#avvar oc

[axes-and-elfroot]

Caretakers

Thane Svarah Sun-Hair Janesdotten and her son, Scrog Svarahsen.

Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan and her nephew, Amadeus Lavellan.

[freyanuris]

🍂 Fyrrn “Sky Mender” Lejonhjärta, Avvar Knight Enchanteress 🍂

[kissingagrumpygiant]

Avvar boy back in mind

[laraslandlockedblues]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 16/18 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rylen (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Rylen (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s) Characters: Rylen (Dragon Age), Original Female Character(s), Abigail Henderson, Cullen Rutherford, Female Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Original Avvar Character(s) (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Avvar, Avvar Culture and Customs, Avvar, Avvar Rylen, Avvar Abigail Henderson, Avvar Cullen Rutherford, Minor Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Ok "Trevelyan" it's just Evelyn, Avvar Evelyn, Cullen is Thane, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Kidnapping, Captured Bride, Mating Rituals, bondmates, Getting to Know Each Other, Falling In Love, fast burn, Slow Build, Past Relationship(s), Light Angst, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Enthusiastic Consent, Light Bondage, Loud Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Happy Ending, POV Rylen (Dragon Age), POV Original Female Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, From Sex to Love, Possessive Sex, Claiming, First Time Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs, Denial of Feelings, Family Fluff, Family Feels, Idiots in Love, Language Barrier, occasionally, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Established Relationship Series: Part 4 of Just Say Lass Summary:

It starts at a hunt, with a pretty lass who catches his eye when no others have in longer than he can remember.

It continues as an arrangement, at everyone else's insistent encouragement - and more desire than he'd actually admit aloud.

In twelve moons it ends - or does it truly begin?

[rad-neto]

jogurt jogurtsen, 8ft avvar hunter (ft. alex who is 6′4 in comparison)

[scharoux]

Skadi of Stone Bear Hold

Speed paint I did of Skadi to try to get out of this damned art block! *shakes fist*

[dalishkadan]

wip wednesday

thank you @a11sha11fade for tagging me! the past couple of weeks have just been ... ugh ... but i finally have a little something to share! (and if you're in the dragon age fanfiction discord server, you may recognise part of this BUT ... this is longer ... because i can make it longer mwahahaha.

i'll tag @dumbassentity, @lamiahypnosia, and @thedashingcaptainweird, @warpedlegacy and anyone reading this, if you wanna participate.

so here we go ... avvar siblings in the inquisition ... (and yes, the templar is knight-captain rylen)

-----

Out of the maw of an endless, black void, Zoyla had only a brief sensation of falling, of tumbling, before the sharp sting of skin against stone shot through her forearms. The shock of the fall was quickly replaced by the icy sting of the ground beneath her, and even with her thick Avvar blood, she shivered, teeth chattering as she blinked the world into focus. All around her smelled of ash and metal mixed with the tang of ozone, as if a powerful spell had just been cast. But by who? She did not know and likewise didn’t even know where to begin as her mind was blessedly blank.

At least, it was for a moment, and then where she was and what she was supposed to be doing came crashing back through the haze, alarm bells ringing as she inherently knew something was wrong. She shot up and then faltered, the world tilting as she stumbled backward, landing hard against the stone, though the dull impact barely registered. Her heart beat faster as she called out for her brother. “Eirik? Eirik!” Her voice was rough, cracked, as if she’d been yelling for far longer, though she could not remember. All that had come back to her was a vague recollection of approaching the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but despite that, she knew that finding her brother was of utmost importance. Despite being the younger sibling, she tended to act like the eldest, herding and protecting Eirik with a vigour she reserved for few others.

This time, she stayed kneeling, keeping her centre of gravity low as she cast around her gaze as if her head was on a swivel. Her head still buzzed with dizziness, but it was bearable. She’d fought from her knees before, in desperation, and while it wasn’t ideal, she could work with it. And there, just behind her, laid Eirik, his lifeless body sagging against the uneven stone as a crackling green light shone from beneath him.

She could worry about the odd light later as she crawled to him, entreating him by his name as she sucked in a breath, worry gripping her heart and settling in her chest. He laid there face down, soot strewn in his snow-white hair, so still that she feared he could be dead and gone already. Desperate fingers searched for a pulse in his neck, and upon finding one still going strong, that knot began to loosen ever so slightly. Turning him over on his back, her brow furrowed at seeing a strange mark on his left hand, one she knew well and good he didn’t ordinarily possess. Eirik was a mage, and a talented one at that, and he was forever experimenting and learning his powers alongside his companion spirit. But this … this was nothing like what she’d seen before, and that worry gnawed deeper.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching pricked her ears and she looked up to see a small contingent of wide-eyed soldiers wearing heavy armour approach. She was instantly leery, especially as she saw the sunburst symbol on their breastplates, a symbol she’d long looked out for after Eirik’s magic manifested. Sunburst meant Chantry, and Chantry meant danger for her brother. Her hand found the hilt of her axe on instinct, the weight of her shield on her back a comfort as she unsteadily rose to her feet. They unsheathed their own swords in response as she barked, “Stay away from him!” She surprised even herself with how steady and fierce her voice sounded as the world still threatened to turn over on itself.

“Put down yer weapon,” one of them said in a thick brogue, but Zoyla wasn’t about to back down. Now now, not ever. “We’re here ta help!” he tried to insist, but she shook her head.

“We don’t need Templar help,” she sneered, hefting her axe in her hand and leaving her shield where it was. She didn’t trust her balance to reach behind her and grab it; better to have only her axe than to send herself stumbling.

The one Templar approached, sword drawn but held at his side. “I dinnae want ta hurt ya, lass. Yer friend there, he looks like he needs help. Seeker Pentaghast …”

She didn’t let him finish, letting out a yell as she charged, axe swinging and connecting with his sword only because he lifted it in defence at the last possible moment. He managed to parry her blow, and the subsequent ones as she swung wildly, attempting to either unseat him, intimidate him, or wear him down. Her face curled into a snarl, brows drawn and teeth flashing as she leaned into her abilities.

In the end, however, her own body betrayed her as the world tilted once more and she couldn’t ignore or compensate for how it left her swaying. Her opponent took advantage of the opening, knocking aside her axe and leaving her open as he raised his hand. The last thing she coherently remembered was looking up to see his fist and the pommel of his sword before it came crashing down onto her temple.

———

“You can’t just leave me in here forever!”

The Templar ignored her, infuriating her further as she aimed a kick at the bars before smacking them with her hands. The only thing that accomplished was a sting in her palms and a radiating soreness in her toes. She scowled at it, scowled at the pain, at her hands and feet, at the bars, at the man sitting on a bench just across from the cell she was held in. He watched her with a seemingly amused lilt to his expression.

Folding her arms, she demanded, “I want to see my brother.”

At that, he finally responded. “Sorry, lass, I cannae do that.”

Zoyla glared at his insufferable calm. Oh how she hated it. How she wanted to let loose her rage and smite everything around her with nothing more than her anger, but she couldn’t. She was locked up in their Chantry, weapons and brother taken from her, and she had only herself and an annoying Templar for company. Grumbling under her breath, she paced, trying desperately not to think about what might be happening.

Similar to the Dalish, the Chantry and the Avvar had a longstanding unspoken agreement to leave each other in peace. The Chantry did not approve of the Avvar allowing their mages the freedom to live and work how they wished, but in their eyes, as long as said mages were kept far away from towns and villages under their influence, they turned a blind eye to their cultural practises. Should an Avvar mage be caught, however, alone and unawares, well … that seemed to be a grey area, one that Templars had previously taken advantage of in capturing and turning them over to the Circle. And after …

Zoyla shuddered. In their training, their mages took on spirits to help guide them and teach them, a perfectly normal and standard practise that the Avvar had been doing for generations. But the Chantry, they considered this horrific, calling it possession and making it clear that any such abominations required immediate execution. No attempt at understanding, no tolerance of cultural practises. Just a swift end for the poor mage who might happen to fall into their clutches, should that mage have a spirit with them.

And Eirik did.

But there was nothing she could do. For years, Zoyla had watched Eirik’s back, protecting him, fending off threats, and now when presented with arguably their biggest one yet, she was captured, disarmed, and imprisoned. Separated from him, she could no longer watch over him as she had ever since his magic manifested. Though she was the younger sister, she felt like the elder, her devotion and duty to her brother as the future Augur of [their hold] overriding their birth order and the supposed traits that heralded. And now …

“Ye’re gonna pace right through the floor, ye keep that up.”

Pitching him one last glare, she sat down with a harrumph, wanting to be mad, to be angry, but feeling it slowly dissipate in favour of something else. Despair. Worry. Regret. Fear. All of it coalesced into a tight little ball in her gut. She would have given her last breath to ensure her brother was safe, but that had been taken from her the moment she was captured and put in this cell. If anything were to happen to Eirik …

Bowing her head, she knew damn well what she’d do. In dishonour and disgrace at failing not only the Thane’s directive of attending the Conclave peacefully but also at allowing her brother’s death, she would not rest until she killed as many of them as she could. With her bare hands, if she had to. She would not stop until they stopped her, a fitting end for such a failure. Tears pricked her eyes as she clenched her fists. Please, Eirik, be okay. Come back to me.

As if he could somehow read her thoughts, the Templar remarked softly, “I’m sure yer brother will be alright. Seeker Pentaghast has healers takin’ care of ‘im, she’s not cruel or unkind.”

The echo of metal hitting stone rang through the prison as her provided cup hit the wall near his head.

[dionysianrevelry]

Astrid Korthsdotten - Avvar Inquisitor AU 

I have redesigned my Avvar OC and here’s a sketch! It’s been a solid year since I started doing art for her and I’m so proud of my progress. She is a half-elf now which I think is the bees knees.