#da;o

[mooreaux]

Tyne was only MOSTLY dead

[gatticus]

Saying to Anora that I’m gonna keep Loghain alive and she BeLiEves me

we have to laff

[indigo-fyre]

Small dilemma

I finished a playthrough of Origins last night and am rather unhappy about a few things, some choices that I realized don’t make much sense and some appearance things.

So I’m going to start over with them and am stuck on something. I am set on making them a Dalish elf again and I have a personality in mind. I just can’t decide between a female or male character.

I have names already chosen for either, and whichever one I don’t use I’ll use for my Inquisitor; Ashara for a female elf, and Verlen for a male one.

Decisions, decisions.

[zevodactyl]

I don't know who I'm going to romance in my current Dragon Age Origins replay.  I could go for Leliana or Morrigan but I get this feeling I'm just going to get dragged back into inescapable Zevran hell.

Oh well.

[plantz-art]

My Own Light

A piece I did mainly to try out a different more tarot card-like style. As usual when it comes to Dragon Age fanart I used my warden Arlise’el.

[fanfoolishness]

Brosca and Alistair. Anything fluffy. Snow day maybe? :)

“Dis!” Alistair said excitedly, shaking her awake.  “Come on then, look.  It’s snowed!”  

She yawned, rolling over, before the meaning of his words struck her.  “It has?” she said.  She jumped to the inn’s window without even looking at him, leaving the blanket behind her in a flutter.  She dragged a chair to the windowsill and climbed atop it.  She didn’t mind the draft from the window on her naked skin, cold as it was; she was too excited.  She wiped the fog from the window pane and stared out eagerly at the snow-blanketed little town.  It was early enough in the morning that the villagers had not yet started to stir; instead, the dawnlight still lingered in pinks and purples in the soft slopes and hillocks left behind by the thick snow.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” she demanded, turning to look at him properly.  That was when she realized that he was already kitted up for the snow, wearing a thick cloak, leather gloves, and the ugly, well-worn scarf he had knitted himself.  He even had on a pair of lumpy woollen earmuffs.  She was enraptured.

“I could ask you the very same,” he said smugly, giving her a smirk.

“You – you – I love you, you nug’s arse,” Dis sputtered, holding out her arms so he could pick her up off the chair and twirl her about, kissing her hard before he set her down.

“All right,” she said hurriedly, looking for her smalls amid the pile of clothing on the floor.  “You give me two minutes to get dressed; I’ll give you two minutes’ head start on your snowball arsenal.”

“My generous wife,” Alistair said fondly, but before she could give him a reply he was out the door, running for the snow as fast as he could.  

Dis steeled herself.  It was bound to be a long and bloody battle out there, fought in the bitter cold; Alistair would try to use his superior height to rain down suppressive fire, but she would be able to take cover more readily.  She pulled on her clothing in a frantic rush, not even bothering to tie the laces on her boots, and as she chased outside after him, she couldn’t keep from grinning.