Sideblog of @marchwardenofmordor for DATV content, starring my main evil rook Cerridion/Ithelan’ahn. Elgarook truther. || MINORS AND TERFS DNI - I AM AN ADULT TRANSGENDER MAN.
I’m Afallach, I’m an autistic, trans and bisexual Welshman in my mid 20s, I’m a druid, and my wife introduced me to Dragon Age… so naturally, I’ve developed a hyperfixation.
DNI: TERFs, LORE PURISTS WHO CANT HANDLE ME BENDING THE RULES, MINORS
Also just don’t come in here and be a dick for no reason. I ain’t done shit to you, I’m just here to have a good time, play my silly game, draw my silly boys and write my silly fics / OC lore.
Please do not be horrible about my OCs - they are a part of me, a labour of creative love, and I will take it personally.
Ship whatever the fuck you like - I literally could not give less of a shit about whether you’re Solarook or Solavellan. I literally do not care. I’m sat over here with Elgar’nan. 🤷🏻♂️
On the subject of my tyrant fairy princess. I’d better not have to explain to anybody how just because I write evil characters that doesn’t equate to me being an evil person. So just to preface, let’s all exercise a bit of media literacy and say it slowly:
It is a fictional fantasy world. These are not real people.
If I say / do something that does not align with the EXACT canon, or your headcanons, remind yourself that those are YOUR headcanons, and that I’m using the canon as a little bricky foundation in order to whap out a gothic cathedral on top of it, because where OCs are concerned, I go big or go home.
I do not trigger tag. If there is potentially triggering content, I’ll put a CW at the top and then my content below a break.
Also grabbing plotholes and filling them in is one of my hobbies.
Anyway. Have my OCs - I’ll be adding as I go along.
Cerridion / Ithelan’ahn
Mournwatcher Mortalitasi Battlemage, Cerridion Ingellvar gets Blighted in the Blussy and his Elgar’nan vallaslin appears and gets darker on his face the closer he is to becoming an Evanuris. His evanuris name is Ithelan’ahn - The Thing that Watches. Spider coded freak.
You can read all my shit about him under #datv ithelan’ahn
My art in the DA tarot style of Cerridion/Ithelan’ahn:
Cerridion’s Post-Canon semi interactive fic:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Also!! I am very pro-RP and am down to RP as Cerridion/Ithelan’ahn - all you need to do is ask, although I will be checking ages.
I'm finally able to share with you this lil project I've been working on for months.
It isn't fully complete (yet) as it is missing minor stuff and visual editing, just check it from time to time, I might have improved it!
It contains:
ALL Elgar'nan dialogues, both canon and unreleased
ALL audio files, both from canon and scenes which were cut from the final game
A tab dedicated to any codex or note which refers to him
A tab with interesting comments about him, his actions (and at times Ghilan'nain and the other evanuris)
This was made at first for my close friends to help me and them understanding better how to write Elgar'nan and his speech pattern, then it evolved to something more I've decided to share with the whole Elgar'Nation!
Dear @xdevil-kidx came to me with an idea I couldn't refuse, and we plotted together to feed a bit the Elgar'nation 👀
It definitely has been a nice chance to do some anatomy studies.
someone on twitter is trying to claim that use of an em-dash is an indication of AI-generated writing because it’s “relatively rare” for actual humans to use it. skill issue
This took ages but I’m so proud of it. Here comes the boy!!! My evil rook-turned-evanuris, Cerridion/Ithelan’ahn - the Weeping God, with Elgar’nan in the palm of his hand.
Cerridion’s a lich. When he turns into Ithelan’ahn and gets blighted, something he doesn’t anticipate happening (and which comes as a nasty shock to his perfect lil skelly) is growing ‘blight’ organs and muscles where his own used to be and also getting stretched from 6ft into a 9ft bone lord
He screams when he sees himself but Elgar’nan’s like 👀👀🍆
The thing that makes me absolutely feral about Elgar’nan is how he just gives his acceptance and protection like it’s a Costco free sample. If you kneel, of course. Like, the fanfic possibilities here are fucking endless.
Does he decide Rook is his new pet project and try to raise them up as another Evanuris because the man clearly hates being alone and goes full nuclear meltdown when Ghilan’nain dies?
Does he want Rook on his side just to start a Fuck Solas Club™? I knooooow Elgar’nan is dying for someone to gossip with. “Solas is such a little bitch. Did you see his murals? So self-indulgent. Anyway, come sit on my lap and agree with me.”
Or maybe he straight up wants Rook to fuck him and worship him, preferably at the same time? You’re telling me that giant, beautiful, angry bastard doesn’t want someone groveling at his feet one minute and riding him the next?
The scariest thing about being seduced by Ithelan’ahn?
Yeah, Elgar’nan is weirdly inclusive, and whatnot, but Ithelan’ahn?
He caters to your unique rage, shame, anything he can sink his claws into.
With women, he seduces, yes, but he does not seduce them in a way that would make the lady in question feel small and powerless. He does not put across the vibe of a dominant and controlling man; he comes as a patron. As a benevolent father figure who understands your scorn.
An excerpt of his seduction of a woman:
“When you next sleep, little Rook, I shall tend to your desires. I shall not unsex you as mortal men wish to, but will empower you, and fill you from the crown to the toe-tip full of direst cruelty… I shall make thick your blood with powers beyond your wildest imaginations, and stop up that access and passage to remorse, that no compunctious visitations of nature nor nurture shall shake your fell purpose to fulfil your darkest fantasies and desires.
Let no man dictate to you. Let me help you. For that is my want, and your want, alike. Our interests align as the planets.
By the stars above and the titans below, the world shall know your worth. Instead of a great and terrible lord, Minrathous shall have a Queen, radiant as the dawn and reverent as the dusk. And those sorry men who cross thee, why, they would come to your woman’s breasts and take your milk for gall, and so be poisoned, and those companions would be your knife, once mine, and your beauty would gouge their eyes, for they would know no glory but your splendour, and that keen knife would ne’er even see the wound it makes.”
He encourages female rage. He digs himself into it and prostrates himself before it until you will want to slay men in his name, thinking it to be your own decree.
Before he was Ithelan’ahn, Cerridion seduced the King of the Gods. You should know that he knows exactly what to say.
But he is not entirely lying about it; he will nurture your wrath and will siphon his power to you to ensure your utmost satisfaction.
And THAT is what makes him so dangerous as a seducteur.
why would 8 be brought up if it’s EVEN in a post about ODDS??????? the post said “every single ODD number has an ‘e’ in it” not “every single number with an ‘e’ is odd” what the fuck
And now there’s far worse in Rook’s mind than simply Solas.
After a series of hauntings in the old abandoned Lighthouse, Rook has decided to investigate via necromancy/blood magic, seeking an audience with their resident tormentor - an evanuris who used to be the ‘old Rook’. And by god, they’ve got it.
The new god certainly knows how to make an entrance.
🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️
Soundtrack:
^^ To add to the vibes, he’s very Malus Thorm / Ketheric Thorm / Myrkul / Shar coded, if you’re into BG3. Dusty ass old elf.
🕷️ Ithelan’ahn (Evanuris OC) x The New Rook
🕷️ M x GN Elven or Human Mage
🕷️ CW: Descriptions of violence
🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️
The air thickened. The vomitous stench of decay, dust and bones, like a rotting garden full of fly-infested figs and plums permeated the scene, undercut by the sharp and deceptive seduction of white florals, poisonous, sensual and wilting. The sky above seemed to weep, splitting open and crying, wailing.
It had found its way in. They had sought an audience with it, and oh, dear, sweet gods, the Widow had granted it.
‘I am coming. I am coming. Behold, my arrival, ye mighty, and despair, for I am the sardonic grin of the maggot-cleansed skull, I am the Endless Darkness, The Absence of Light, the hand that mocks, the Eye of Judgement, and the heart that feeds your most guilty pleasure.’
Cerridion, or as he had come to be known with his ascension, Ithelan’ahn, the Thing that Watches, Lover of the Tyrant and father of a new horrific form of undead, Usurper of the Dread Wolf, moved with a precise and slow, calculated grace.
Nine feet tall and muscular, his midsection cinched to unnatural angles, a spider’s waist, his hips shifted in a way that looked almost painful, but was yet hypnotic, side to side, as he inched closer, and closer still - slow stepping and ominous; an absolute tarantula of a man.
His face seemed to warp and shift when he moved, clearly a glamour, all sharp angles, his lips permanently twisted in a sneer of cold command - an echo of the leader he once was. He had been great. Terrible, but great.
And now he stood as a wraith of his former self, and whether there was a lich under that illusion or a blighted monstrosity, or some horrendous combination of the two was unclear.
His watery yellow irises, set in their inky jelly, flashed with malice and envy.
He was decadence and greed personified, dripping with gold jewellery, each inlaid purple stone glinting like beetle shells in the eerie green light, his lusty figure draped sensuously in plum silks so fine they appeared almost as gossamer.
The top layers of his hair, once black as the baccara rose, and now streaked with twin mallen stripes of grey, were swept back into a classically elven updo, and knotted at the back of his head into a pristinely pinned bow.
Ithelan’ahn halted, and leant on one jutting hip, lifting his chin and gazing down the bridge of his nose at the new Rook, come to take his legacy, before him.
The air seemed to grow thicker, almost too thick to breathe, and a low rumble, such as the deafening silence of the void beyond all life, began to hum, vibrating in the skulls of all in that room. All except the necromancer’s pretty new guest.
He stepped into the fray, hands positioned at his sides, but grasping at no weapons, for he needed them not.
The Venatori became uneasy, sensing their impending doom, and began to back semi-blindly into his shadow, but Ithelan’ahn did not release his grip upon them.
He stared directly into Rook’s eyes, the edges of his own crinkling in a way that would have almost seemed like a paternal smile, were it not so vicious.
He began to speak, and despite his golden timbre, his pitch dulcet and gloriously deep, smooth as honey, his tone was acrid and bitter, slicing through the tension like the fell of a headsman’s axe.
“In any other light, there is presence. There is perception. And perception, at its core, is deceit, for all eyes are different. Come, my children,” He gestured to the Venatori, curling his fingers, their eyes rolling back as he forced them to face one another; “Soothe your peers! For if false light is the symptom, then darkness is your cure, for in darkness, there is only absence, and truth. Show your brethren the succour of my embrace, for I am the *shadow* of Elgar’nan.”
Nine daggers were raised high in blind faith. With the swell of the atmosphere, all nine suddenly began to descend in horrifying unison, a choir of shrieks and pleading echoing through the primordial umbra as the disciples gouged out their eyes.
And then, with a sharp and sudden twist of his wrist at his side, each of those cultists’ bodies contorted backwards to a horrifying angle, spines crunching in unison, ribs cracking, pelvises splitting, skulls caving, none of them able to scream evermore for he had leeched all the breath from their lungs, lips turning blue as their mangled eyes twitched and lolled upwards into the tender meat of their brains…
And then he flicked his hand, and they dropped to the floor, most of them dead. Some were still twitching grotesquely with the aftershocks.
The monster took a moment to soak it all in, inhaling the death in the room like the fumes of a fine scotch, and then he spoke once more, readjusting the rings upon his fingers.
It turned its attention to Rook, terrifying in his countenance, lordly - nay, godly - in his mien.
“They were, alas, so painfully present. Your name, da’len.”
