Trying two parallel playthroughs this time, with a mage Rook (she/her, romancing Taash) and a fighter Rook (they/she, romancing Emmrich).
So far I am enjoying it a lot. Could the story be deeper? Yes. Is everyone acting very "modern" for a dark-ish fantasy setting? Also yes. Do I care? NO! It's fun!
I am very "bad" at gaming but DA:V gives me so much assistance, it is a godsend. And honestly.... I have long waited for a game where I could make my characters look like normal people with eyebags and acne.
Anyway. This is going to be my hyperfixation for the next couple months. See you all on the other side! Ciaooo!
Thanks @mistressorinoco for your comment yesterday! Here's today's ficlet, hope you like it!
Currently this just the first draft, so I am open to suggestions or better descriptions. I just had this idea of a mage using the motions of spinning for their spells, so I ran with it. I'll probably put it on my AO3 once I finish it :)
The Threads that Bind Us
Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard / Rated G/ Characters: Qunari Mage Rook OC / Approx. 700 words
Each of the mages in their team had their own distinct ways, and seeing their differences when weaving magic delighted Qatesh to no end.
There was Emmrich, the distinguished Nevarran professor, with his flamboyant, almost pompous mannerisms. His hands and arms would make large flourishes, elegantly floating through the air in front of him for everyone to see, even the students with bad eyesight at the back of the lecture room. His spells were painted in waves and swirls, and were snappily finished, as if they belonged on a stage. The scent of incense and dust accompanied him.
In contrast, Neve‘s motions were small, clipped and precise. As befitted someone working in a dangerous city, who didn‘t have the luxury of time, or the leisure of space. Her fingers flicked and tapped, energy building between them, while she stood almost completely still, each movement deliberate. Her spells smelled of concentration and reliability.
Bellara fell somewhere in the middle between them. A sort of youthful innocence and wonder resonated in her movements, paired with a hint of frosty morning air and forest floor, an impressive precision and strength, perfectly adapted to shifting or neutralising large currents of energy and working with old elven magic most of the world had forgotten about.
And Qatesh… Qatesh had spent most of her life in a Tevinter workshop spinning wool. Learning how to control her magic properly had only come later, after she washed up in Rivain. Everyone around her had their own style, most of course were trying to be impressive. Originally, she refused to spin her magic, as it reminded her of a past she was keen to forget. Accepting that these were the motions that were most ingrained in her, that she had honed these gestures to such perfection they lent themselves naturally to be adapted to her new life as a mage, had been difficult at first. But alas, she got stuck with the mundane motion of drafting wool, and her spells had a certain tang of wood and linseed oil.
Magic wasn‘t that far off from spinning though, she thought to herself. Open yourself up, channel the force through you, release the amount needed. Same as when she‘d take a sliver, a rolag or a combed sheep’s lock, holding it loosely in her left while teasing out just the needed amount of fiber with her right.
Being able to spin a thin, durable, even thread was a feat in itself not many people truly mastered. She had taken years to get it to the level she was at now. It took concentration, skill and coordination, between brain, eyes, foot and hands, not to mention the more instinctual points like knowing how the particular wool in her hands would behave, the response of it to the tug of the wheel under her fingertips, and feeling the individual fibers gathering twist and snapping together into a coherent thread before she would release them to be wound onto the bobbin. Qatesh could spin on automatic, her mind free, a swallow soaring on the currents.
Between her team, she was the odd one out, the only one who hadn’t been properly trained since her youth. So it came to no surprise that her way of weaving spells looked different. Her movements mainly came out of her wrists, palms upwards, with fingers ready to either pinch the energy or letting it flow, feeding it into the direction she needed. Shoulders straight, left arm poised to draw back, her right foot planted firmly, pressing down on the floor, as if to control the rhythm with which the magic pulsed. Finding the exact right moment when to release it. Rolling the gossamer connection to the Fade between the thumb and index finger of her right hand, adding or releasing twist depending on the feedback she got from her left.
Qatesh knew she could never change her past. But she could still take pride in what she had achieved. Whether with fiber or magic, she was a spinner, through and through.
Chapters: 7/?
Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Rook (Dragon Age), Original Qunari Character(s), Original Human Character(s), Qatesh Laidir (OC), Original Elf Character(s) (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: Abuse, Slavery, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Loneliness, Neglect, Bullying, Vignette, Ficlet Collection, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Chapter 7 now up! “Matters of Love”
Qatesh couldn’t relate to the other girls, their hushed conversations and the incessant giggles while spinning, of stolen kisses in the dark and certain adventures they’d had, sometimes going so far as to compare, well, assets of certain footmen. Of course Qatesh knew how sex worked and that it was supposed to be something pleasant. Living together with so many people in rather cramped conditions offered enough occasions to witness the mysteries of courtship. But if she had to be honest, she didn’t find the idea of it all overly appealing. She was fine by herself. If being the ugly Qunari with the receding hairline helped with being left alone, then she didn‘t mind.
The question came out of the blue, during breakfast. Qatesh looked up from her steaming bowl of porridge, spoon halfway to her open mouth. Her eyes honed in on Maris, sitting near her on the bench, one elbow propped up on the table. Early morning sunlight shone through her pointy ears, making them glow a translucent pink.
“Huh? Why?” - “Come on, don’t be shy! It’s spring! None of the handsome boys caught your eye so far?”
“Nobody would ever want to fuck Crumb Cake,” a girl from the weaving workshop crowed from the back.
Maris whipped around, brandishing her spoon like a club.
