#assan lavellan

[bleepytoad]

And that's our jail collab :D with: Nemo de-Riva by @mergreze-art , Atwel Aldwir by @ddepressius , and Assan Lavellan by @rorych-ka , and Enya Laidir by me.

Assan: Made Mythal cry 'From laughter' (dissatisfied)

Nemo: Threw eggs at Fen'Harel

Atwel: Bit Ghilan'nain's tentacle (she... like it)

Enya: Insulting Elgar'nan's Feelings (rammed his head)

[snowqueen-gh]

jail collab :D whole pictures under the cut✨

Camellia: threw the Fade experiment out of the window, hit the crowd

Assan: made the Fade experiment

Hivel: Fade experiment

Mei: crowd

-Sh*t guys... He doesn't fit on the canvas.

-Ugh, fckng qunari.

Camellia by meatchips, Hivel by nespyofire, Assan by rorych-ka, Mei by me

[the-jade-goblin]

Being of the roaming Dalish clans, Inquisitor Assan Lavellan set about making his fortress at Skyhold a forest among in the sky, akin to the forests of his ‘native’ Nevarra. A combination of magic, and a fantastically innovative irrigation system developed by the Inquisitor and his Arcanist, the dwarf Dagna, has fed the vines and shrubs over the Inquisitor's 6 year tenure as leader of the Inquisition, and would be there for years after he had passed the torch onto Seeker Pentaghast.

The former Inquisitor would attempt to re-create the winding wilderness among his lover’s estate in Minrathous many years later.

- an extract from ‘The Inquisition of Skyhold; The Inner Circle’  

[elizahgodswood]

Sleepless Nights

Whumptober Day 3: Insomnia

Words: 923

Characters: Assan Lavellan, Dorian Pavus

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The stone floor was cold against Assan’s bare feet as he paced the room. His hands had taken on a life of their own, running through his hair, rubbing his face. All he wanted was to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw them--snarling, feral, monstrous creatures slaughtering they pleased.

Blackwall had tried his best to describe them to him, brace him for what he was about to fight. Nothing could have truly prepared him for what it was like fighting darkspawn. They had no true order--slaughtering, pillaging, burning as they roamed-- and killed with what seemed to be great relish.

The smell of smoke and blood had stayed with him all the way from the storm coast. Not even the brisk mountain air could make it go away. He still felt the heat and the blood on his skin. His muscles still quivered from the terror.

For weeks it had haunted him, what felt like his first true failure. When they had heard of the darkspawn in the area, he had been one of many to wave the threat aside. It was only when they arrived at the first small fishing town that he realized what his relaxed pace had wrought.

The village was gone.

Most of the town was little more than a few burned beams. They found no bodies, only the husks of the houses and shops. When they had reached the center of town, though, they discovered who had been responsible. A mountain of burned bodies rose up in the crossroads. Assan had to turn away, leaning on his horse as he tried desperately not to be sick in front of his soldiers.

After casing the surroundings, they estimated the group as thirty individuals at the most. At first, Assan had found the odds comforting. Their group was sixty soldiers strong. Blackwall’s expression quickly doused his confidence. Neither of them said a word about the fight they would be in for. As they mounted up again, Assan could feel his nerves tying knots in his stomach.

They rode out of the town at a breakneck pace, desperate to reach the next town before the horde reached them. But another burned village, this one still smouldering unlike the last, was all that greeted them on arrival. Rage like he had never felt before filled him as they continued on towards the final town. How would anything that breathed be so twisted? Part of him began to wonder if the chantry was right about the darkspawn after all.

Hope renewed the entire group as they arrived to the town. They were greeted warmly by the villagers. Assan gathered up all the prominent citizens and told them of the fate of their neighbors. Despite their grief and their fear, they had refused to go, believing so wholeheartedly that the great Inquisitor would be able to protect them from harm.

If only that had been the case.

When night came and they saw the fires from the darkspawn camp in the distance, some of the villagers heeded his warnings and left with what belongings they could carry. Barely a few hours after they departed, the drums started, a savage and chaotic tempo in the night. Then came the shrieks and howling. That was when all hell broke loose.

Scared villagers peered out of their doors, listening to the cacophony and realizing the terrible mistake they had made in staying. Assan ordered his troops into position, Taking to the rooftops with the other archers and the spellcasters. The cacophony ceased, leaving nothing but a tense, chilling silence.

Then they came crashing through the trees, snarling and howling in savage glee as they overwhelmed the front lines. Screams pierced the night as the darkspawn broke through inquisition ranks to wreak havoc on the village. Assan fired arrows as fast as he could, but they did not feel pain like men did. A single arrow no longer did the trick. His quiver ran out quickly.

When the buildings started burning, he and the other archers and mages were forced to the ground. Assan drew his daggers, dancing around on his feet to take in the battle as quickly as he could. The smoke from the fires was filling the streets with smog, staining the town with a reddish orange haze.

The fight went on for hours before the final few darkspawn were slain. Only half of Assan’s company had survived, and only a handful of villagers had managed to make it through the night. When the Inquisition left, he had never felt more hollow.

Assan tensed as a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. He looked behind him, a weary smile breaking the tense frown when he locked eyes with Dorian. He smiled back, his eyes still blurry from sleep.

“You’ll make a rut in the floor if you keep up with your incessant pacing,” Dorian whispered as he planted a few soft kisses to his shoulder and neck.

“I can’t help it,” Assan leaned his head back on Dorian’s shoulder, relaxing back into his embrace. Of all those present back on the coast, Assan was glad Dorian wasn’t one of them.

They stood in silence for a moment. Dorian yawned and tightened his grip on Asssan. “Come to bed, Amatus.”

Assan shook his head. He’s only see it all again when he closed his eyes. “I can’t….”

“You can,” Dorian replied, lowly backing them towards the bed. “Sleep. Please.”

Assan let out a tired sigh and relented. “I’ll try.”

[ageofdragon]

|Caswyn Trevelyan, the youngest Trevelyan & Assan Serlan, of Clan Lavellan|  

when two ocs who weren’t supposed to end up together [in a shared universe] do.

commission by jax caswyn belongs to disloyalorder

[the-jade-goblin]

My beautiful boy, fresh and hopeful at the beginning of Inquisition, and at the end of Trespasser broken and listless from the anchor’s permanent damage 

[elizahgodswood]

Tall Tales

Assan Lavellan, Dorian Pavus, Sera

Word Count: 709

***********************************************

Dorian sat back while the others laughed heartily around the fire, toasting tin tankards of ale. The day had been full of chasing down bandits as they marched towards the fortress at the end of the valley.  After the victories of the day, everyone seemed in high spirits, even the wounded.

The Herald was laughing the loudest, and was animatedly telling a story about a wild stag hunt he had gone on. Currently, he was describing being gored by the stag in great detail. The men surrounding him were leaning forward, flushed faces slack as they hung on every word.

"His antlers were as thick as rope, and sharp as a freshly whetted blade. I was bleeding like a gutted pig when he stuck me," Assan said, placing his fist on his inner thigh and grinding it around mimicking stabbing himself. "And he caught me right here. Swung me around like I was nothing but a child's doll, he did! I thought I was done for, but then..." He paused, looking around at his men, a cocky grin on his face, “I caught him in the neck with my hunting knife. He dropped me and bucked about- oh he was just livid at that point.

“I dragged myself to my bow and notched my last arrow-couldn't afford to miss. The beast had the whole of my quiver in his neck and sides and still wouldn't fall. So I took that shot, and down he came with a mighty crash, my arrow sticking out his good eye!"

Dorian rolled his eyes as a roar of cheers filled the camp. The men slapped their Herald on the back, singing praise. Assan seemed to revel in it all, slapping hands and backs with enthusiasm. As haughty as he found the sight, Dorian couldn't help but admire the respect and adoration he had already earned from his men.

"Desperate to get home, I wrapped up my bad leg and took hold of the beast's antlers. I dragged him back to camp, just minutes away from death when the Keeper found me. Oh, the look on my sister's face when she had to heal that nasty, infected gash," Assan's smile faltered as he said the last bit. Something in his jovial eyes turned briefly to sadness. "But, I was the talk of camp for weeks after that."

“That's got to be rubbish," Sera snorted into her

tankard. Dorian had to agree with her. There was no way he was able to carry the deer if his leg had been gored, let alone walk. Not that any of the others truly seemed to care.

"Oh, I got the scars to prove it, if you really want to see,” Assan rose to his feet, a hand reaching for his belt.

“No! No, you can keep your damned pants on, thanks, Herald” Sera said.

A roar of laughter went up as Assan sat again and rolled his eyes, his smile broadening as his gaze turned to Dorian. Dorian's heart gave an involuntary flutter. Had he smiled at him? If he had, it was only fleeting, and soon the Herald was lost in his revelries once more, watching on as his men sang drinking songs and praise of their leader.

One by one, the camp settled into their tents for the night, leaving him and the Herald alone at the campfire. Assan merely smiled awkwardly at him, clearly at a loss for what to say now that they were alone.

"You're a lover of wild tales, I see," Dorian said.

"I'm not Varric, but I do enjoy telling a good tall tale now and then," Assan looked up and gave him a wink. "Dashing rogue, clever and handsome- it's just how it is." Dorian snorted, a retort ripe on his tongue before the elf spoke once more. "You want to hear the real tale?"

“You actually were gored by a buck?"

"Aye," The elf smiled bitterly. "He was a massive stag, but I was with two other hunters. We were with a younger hunter, and he got too cocky. The stag charged him. I pushed him out of the way and got the point of his antlers lodged in my leg. He dragged me across the ground for a good couple of minutes before the others managed to get a killing shot."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dorian frowned.

"I saw your little frowns and scowls across the fire. I'd hate to have you come to resent me after what we went through in Redcliffe. I can’t have you thinking I’m a complete fool, now can I?" The elf smiled again and bid him good night, leaving Dorian alone by the fire.

[elizahgodswood]

The Blood Cure: Chapter 1

Word Count: 3188

Characters: Assan Lavellan, Leliana, Cassandra Penteghast

Contains: Gore, Blood

***********************************************

“He’s moving…!”

“Keep steady. We don’t know what will happen once he’s fully conscious.”

    Assan groaned as he heard the words. They came at him slowly, echoing as though coming at him through a tunnel. All he could feel was cold floor pressed against his cheek. His head was throbbing. Something was digging into his wrists and ankles. What’s going on?

    Slowly, he pushed himself to his knees, wincing as cold metal handcuffs dug into his wrists. He was in a dimly lit room. Through the darkness he could see storage crates and pallets---some kind of store room? Surrounding him were close to twenty soldiers, all pointing their guns at him. His ankles were chained together, nailed to a spike in the floor. Creators, what have I gotten myself into now? He thought to himself.

    “Finally awake?” A harsh voice asked.

    A woman walked into his line of sight. She loomed over him, aiming her rifle right at his forehead. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked up the barrel of the gun, painfully aware of her finger sitting loosely on the trigger. What the fuck is happening?

    “What’s going on?” Assan demanded, though it came out sounding more like a nervous croak. Several of the soldiers snickered.

    “You damn well know what’s going on!” The woman snapped, kicking him to the floor. He grunted as his head struck the concrete floor. Stars danced before his eyes.  He could hear the woman’s heavy boots stomping toward him. “Tell me how you did this!”

    “Did what?” Assan snarled.

    Another kick to his back was his answer. He hissed as a sharp pain shot up his side. He could hear a faint hitch in her breath; she was failing to keep composure. Something had deeply upset her, and he was apparently tied in with it. If only he could remember what he'd done.

    “You will explain this to me now, or so help me, I will kill you,” She snarled, pressing the barrel of her gun against his cheek. A shiver went down his spine as the cold metal touched his skin. The Keeper and the Hahrens had warned him before he left about the ruthlessness of humans. Leave it to his rotten luck to ensure that he experienced their tales first hand.  

    “You tell me what’s going on, and I’ll answer your damn question,” Assan said slowly. “Last I recall, I was standing in the temple, listening to the discussions. What. Happened?”

“If you don't know what's going on, then explain the mark.”

    “I don’t even know what you're talking about! What mark?!” Assan cried. He couldn’t even see his hands. The longer he sat with the gun to his cheek, the more he feared she would pull the trigger if he didn't say what he wanted.

“Cassandra, that's enough!” Another woman spoke up. The gun pulled away from his cheek with a sharp jerk. A relieved sigh escaped him despite his best efforts to conceal it. A red haired woman helped him to a kneeling position. She looked him dead in the eyes, her face grim. “Do you remember anything---anything at all---about what happened up there? People, conversations, objects that seemed out of place?”

Assan paused, trying his best to recall anything of importance. He remembered painting over his vallaslin, sneaking into the temple with a few other elven servants to hear the talks, and then…. “I remember… a helicopter? There was more than one, I think. Sounded like heavy duty ones, not just any commercial choppers. A few guards went to investigate, but after that it goes black.”

“There's nothing else? Did you see anyone suspicious, or where they shouldn't be?”

“I was… running?” A shiver ran down Assan’s back. Yes, he remembered running as fast as he could, with shadows at his heels. “There was something... chasing me. But then there's nothing more. I'm sorry. Now will you tell me what's going on?”

The two women were silent for a moment. They exchanged defeated glances before Cassandra spoke “The Divine was trying to settle things between the mages and templars.... Then, the whole building was blown to pieces. A foul disease is spreading everywhere. In the midst of the chaos, we found you, healthy, but unconscious. Everyone else was either dead or sick.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?” Assan asked. Did they think he was responsible?

“There is a strange machine in the midst of the chaos; we believe that it is the cause of the sudden outbreak. Hoards of people are now roaming the streets, hysterical and deranged. The dead hunt the living. You are the only one in a state fit to interrogate. We want to know what happened.”

    Assan stared down at his hands. He couldn’t remember anything. No machine, no explosion, and certainly no sick people. A nasty, rippling scar cut diagonally across the palm of his left hand, something that definitely hadn’t been there at the start of the day. Was this the mark Cassandra had asked about? He looked between the two women, seeing how desperate they were for answers. Answers that he just didn’t have.

    “I don’t understand….” He said finally.

    “I think… we better show you, if you truly don’t know,” Cassandra turned and addressed her companion. “Go to front line, Leliana. We will meet you there.”

    The red haired woman drew the hood of her purple sweatshirt and nodded as she pulled a gas mask over her face. “Be careful, Cassandra.”

    She turned and left the room, followed by several soldiers. Cassandra unlocked the shackles around Assan’s ankles and gave him a look that clearly said “if you try anything, you’re a dead man” before unlocking the handcuffs. Assan rubbed his wrists. He doubted he would get very far with six armed soldiers and an even more heavily armed woman escorting him if he tried to run. They had him cornered.

    They pushed him from the room, guiding him down the hall. Soldiers ran to and from the various other store rooms. Not a single one’s face wasn’t grim as they carried supplies from one room to another. They stopped momentarily to let a line of soldiers carrying gurneys covered in white cloths pass by. A mangled hand hung limply from one of the gurneys, missing a great deal of flesh and a few fingers. The soldiers escorting Assan muttered amongst themselves, shifting with unease. A small trail of blood drops followed the gurneys. The sight made Assan’s stomach churn. Cassandra led the group onward, up the stairs to the next level.

They were in a hospital, but there wasn’t that usual feel to it. It was depressed, despaired. The main power supply was off, so only the emergency lights run by the generators were on, which definitely didn’t help with the atmosphere. The windows were all boarded up, covered in thick planks of wood and metal sheeting, only making the building darker--- not so much as a single shred of sky was visible. Not even the emergency lanterns or candles hanging from the walls did much to help pierce the gloom.

Aside from soldiers patrolling, few people lingered in the empty halls. Those that stood scattered about in the shadows kept their heads down, muttering to each other. As they passed, their heads would snap up, eyes glaring at Assan from under hoods and helmets. After a moment of staring daggers, they would return to their hushed conversations. The guards closed in around Assan, shooting warning stares at anyone who looked or lingered too long as they passed.

“Keep a fast pace, Elf,” One of the guards whispered. “Most of these folks blame you for this mess.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling….” Assan muttered.

Most of the doors to the rooms were open, filled with civilians huddled in groups as they wept or prayed. The corridors echoed with the sounds of hundreds of lamenting voices. Priests were chanting and singing, their voices hollow and void of the usual power and beauty he had once come to expect of the Chantry.

The group slowed as they passed through the reception area for the maternity ward. A large painting of the Divine had been hung on one of the walls. A Revered Mother and several sisters stood before a moderate crowd, leading a eulogy as those gathered wailed and sobbed. Candles and offerings sat on every available surface. The soldiers dipped their heads in respect as they passed through.

“Maker guide you, Most Holy,” Cassandra muttered, wiping a tear from her eye before it fell down her cheek.

The mournful singing and keening faded away as they continued on through the ward towards the next level. A line of soldiers stopped them as they neared the stairs. A gas mask hung around each of their necks. They stood up straighter as they spotted Cassandra and saluted.

“Lady Cassandra.” They all said.

“We are taking the prisoner to the roof,” Cassandra said.

“Very well, Lady Cassandra.” One of the soldiers thrust a mask into Assan's hands before he stepped aside to let them pass. Assan turned the mask over, unsure of why he would need such a thing. If people were sick, surely something like this was a little extreme? They ascended to the next floor, encountering less civilians, but more soldiers. Up here, the doors were all shut. No one was singing, or praying. It was eerily quiet, save for the hushed mutters coming from some of the rooms  The air up here was stale, reeking of rotten flesh and bile.

“You said there were lots of sick people. We’re in a hospital, but everyone looks healthy to me for the most part. Where are the sick?” Assan asked.

One of the soldiers gave a sharp laugh and thumbed over his shoulder at the closed off windows. “You don’t want the sick in this building, Elf. They’re out there for a reason.”

Assan opened his mouth to inquire further, but a comotion up ahead caught his attention. More soldiers with the gurneys were gathered around a mage, bickering with one another.  The men holding the gurneys bounced from foot to foot, eager to set down whatever it was they were transporting.

“I have no more room for bodies on this floor; all other corpses are being sent to the basement for storage until we finish examining the ones we have here,” The mage said tiredly. “Can’t you people communicate with one another? This is the fifth time I’ve had to turn bodies away in the last hour. I have work to do and every second spent pointlessly arguing with you here is less time I have to properly examine the bodies before decay starts to set in.”

“No one’s said a word about dumping the stiffs in the basement,” One of the soldiers growled. “You mages are the ones that can’t communicate. We just carried these bodies up three flights of stairs. The least you could do is be grateful. They aren’t light, you know.”

The two continued to bicker back and forth. Two other mages stepped out of the room to support their companion. Cassandra huffed out an impatient sigh and marched ahead, barking at the soldiers. They jumped at the sight of her barreling towards them, fists balled up and her lip curled up in a slight snarl. Assan raised a hand to his lips to keep from snickering at the sight.

“Lady Cassandra!” They said. One of them dropped their side of a gurney in their haste to salute. The other soldiers shouted in alarm as it tipped and the body tumbled to the floor. Assan had to bend over against the wall as he looked the corpse over. His stomach lurched, threatening to expel what little there was in it.

The woman’s throat and stomach looked like they had been eaten by wolves. Claw marks covered her arms and sides, but they didn’t look like those of any beast he’d ever seen. They looked eerily human. Her eyes were milky and yellowed, a perpetual look of twisted agony and terror frozen on her face.

“Creators, what the hell did that?” Assan asked.

“Biters,” One of the soldiers behind him said as she patted his back. “That’s why the sick are out there and not in here.”

“You’re telling me a person did all that?” Assan looked over his shoulder at her, eyes wide in horror. He could see her own face was as pale as his. The other soldiers shifted away from the sight as the mages dragged the body into the room, out of sight.

“Make sure you tell all the others that I ordered the bodies to be sent to the basement to be stored,” Cassandra said to the soldiers. “Dismissed.”

“Right away, Lady Cassandra!” With a scurry, the soldiers departed. Cassandra motioned for her retinue to continue onward after apologizing to the mages. Once the room was out of earshot, Cassandra leaned down to whisper in Assan’s ear.

“Do you see now why we had you chained?” She said.

“I think so,” Assan answered. “What drove people to this?”

“You will see soon enough. Come; to the roof, first.”

They stopped before the entrance to the roof access. The soldiers took up position on either side of the door, slipping their masks onto their faces. Cassandra motioned for Assan to go first once she had unlocked the door. He started up the stairs, noticing how uneasy the air felt once the door shut behind them. Only three of the six soldiers accompanied them up the stairs. The muffled sounds of screams and wails made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He slowed his pace, dreading reaching the roof. Did he really want to see what had happened?

Cassandra stopped him halfway up the stairs. She slipped her gas mask over her face. “Put your mask on before we go any further.”

“Why do I need this?” He pulled the mask on, but it did little to make him feel any safer. Was the disease airborne? Would the mask really make any difference?

“We believe we are far enough away, but it is better safe than sorry at this point,” Cassandra said, continuing up the stairs towards the door to the roof.

“Far enough away from what?”

“The Gas,” She replied. Assan decided it best to not put it off any longer. He needed to see what they were talking about. Cassandra unlocked the door, slowly ushering him and the other soldiers through it.

His heart stopped for a few seconds as he stared out at the city. Many of the buildings had their windows blown out, as though a giant shockwave had shattered them all. Some buildings had entire chunks missing; roofs had the shingles stripped away. Downed power lines sparked and crackled, showering the ground with sparks. The streets were littered with trash and debris, and the occasional corpse. Assan turned in a circle, drinking in the devastation.

He stopped when he saw the light in the distance.

Several miles away, by the wreckage of what once had been a beautiful old temple, an eerie green light glowed. A sickly green mist billowed out from the ruins, rolling down the hills and towards the edge of the small city. Strange shrieks and cries came from the mist, and down below in the streets. He could see people shambling through the streets now, banging against the walls of the buildings, tearing at themselves as they screamed and howled.  

“What is that?” He asked quietly.

“We don’t know,” Cassandra confessed. “So far, all we know is that something exploded, killing everyone there, except for you. The Divine, the others participating in the peace talks--- all dead. The shock wave reached out for miles, causing all the destruction you see. Then, the Gas came. At first, people were just sick, but within a matter of hours, those exposed to the gas went feral, attacking anyone in sight, like the corpse you just saw. We locked down the hospital and a few nearby buildings when their numbers grew too great for us to manage. We have not dared to attempt any further investigations to the temple since.  

“There is a machine in the midst of the ruins that we discovered before the lockdown. No one knows what it is, or how it survived the blast, but it is the source of the gas. Reports are pouring in from all over Ferelden, describing the same machines emitting this strange gas, though none are as large as this.”

“What exactly is the gas? A poison?” Assan just couldn’t wrap his head around any of it. He’d heard of chemicals that could drive people to this level of madness, but for it to be in such large quantities just didn’t make sense. People would notice movements of that kind of substance in large amounts.   

“It is a sickness; it turns the living into rabid cannibals. Those that die of disease come back to kill again. No one has shown immunity to the disease. Except for you.”

Assan looked over at her and frowned. “Me?”

“Our scouts found you at the epicenter; right in the thickest of the gas by the machine. Your hand was badly lacerated,” Cassandra stared out at the source of the fog, a mix of desperation and defeat in her eyes. “We kept you in isolation for several hours, but when it became clear that you weren’t showing any signs after the typical time frame, we knew you had to be immune. You could be our one hope of stopping this.”

“Immune…?” Assan stared down at the scar on his palm. He flexed his fingers and wrist slightly, at least glad that it hadn’t damaged any nerves. It seemed like now would be a bad time to be down one hand.

“We wish to go back again; to investigate the machine further,” Cassandra said. “We need you to go with us.”

“Why me?”

“We hoped you would know something about it. Even now that it is apparent you know nothing, having you there could lead us to something important,” Cassandra turned to him, her eyes pleading despite what appeared to be her best attempt at keeping a calm expression. “We need your help.”

“Still think I did this?” Assan asked, crossing his arms.  

“I am beginning to doubt your involvement.” A slight scowl twitched at her lips. She stuck her hand out. “Help us?”

Assan thought about it for a minute. He’d be willingly going out there into a horde of cannibals and a miasma of toxic gas that resurrected the dead.  But if his blood held a possible cure---or even just a clue to help find one--- to help stop this before it escalated any further, he’s be stupid not to try.

“Alright; I’ll help,” He shook her hand. “But I’ll need my stuff back.”

Cassandra forced a smile. “That can be arranged. Come; we need to speak with the others, and get everyone rounded up to head out. We leave at sundown.”