was Elgar’nan forcing Rook awake with magic. Rook screamed in the pain of the spells waking and holding him. He floated a few feet off the ground and still was not at eye level to the god. His scars all glowed with the power of the fade ripping through him.
Tears of blood blinded Rook. He could only see blurred blight surrounding a very angry and sadistic smile on what he knew was Elgar’nan’s face.
“Rook. Your god thanks you for making this so easy.”
“You. Are. Not. My. God.” Rook muttered through the pain and clenched teeth he could not open.
The response was more pain. Rook’s body would have lost consciousness by now, to protect him. Like it had in his Crow training days. But the god of vengeance would not allow escape. He would know every moment of what was happening to him.
Elgar’nan waved a bored hand and Rook fell back to the ground. He tried to push himself up, but he fell, bloodying his nose on the stone. The two Venatori laughed as Rook shook.
“Take him. We will perfect him. Give him the gifts of the gods he has forsaken. And make him remember this was all because he sought to defy me. Let him always know that loyalty is his salvation. And it was I who elevated him beyond the pain of resistance. And let him know his resistance will only hurt his beloved Dalish more. Let him see her change and wither in his defiance. Only his love, for me, for her, will save them.”
Rook shook under the pain, which had subsided enough for him to hear every word.
“Bel.” He thought.
“You did this to her.” Elgar’nan was in his head again. “And Solas did this to you.”
Few words could describe any of this. Rook had sublimated beyond pain. His existence seemed unreal. Part of him wondered if he was dead and trapped in his corpse the way he imagined Emmrich when he spoke of being a lich. Elgar’nan was there to answer every thought. Assuring him he was alive and at the grace of his Creator.
He was released from some of the spells, but the Fade clung to his scars. A lyrium collar and cuffs were slapped around his neck and wrists. He heard the voice of the most senior commander call him to follow, and he was compelled. Every second of resistance was met with debilitating pain. And when he hurt, he saw Bellara, wherever she was now, also in pain. And she was not trained to battle this torture as he was. And it was too much for him. Stopping his breath for as long as he resisted. But no matter how long he did, he would not die. He would only suffer as the magic kept his body functioning. Bellara, though, Elgar’nan promised, would not. Rook walked willingly.
They took an eluvian directly to the archon’s palace high above Minrathous. Rook had only ever heard of its opulence, and it was grander than his imagination. Magic and wealth combined over centuries to create awe. Blight was already growing in. Wrapping through windows. The veil was so thin here Rook could smell the magic. Tinny. Cold.
He was taken directly to the throne room where every chair was filled by supportive Magisters, Venatori leaders, and the corpses of some unlucky opposing magisters who were present during the usurpation.
“Fenrir de Riva!” Elgar’nan sat at the throne. It was made larger with the aid of blight. A red glow filled the room from the eclipse.
Rook looked at him. Glaring. He clenched his jaw tight. Elgar’nan pointed and Rook fell to a knee. “Speak!”
“I am Fen de Riva.” Rook croaked. The hall laughed at his weakness.
“Also known as Rook.”
“Yes.” It was impossible to speak and yet his body made sound. Like corpses animated to whisper their own truths.
“Why are you here?”
Rook glared at the god. His wild. His determination. His reckless screamed inside him. But he saw Bellara easily in his mind’s eye. Her face stained with tears and blight. Her eyes bloodshot. Eager for him not to hurt her any more. He apologized to her. Hoping she could hear his kind words locked in his heart for her.
“Speak, elf!” The god said the word as if he weren’t also an elf. That he was above the criticisms of his race. “None of that sap. You defied your god now speak to him!”
Bellara writhed in pain.
“I am here because I sought to defy you!” Rook held out his hands, pleading for him to release her.
“You seek more than defiance.”
Bellara began to twist unnaturally.
“I sought to kill you!” Rook fell on the steps. He didn’t know if Elgar’nan was making him look weak, groveling, or if he desperately wanted him to stop his torturing Bellara. “I gathered a team to kill you.”
“As they have killed my sister.”
Rook’s eyes widened. They did it. Without him. They still could.
“Yes. They have the Wolf’s Tooth but not his pawn. They need you not.”
“But I brought them together. Made them strong enough to kill a god!” Rook pleaded. His guilt could save Bel. Yet he couldn’t tell if this was his voice, his will, or not, speaking. “I am complicit in Ghilin’nan’s death.”
“Hundreds of your lives we ruled. We flourished. To be ended by such quickened children.”
Elgar’nan thrust his hand out. A part of the veil ripped open and pulled Rook to the center of the room. The crowd cheered at the spectacle. Rook screamed again. Unable to keep the pain and surprise quiet. The more he made a display of his pain, the more the Venatori cheered. And the more pain Elgar’nan would create.
Rook could see his smile. His disgusting pleasure and a room full of people applauding his depravity.
But the more Rook endured, the calmer Bellara seemed to look. As if his torture saved her.
“I find you guilty of treason, Rook de Riva.” The god stood. “And I sentence you to a lifetime of service to your last remaining god. We will see you changed, improved, and we will find your love for your god.”
With every sentence the crown cheered.
“I will protect him as I protect myself.” Elgar’nan’s golden eyes glistened with cruelty. “Try to destroy him. Do your worst.”
There was a hesitation. But one mage stood and pulled lightning down upon Rook. He bellowed as his body felt the spell that would have sent him sprawling. But he absorbed it. The power sizzling through his skin. A fireball burned his flesh, flesh that ate it and stored it in the very scars meant for magic. Ice. Blood magic. Spell after spell ripped into Rook. Battered him about as the Veil he tried to save held him aloft for his punishment.
A magister took a dagger and sliced Rook’s leg. The blood that spilled almost glowed with the amount of lyrium he was pumped with. The blood was turned on him, slicing into his scars, tearing the scraps of his clothes to shreds and splicing open every lyrium scar across his body.
Rook was dumb with anguish.
Another took liquid red lyrium and poured it up his body, trapping the molten metal in his open wounds with a spell to heal the skin. Rook tried to pull away from the pain, but it was everywhere. And Elgar’nan made sure he was aware of every second of his punishment.
Rook drooped in the air after hours of the Venatori’s amusement. One by one each was allowed to name their grievances and attempt to kill the god’s new toy. Each was not able to overpower Elgar’nan’s spell. Each laughed at amazement as the ancient elf was able to easily out match them.
“What have you to say now, Rook?”
“Please.” He could barely talk. He couldn’t think. He could only breathe and dangle.
“Exactly.” The god lowered Rook to a pile on his knees. The color and cuffs fell off, giving Rook a reprieve from a portion of the pain.
“Look at me.”
Rook raised his head. Or his head raised without his consent. He couldn’t tell.
“Good. Less defiance in your eyes. You have done well. Rook. But you have only felt a fraction of what I owe you for my sister’s death.”
Tears filled Rook’s eyes. They were bloodshot, the whites of his eyes now an unnatural red glow from the blood magic. His irises dimmed and still green. His pupils were pinpoints. Every scar glowed red. His skin paled with exhaustion. His muscles ached with the power that coursed through his blood. He was unable to hold a thought, speak clearly, or move.
“Yes.” Rook felt the word slide over his tongue like a fresh drink of water.
“Commander Bataris, take him to your chambers. You shall have a chance to show your worth, as we discussed. What better subject have we?”
“I have not forgotten you.” It was the son. The one Neve caught and the Templar Commander loosed. “My father cannot see how far I’ve risen, but you will.”
With a spell, Rook was compelled to rise and follow the cultist.
Rook felt more and more like an undead creature. His will at the mercy of others. He wanted to test his own will, but the vision of a broken Bellara silenced his autonomy. His took to wondering if this is what undead endure. The souls of their lives caught up with the will of magic compelling them.
He then recalled the moment he decided he would do anything and everything Viago demanded. He remembered the day his fear melted away under the torturous methods of the Crows. When his desire to excel overshadowed the fear and pain.
When did that sense of loyalty shift? Was it ever autonomy? He saw the loyalty to House de Riva fracture as the Veil’s guard strengthened and solidified into the family the de Rivas never were.
He could feel that life slipping from him. The inevitability of his new service overtaking him.
He was given a small room. A bed. A meal. But he was neither able to sleep or eat. The amount of magic coursing through his system kept him pacing the room.
He heard Elgar’nan’s laugh intermittently throughout the night. At least he assumed it was night. The eclipse stop all fell off time. And he has lost awareness of when long ago in the barrage. The changing.
He was still naked. His skin creating a red glow where the light of the eclipse could not reach. He sat in the floor and ran his fingers over the red, pulsing scars.
They hurt to touch, but curiosity was stronger than the pain.
He remembered sitting in the floor, nine years old. Feeling the healing scars the first time. He could not grasp the proper movement of time. Was he a child still? Imagining his power? He remembered punching the wall. To see if he had gained enhancement.
Rook stood and approached the flat of the wall.
A child naked in Antiva. An adult naked in Minrathous. He raised his tiny/large fist and slammed it into the wall. His street fighting/ intense years of training and combat were not nearly/were more than enough to pierce the plaster. But the magic in his scar dented/tore a hole clean through the wall. He pulled his fist back/his arm out from the fresh hole in the wall. No pain. Footsteps hastened to the door that locked him apart from his overseer. He turned to face the door.
The door whipped open. Rook stood calmly waiting.
Bataris rushed to the wall. He could see foggy rooftops below, cold wind rushing into the room.
“You did this?” His beady eyes narrowing.
“With ease.” Rook’s voice was emotionless. Mechanical.
“I wonder-“ Bataris squared up to the elf. He was the same height as Rook. Thinner. “Pick me up.”
Rook didn’t think. His arm jutted out, snagging Bataris by the neck and lifting him, arm locked out straight, as far up as he could reach. Bataris kicked and pulled at Rook’s grasp. Rook opened his hand and the man fell to the floor, barely catching himself from falling to his ass.
“Lath!” Bataris called out, his voice broke a little.
A Qunari slave entered the room. He stepped quickly to Rook, attempting to wrestle the elf to the ground for harming his master. Rook swatted away the grab, leapt over the Qunari. He swung. Rook blocked the punch and elbowed the exposed torso. The Qunari staggered back, gripping his side in pain.
“Remarkable!” Bataris healed the broken rib instantly, but his eyes remained on Rook. “The red lyrium has enhanced you!”
Rook had a spark of acknowledgment that he could overpower both the magister and his bodyguard. But a flash of Bellara, sleeping, fidgeting in an exhausted slumber, already pale and bloody from her own tortures, flooded his brain. He looked to the wall. He could leap.
“As long as you are alive, she will live.” Elgar’nan’s voice was more present than Solas’s ever was. It hurt to hear it.
Rook stood and waited. The Qunari stood to leave. As he passed by he back handed Rook across his face. It hurt, but it barely moved him. Rook looked only at Bataris.
“Well done, elf.” His smile was oily, weakness given too much power.
Rook dropped his eyes. An action he recalled from training for a contract where he needed to be a slave. The training held. He would make an exceptional slave.
He did not feel compelled to move from the spot. He tried to see Bellara on his own. Eyes open. Eyes closed. He could not. And doing something to endanger himself only endangered her. He would not risk harming her just to find comfort in seeing her.
Instead he thought of her touch. He smell. He could barely remember the small of white flowers and red woods. And the faint tin odor of the magic she was always tinkering with. That he smelt in abundance.
He spared a thought for the guard. They had succeeded. They would be rallying their allies to move against Elgar’nan. They would seek to rescue him. Bellara.
He couldn’t tell how to feel about that. Their success caused him…this. He looked again at his new scars. He didn’t feel blighted. And there was no song to the lyrium in his veins. Just Elgar’nan’s voice.
He finally sat. He couldn’t even feel hopelessness. Or dispair. Or contempt. He couldn’t risk feeling anything. He tried to only feel his desire to keep Bellara alive. And that meant doing everything Elgar’nan demanded.
Happy Friday, writers! Here are your three prompts for this week:
Word: Contempt
Quote: "I'd swallow poison willingly if it tasted like you..."
Situation: Character A finds a secret room
You only need to pick ONE prompt that inspires you (although if you want to challenge yourself to fit all three in, by all means!) There is no minimum word count. If you feel like sharing something you've written for Weekly Words, you can share it by tagging us on Tumblr, posting to the tumblr community, or joining The Hanged Man Discord for more discussion and weekly Dragon Age creative prompts!
After they said paid their respects to the Talons in the casino, Rook escorted Bellara to the streets.
“We aren’t taking the rooftops?” Curious overcame and judgement.
“It’s a date, not a contract.” Rook held open the main door to the casino.
“Right. Of course. “ she blushed.
Treviso sparkled. No looming silhouette of an Antaam or jagged Qunari banner could block out the millions of lights that illuminated the canals. Lanterns strung across the barely walkable paths. The water caught the various colors as it lapped from gondolas basing under bridges.
Bellara’s head was stuck in the beauty of it all. Rook gently took her hand and lead her slowly through the views. She squeezed it gently, allowing him to guide her.
He squeezed back. It was the first time they held hands for little reason other than being held. She was distracted, maybe unaware of Rook’s excitement. He couldn’t recall the last time he held someone’s hand. Small acts of togetherness weren’t exactly part of the routine for seduction and assassination. Holding her hand made him feel eons away from death, whether he brought it or it was approaching. All of that faded with her twinkling eyes, her big smile, and her warm hand.
Eventually they made it to the edges of the part of town where Rook spent his childhood.
He pulled his hood on, out of habit, and took her to a small elven cafe. It was only half full, but the smell of old Dalish spices and warm halla milk hit them as they entered.
A young man gasped when he say two elves with face tattoos square up to the front desk.
“Dalish!?” He laughed a bit from excitement.
“Yeah!” Bellara matched his enthusiasm easily. “Well…”
“I’m still Dalish where it counts.” It was something Rook said. Something that was said in the alienage. Anyone who spent enough time with the aunties and uncles that still remembered the old ways picked up the saying.
“Aren’t we all?” An older woman, could be either of their parents’ age, held menus and gestured to a table by the window. Rook hesitated. She realized he was a Crow and smiled and turned toward the back. Bellara’s face twisted in confusion.
Rook smiled at her with a wink and pulled her playfully behind the woman. She pushed open a door and another room, again half-full, overlooked the back canals. The patrons in this room weren’t all Crows, but they were all reputable. Any Crow could sit here and feel at least as safe as in their own houses. Also the escape routes and choke points were designed by Crows. Most restaurants and cafes had similar access to the rooftops.
He pulled out Bellara’s chair. She sat, her smile getting bigger, if that were possible. The menus were placed in front of them.
“These are written in elvish!!!” She bellowed. “Sorry!”
She turned to the room. All smiles returned. No one was immune to her innocent charm. Rook beamed.
“Oh! And Antivan. Can you read this?”
“Of course. Both versions.”
“Really?!”
“I’m a Crow and an elf. I am trained to make that first fact disappear as needed.”
“I guess elves need killed, too, huh?” She was matter of fact. Completely in the spirit of it. All the trepidation she had about assassins when they met had dissipated.
“Something like that.” He chuckled.
“Wow! Look at these dishes! Some from clans all over Thedas! This is from Orlais. Ferelden. Do you think they know how to make Hearth Bread and mincemeat?”
Rook pointed to an item on the menu. Bellara clapped and bounced a bit.
They ordered. Drank wine. Talked about nothing. The sights. Their journey so far. Rook listened as Bellara talked about all the different magic she has seen and tried since joining the Guard. She asked Rook what it was like not to kill people for money all the time.
“Technically I still kill for a living. The gods are just another contract. It’s just the world that benefits from my success. Not a family, or country, or business. Bigger stakes, but the step-by-step is still the same. And hunting down Zara, say, put food on the table just as much as collecting from a contract. I just don’t have Viago yelling at me every other day.”
“You really just see all this as a contract?”
“You don’t see all this as some artifact that needs reset? Calmed? You’re searching for history, and tied up in it. It’s just your regular life on a larger scale. I think that’s how all of us got in on this … journey. It’s all of our everyday, amplified.”
“Huh, I guess so. Except for someone yelling at us every day. I think most of us had that.”
“Yeah, maybe not Lucanis, Neve, and Emmrich. But the rest of us, yeah.”
They had some Berry Cobbler and took the rooftop exit. The moons were both in view, on opposite horizons. Almost full. The air was filled with lightning bugs. Rook pulled Bellara in close. She paused inches from him. Her hips melted into him slightly, making her look up at him just a touch.
“May I kiss you?” He’d wanted to kiss her since the properly contained tingle. Something he felt in this moment.
“Yeah. Yes. Please do.”
He lowered his lips into hers. First a small peck. He pulled away, taking in her face, checking in. Her eyes were closed and she smiled. He pulled her in slowly, again. Parting her lips with his tongue. Barries went well with the wine. She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fingers twisting into his hair, and pulled him close. She was a good kisser. It took Rook aback as the tingle became less proper.
He wrapped his hands around her waist more firmly and let his lips and tongue dance. It was electric. He didn’t know if it was her magic or the chemistry between them, but it was intoxicating and he wanted more. He pulled back gently. He was well versed in more, but this thing with Bellara was to be savored, slowly. In dosages as to not be overwhelming by the desire.
“You okay?” Her eyes narrowed, she spoke softly, sweetly.
“Yeah. Just- I don’t want to take too much. You are -“
“I’m a lot. Iralen said it more than once. I -“
Rook pulled her all the way in, his nose just out of reach of hers.
“Bellara, I’d swallow poison willingly if it takes like you.”
“You swallow poison every day.” She smirked.
“A choice between a terrible taste in my mouth for thirty minutes or a dagger in my side from Viago because he’d rather kill me himself than have a de Riva killed by poison. Is either willingly?”
She leaned in to kiss him again. He pulled playfully back.
“But you are dangerous. I could fall for you and risk all of Viago’s ire.” He kissed her again under moons’ watchful eyes.
De Riva sat and worked absentmindedly over his poisons.
It was an easy task, and his supplies were running low. Purchased poisons never had the punch or shelf life of a home brew. As ever, no one would praise him for his quality, which rivaled Viago’s, nor would any notice his ingenuity. Well, he smirked, maybe an Antaam or a cultist would note how their skin simultaneously experienced a minty burn as strong as a pepper burn. But they’d be too busy gargling for air to have a conversation about it.
Rook had grown ruthless in the couple dozen months since Viago exiled him. All the desire he harbored to be seen as a … son wasn’t the right word… something. Someone Viago could be proud of and take pride in. No feat was enough. No kill. No seduction to turn an eye, many eyes that made Viago look flawless when he otherwise may have failed. Being one of the best of his age, being the ghost and the blade of the de Rivas. He studied. He had studied other houses. The Dellamortes. Arainai. The Stripped. Outwitting a Crow was as much a talent as a sin. But to keep one’s head, one must keep it on a swivel.
He’s paid his dues. Overpaid. Even now, leading the charges against gods, there was no credit.
He sighed. He wasn’t in this for credit.
“You stepped up because Varric can’t.” He reminded himself. Rook heard her steps before she spoke, he smiled but did not turn.
“How are you not dead?”
“Is this a metaphysical question or..?”
“It smells like death in here,” Bellara coughed.
“I suppose I have built up immunity.” He tapped the vial gently. “Just finishing up.”
“Is that elf root?” Bellara leaned in as far as she could stand. “But…”
“Dried, muddled-“
“Denatured. It amplifies the deathroot.”
“Because deathroot grows where elf root is overcome by blight.”
“It is mimicking the metamorphosis of the plant. In the vial, so all the toxins are trapped and when released-“
“It’s like a rapid blighting.”
Bellara was less shook than Rook expected.
He smiled up at her and sealed the last vial with a special wax.
“My dad-“
“Is an herboligist, I recall.” He turned in his chair to face her. She was within reach. He could just wrap his arms around her thighs and pull her in. He could smell her; sandalwood and jasmine. She had just washed her hair and it was down, cascading like a river at night, twinkling in a rare new moons’ light.
She looked down at him. Studied his face, his eyes like the full moons, large, reflecting every fractured light. His lips slightly parted and a wry smile.
“Can I help you with anything?” His hands pulsed with the urge to touch her. He anchored them on his hips to keep from fidgeting or from grabbing her.
“Um. No. I just was passing by, after a study session with Emmrich. I smelt-“ she waved her hand about “this. I was curious. And slightly worried. About you, I mean.”
“Someone snuck into the Fade through heavily guarded and enchanted mirrors and poisoned a de Riva?” He laughed gently.
“Anyone can get poisoned.”
“Don’t say that around Viago’s he’ll up my dosages.”
“What!?”
“Viago slightly poisons all de Rivas. I’m sure he’s tried it with other Crows, but he will not lose a house member to something as preventable as a poisoning.”
“Doesn’t it make you sick?”
“Sometimes.” Rook shrugged.
“Mythal’enaste’” Bellara’s face was flush.
Rook laughed heartily and stood and pulled her to him, hugging her as he laughed. She was rigid with the sudden touch. Rook felt her hesitation and immediately let her go and stepped back.
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.” She said in unison. “No, I’m sorry. I just. You. I wanted. But. Then you. And. Um.”
“No, Bellara, please forgive me for -“
“It was good!” She thrust her right fingertips to his lips to quiet him. His lips were soft, plump. He was terribly good looking, even for an elf. That androgynous allure amplified. His silver hair fumbling into his eyes slightly.
It was his turn to freeze. Her fingers were warm. And they lingered. He could kiss them. Easily. He wanted to, but she just… Now she was.
They locked eyes. And they held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Maybe two. He could have killed them both and escaped by now.
The sound of footsteps in the end of the hall shook him. He swooped up his poisons and darted out of the room to upgrade his weapons. At the end of the hall Emmrich stood, craning to find a certain book. Rook nearly ran into the statuesque mage. A vial slipped from his grip. Rook somersaulted and caught it before it hit the ground, sending the others rolling gently across the stone floor.
“I- uh-“ Rook stuttered. He snatched and fumbled his awkward bundle. So sorry. Emmrich! Hi. I didn’t see you there. Here!”
He looked back. Bellara haunted his doorway. Emmrich noticed her, then Rook. He said nothing. Rook darted down the stairs before he could.
“I found that book we were discussing.” Emmrich’s voice trailed off as Rook pushed out of the library.
