A list of different posts with background information, personality, and random trivia.
If you have any questions, feel free to DM!
2026 Outfit Re-Design
Face and Body References and Background
2026 Background and Lore
Terrible photos of him
Hero Forge Mini version
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Jerran's Characterization Sheet
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Rook!Jerran's Background and Lore
Rooks Roost AU #rrau
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Personality, Dialogue
Characterization Cheat Sheet
Influences
6 Characters that Inspire Jerran's Personality
Rook.TV
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Writing Examples:
Jerran panicking at the Hand
Jerran telling a Story
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MASTERLIST OF Timeline WRITINGS (RRAU and Others)
Rookfest25
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RRAU: Jerran x Eleanor
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Kyra Masterpost (Jerran's dead fiancee)
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Music Playlist
On Youtube because I find songs like it's the early 2000's. No particular order--- much like Jerran, it’s best to hit the "mix" button and let the chaos wash over you.
Jerran shoved Danylle and Gwynna away from him; the girl hit the wall far too heavily for the amount of force he’d exerted. She collapsed to the floor, her arm covering her face. Taking advantage of the lull, he drew his sword and dagger. The other guests fell back, gasping in disbelief.
His mother staggered in front of him, tears spilling from the amber eyes so much like his own, pleading. “Da’len, please. Just put away the sword.” She reached up to touch his face. “You could have the life you’ve always dreamed of… just stay with us.”
Us. He stared into her eyes and saw emptiness. Something twisted in him. It wasn’t her. It never was. “I’m sorry, Mamae.” He stabbed her straight in the chest and twisted.
Gwynna folded over the blade and everything in the room dissolved like sugar threads on a rainy day, leaving Jerran behind in a dusty, dark room with two shadows crouched in the corner.
His sword out, Jerran swiveled around to see humanoid shapes slumped against the wall. Some had horns; others were no taller than his waist. All lay in twisted, unnatural positions like discarded dolls tossed by a petulant child.
A familiar tremulous voice came from behind. “Mister?”
The kid. Jerran had almost forgotten. Turning, he saw the Child huddled in the middle of the dusty room. They visibly cringed at his attention. What had the Demon said? Protect them.
Part of him wanted to shake the kid for leading him into that trap like a stupid sheep. But the Shadows had attacked them as well; maybe they were innocent despite the part they played. “You have two seconds to explain what you’re doing here,” he snapped. “And what are you?”
They flinched, their dark brown hair obscuring their eyes. Wait. Brown hair? Jerran squinted and realized that the Child’s appearance looked slightly different with no hood. A dull Tevinter-styled tunic wrapped several times around a thin body that barely reached Jerran’s elbow; Jerran recognized the style from wandering through the Minrathous Docktown alleys. A gold enchanted bracelet dangled from a slender wrist that hugged narrow shoulders as the Child huddled. Scuffed boots shuffled against the floor, sending dust flying to coat their dark grey pants as they whimpered, “Sorry. I’m sor —” They stopped, tilting their head.
Jerran paused. There. He heard it – a distant cracking coming from… Behind. Shit. Jerran managed to throw himself in front of the kid to shield them right before the wall behind him shattered. Something hard struck him on the back of the head and the room faded.
“Mister, mister, wake up, please.” The pitiful voice came from below him.
What… what was that? Why did everything hurt? He slowly became aware that he was dangling, with his feet hanging in the air. The runes ached, but they no longer drained from Jerran’s limited lyrium reserve; they must have deactivated when he was unconscious. Something wet and coppery trickled from his mouth and Jerran raised his head, only to feel a sharp claw dig into the softness of his neck.
“Welcome back, worm. Enjoy seeing your mother again?”
That bastard. Jerran struggled and told the demon where it could stick its pointy fingers. The hand wrapped around his neck shifted.
“Perhaps the worm needs a reminder of who is in charge. Who has the power.”
A claw pierced through Jerran’s corazinna armor and pinned him to the wall as though the metal-backed leather, thick wool, and chainmail were merely thin paper. A numbness spread across his chest. He choked as blood dripped onto the Demon’s hand.
Another hand reached behind him and tapped the rejuvenation rune on Jerran’s neck, activating it. “Always searching for more abilities. How is that working for you, little elf?”
The rejuvenation rune began healing torn tissue and severed organs. Jerran stared dazedly at the Demon’s gaping maw as it leaned close. A headache began to throb in his temple.
“You compromised your health and your morals trying to get ahead. Admit it – you’d make a deal with the doctor or a demon itself if it meant you got the perks. What ability did you want?” A twist of the claw, re-opening the wounds. “Fade-step.”
“That… that’s not true,” he slurred. “I wanted…” What did he want? “A cure from Blight.”
A cackle and another twist. “Is that what you tell yourself?”
The meager amount of lyrium-induced mana ran out; the rejuvenation rune hummed under his skin as it siphoned from his blood. Jerran sagged against the Demon’s hand. The thing meant to heal him was rapidly killing him. He would have laughed if he had enough breath. Hey, Doc, didn’t think that through throughly, didja?
At first he thought he was hallucinating the singing. Then he heard it again: a distant voice was tremulous, but clear:
Tel'enfenim, da'len
Irassal ma ghilas
Ma garas mir renan
Ara ma'athlan vhenas
Ara ma'athlan vhenas
Never fear, little one,
Wherever you shall go.
Follow my voice--
I will call you home.
I will call you home.
Home. He had to get home to Ellie, to everyone he’d missed in the other timeline. Or if he couldn’t, he’d take this godsdamned Demon down with him.
Jerran's head slumped forward on the Demon’s hand as it dug into his chest. With the last bit of willpower, he activated the strength and endurance runes, hoping the Demon wouldn’t notice.
Good. The Demon was too busy cackling and monologuing about power.
Forcing the rest of his body to remain limp, Jerran slowly raised his shaking left hand. Fingers slick with blood and sweat fumbled to draw his beloved bollock dagger from its sheath; when he had a steady hold on the weapon, he waited for the bastard to draw near again
Hot, foul air blew on Jerran’s neck as a strand of saliva hit his cheek. “It seems that I’ve won, little worm. You’re going to be a delicious, delicious body to wear after I heal it.”
Now. Using the strength and endurance runes, Jerran brought up his left hand – not many expect to be attacked from that side – and stabbed the creature straight through its gaping mouth and out the back of its fucking skull. “FUCK YOU.”
Its scream cut off mid-shriek as Jerran continued jamming and twisting the blade up to the hilt. Rotten threads lining its face burst along the seams of its gray and decaying skin. The tall figure swayed.
He felt the claw pinning him to the wall loosen just a second before the demon exploded.
With nothing to hold him up, he fell. His back and head slammed into the ground, sending the grey ash flying.
Jerran coughed as the particles filled his mouth, mixing with the blood trickling down his nose. The darkened ceiling above him blurred and dimmed. A sharp, stabbing pain throbbed in his temple; the runes were busy trying to repair the damage.
A futile attempt. He needed sleep. Please, Maker, just let me sleep.
A small hand rested briefly on his forehead. The Kid. Jerran opened his eyes to see the Child kneeling over him, stroking his hair. A hood – a dispassionate part of Jerran’s mind observed that the hood was part of the tunic – now covered their face.
“They failed, you know. The others.” The Child’s voice had changed. Quieter. More controlled. They swept their arm in the direction of the bodies slumped against the wall. “Congratulations, you won.”
Jerran’s laugh gurgled in his throat. Aunt Morella was going to kill him for getting injured. Again. “Dunno about that… kid,” he rasped. Maker, it was hard to stay awake. “And who are you?” A pause. Jerran sensed rather than saw the Child ease the hood back. He caught a fleeting glance of familiar amber eyes, bronze skin, and dark curly hair. “You’re… you’re…”
Jerran’s younger self smiled shyly at him before looking up, ears twitching. “Sleep. Aurora will be here soon.” Standing up, the smaller Jerran closed his eyes and faded away in a flash of light.
His reflection shimmered and the Blighted version vanished. A younger Jerran, eyes flashing with excitement, wore expensive merchants’ robes. He looked… healthy. Vigorous. Confident. Everything that Warden Jerran Thorne was not.
The Voice continued, “Or you could have a happy life with your parents and a wealthy fiancėe. A good reputation. You could live long enough to see your grandchildren, maybe even your great grandchildren.”
A thought occurred to him. “Why can’t I meet Eleanor as a merchant?”
It chuckled. “Come now, this isn’t a romance serial where you meet in every lifetime. Only sappy authors like Varric Tethras do that. Lady Ingellvar would stay in Nevarra where it's safe, protected by her loving family, and recovering from her traumatic injuries.”
Its tone sharpened. “So choose. A short, painful life that dooms the Mournwatcher to a lifetime of misery, or a long, prosperous one where she remains safe and you have a future.”
Jerran was tired. So tired. Tired of fighting, of making life and death situations, of scraping enough money together, feeling inadequate. His brain just wasn’t made for the education stuff, no matter how much he tried. He wasn’t a mage; there were some things that he’d never bee able to grasp fully about her Dreamer abilities and the Fade. He couldn’t protect Eleanor from whoever was stalking her in her dreams. He was useless, he couldn’t….
What could he offer her, really? Non-noble wardens depended on spoils of war, charity, and whatever the Chantry and the treaties deigned to throw their way. Even fucking Sol-ass provided the Lighthouse as their home. Void, the armor he wore had taken six months of hard work, “borrowing” things to sell, and some creative strategies at Wicked Grace games to earn a custom fit.
And seeing the worry in her eyes every time he left for a mission killed him inwardly every time. Looking up in the mirror, Jerran saw her beautiful lavender blue eyes filling with tears and her lower lip quivering as an image of him walked toward the Eluvian where a group of shadowy Grey Wardens waited.
A song – The Song – began softly at first before slowly building into a roar. The Wardens and the mirror Jerran twisted into leering Darkspawn. Horror filled the mirror Eleanor’s face and she turned to run as the Darkspawn lunged at her. Kyra, her glowing red eyes, hair matted with Blight, reached out to grab Eleanor’s arm.
You ruin everyone. Kyra. Senior Warden Aeneas. And countless others. It’s a pattern.
Maybe the Voice was right. Staying as a merchant would keep her safe. Wardens made sacrifices all the time, after all.
He’d finally get what he wanted – a family, a good reputation. A place in Society.
But was it worth giving Eleanor up?
He hesitated and the scene changed in the mirror — he and Eleanor stood in their apartment; from the amount of trinkets on the shelves, he placed it at the time when they moved in together.
Jerran glanced around their Lighthouse apartment, trying to view it from an outsider's eyes. A lot of his furniture had been thrifted or borrowed. He'd invested most of a month’s paycheck on the bed and mattress. "It's not too simple, is it? We can get finer things in the future."
“Jerran,” Eleanor gave him a soft smile, reaching out for his hand. “I love it. Because it’s ours. That makes it more than enough, I think.”
He linked their hands together, her slender fingers contrasting with his larger ones. "You deserve a mansion with the finest library and all the wisps to play with."
“What I want….” She turned to him, her eyes bright, “Is to spend my life with you. No matter where that leads, I will follow. As long as you’re there, I don’t mind if our home is not grand. That is what makes it a home, I think."
Jerran looked down at the handkerchief in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the embroidery. Eleanor had never indicated that she cared about his lack of status; she’d always supported his attempts to better himself.
What had Danylle said when they first met? An adopted daughter of a noble marrying the merchant son of a war hero? It’s an honor.”
Sure he had the wealth, the reputation as a merchant. But nothing indicated he was helping people. The way his “friends” sneered at the Grey Wardens who literally sacrificed their lives, the purely indulgent atmosphere… everything felt shallow.
The Gwynna in this future wasn’t the mother he remembered. That mother hadn’t cared about wealth or gold; if she had, she wouldn’t have fallen in love with his father, as much as Jerran hated the bastard. Elian was just a mercenary with little prospects.
And Eleanor… she wasn’t dancing with nobles or mingling with her peers; her parents treated her as a knicknack or an afterthought. Yes, they provided for her, gave her an education. But the girl had spent years wandering the halls of her empty house as her parents chased research opportunities.
Was it selfish? Probably. But he wasn’t going to let Eleanor be alone, even if he was an uneducated liberati former criminal in this lifetime. “You talk too much. Fuck off,” he told the Voice.
A tap on the door. “Jerran, vhenan? Are you all right?” A note of anxiety underlined Danylle’s voice.
He stuffed the handkerchief in his armor. “Sorry, coming,” he called. He had to play it smart. Whatever trap he was in, there were more of them than him. He had to even the odds somehow; he’d wasted too much time. Jerran opened the door.
Judging by the narrow-eyed look on Danylle's face, he’d forgotten to give his facial expression the memo. “Jerran? Are you all right? I got you more wine.” She handed him the cup.
The other guests looked anxiously toward him. “Is he all right?” Orasa asked Harvan, who shrugged.
Gwynna approached, her laughter a bit too bright and pealing. “Forgive him, he appeared to be a bit tired.” Lowering her voice, she frowned. “You have been exceedingly trying tonight, Jerran. Whatever is the matter with you?”
Danylle clutched at his arm. “Vhenan, you’re just a bit tired. Why don’t you relax and take a sip of wine?” She chuckled nervously. “We’re in the middle of a toast, after all.”
Jerran shook her off, not giving a damn that he spilled the wine again. “I want out.” He looked back at his mother; her face wobbled and distorted slightly before reverting.
“Out? There is no out. This is your home.” Gwynna grabbed his arm. Even through the thick chainmail and gambeson, her nails felt like thorns digging into his flesh.
Danylle lunged forward, grasping his other arm. “Stop it, Jerran. This is absolutely ridiculous.” Her voice warped as a second pitch – an echo of the Voice – joined hers.
Fuck! He shoved Danylle and Gwynna away from him; the girl hit the wall far too heavily for the amount of force he’d exerted. She collapsed to the floor, her arm covering her face. Taking advantage of the lull, he drew his sword and dagger. The other guests fell back, gasping in disbelief.
His mother staggered in front of him, tears spilling from the amber eyes so much like his own, pleading. “Da’len, please. Just put away the sword.” She reached up to touch his face. “You could have the life you’ve always dreamed of… just stay with us.”
Us. He stared into her eyes and saw emptiness. Something twisted in him. It wasn’t her. It never was. “I’m sorry, Mamae.” He stabbed her straight in the chest and twisted.
Gwynna folded over the blade and everything in the room dissolved like sugar threads on a rainy day, leaving Jerran behind in a dusty, dark room with two shadows crouched in the corner.
Ever since seeing this, I’ve not been able to get the idea out of my head. Red Lyrium Alphonse is just too amazing for this world. What would these brothers have gone through in Thedas?
Credit for concept goes to @zeowynda and @balamist/dillmoor. It is also available as a print!
He looked down at the goblet in his hand. The ruby liquid swirled as he held it up to the light to admire the droplets clinging to the cup’s sides. His mouth watered at the dark, smoky smell of sweet spices, plum and dark berries wafted from it. Cheering, he raised the glass and tilted it to his lips, prepared to swallow the ruby liquid.
A whisper. “Jerran.”
What was that? He lowered the cup and glanced around, only to see the other guests, including Danylle, still drinking.
“Jerran…Jerran please. I’m here.”
That voice. He knew that voice. Sweet and cool, it tasted of strawberries and chocolate and conjured images of pale mint walls, darting wisps, and intimate evenings by candlelight.
Jerran blinked; the scene shimmered and seemed to melt away to reveal a small apartment filled with small wooden carvings and books. Beyond him, floating rocks and islands collided with each other, breaking into smaller pieces. Where am I?
“I’m sorry that he hurt you, vhenan.”
The voice again. Jerran turned to see himself standing with a girl with pale golden hair and gorgeous forget-me-not eyes looking up at him, a small anxious frown marring her scarred face. Why was she worried? Had something happened?
Jerran tilted her head up and grinned. "Hey. I'm back. Still in one piece. Not going anywhere."
She smiled, his reassurance helping her melt away her doubts. “Promise?”
"I promise that I will do everything in my power to come back to you. Every time." It was a poor substitute. but it was the best he could do.
“That is all I could ask for, vhenan. I promise I will always look for you. I will do everything for you to have a home to come back to.” Her voice was quiet but resolute. She brought her hand up to his cheek.
Something cold touched his cheek and he was back in the parlor, surrounded by staring guests and a servant anxiously approaching with a cloth. Looking down, he realized that he must have dropped the cup; reddish liquid dripped down the armor. He accepted the cloth and dabbed at the wine with little success.
“Vhenan? Are you all right?” Danylle cupped his cheek, the nails lightly scratching the skin. Her thumb pressed a spot on his cheekbone that sent pain shooting through his face. “You spilled your wine, can I fetch you more?”
Jerran flinched and grabbed her wrist. “I’m fine,” he said, fighting the urge to snap. Just to get rid of her, he handed her the glass. “And yes, I would like more wine.”
She turned and beckoned to a nearby servant to hand the glass to them. “We’d like some more wine, please.”
So much for that. Untangling himself from her grasp, he fled to the nearest washroom and slammed the door shut, ignoring Danylle’s calls and tapping on the wooden barrier. Once inside, he leaned over the counter, breathing hard.
Who was that girl? Something about her felt …. right. Familiar. Like home. Instinctively, as though he’d done it hundreds of times before, he unbuttoned a special panel on his right glove to find a small, folded cloth. Unfolding the treasure, he stared down a handkerchief with beautifully embroidered rhododendrons and forget-me-nots decorated its edge along with letters threaded in silk:
”Ar lath ma vhenan” ~ Ellie. 9:52 Dragon.
Ellie. Eleanor Rudith Amaryllis Ingellvar, the girl with the forget-me-not eyes. His vhenan. His tether.
The memories slammed into him with the force of an ogre’s fist. He groaned, staggering back against the wall and clutching his head. The Elven gods, Elgar-dud and Ghilly-mane – he forgot their actual names – were trying to destroy the world, spreading the Blight. The Blight.
The memory was tattered, faded. His bound hands – smaller than now – curled around a large goblet that held a dark, foul-smelling liquid. A flow of meaningless words rolled over him, lost in the heartbeat echoing in his ears.
“Drink,” a stranger’s voice ordered.
As though in a trance, he lifted the wide brim to his mouth. The drink slid down his throat, tasting of death and decay. He gagged.
Something foreign and hot roared in his veins and he collapsed, head pounding as though a sledge hammer had been taken to his skull.
Make it stop, make the screaming stop oh Maker oh gods…..
The image slid away, leaving him gasping over as his hand hit the washroom counter and knocked fine Orlesian vases to the floor.
The Joining.
He was a Grey Warden, perhaps even one of those “criminals” that Orasa sneered about.
Catching himself before he joined the shattered decorations, Jerran looked up at a mirror hanging over a washbasin. An elf with worn eyes, looking older than his twenty years, stared back at him with a gaunt countenance. Skin stretched over sharp cheekbones; the lighting made his cheeks look even more hollow. Dark smudges underlined his eyes along with a weariness that came from numerous difficult decisions and regret.
For the first time, he felt the wrongness of his existence – one that reflected in every villager's uneasy face that shied away from him on patrol.
He couldn’t put his finger on it; perhaps it was a slight deadness to the eyes. Or maybe it was something more spiritual, as though a piece of him had been removed and replaced with a corrupted version like a puzzle piece forced into place. It made him instinctively recoil and set his teeth on edge.
The Maker smiles sadly on his Grey Wardens as no sacrifice is greater than theirs.
Blighted. No, cursed.
The Blight's roar dimmed as a familiar voice whispered in his ear.
“Do you really want to go back to that? A short life filled with pain and agony, dependent on drinking lyrium. Being ostracized by most of Thedas and forgotten except by your fellow doomed Wardens.”
Lyrium? Reaching into his armor, he pulled out a small vial half-filled with a softly glowing blue liquid. Why ….
A dim Necropolis lab flashed across his eyes accompanied by searing pain in his back.
The runes. He’d forgotten about them; he willed them to disengage, and found them unresponsive. “You’re wrong. I won’t be forgotten.” The Lighthouse. He remembered now – that’s where he met all of his friends. “There’s Ellie, and.... and...."
It was hard to think. He swallowed thickly. He'd made someone promise to help Eleanor when Jerran was gone. But... who? He couldn't remember.
As though the Voice knew Jerran’s thoughts, it whispered, “She deserves to have someone who can grow old with her. You’re only a rogue. A crippled one hooked on Lyrium, plagued with nightmares. Useless to help her. Many Mournwatchers and mages could help her achieve her full potential as a Dreamer.
“Without you, she wouldn’t end up languishing in the Memorial Gardens, pining for a life cut short. She’d be happily caring for wisps, dancing with nobles worthy of her station. ”
The reflection shimmered, revealing a small figure kneeling in front of a simple gravestone. Even from this distance, Jerran could recognize his own name carved on the memorial.
“You bring her down into the muck. Do you think she’ll be happy as the wife of a Grey Warden, always wondering when you come home? Living in hovels like Lavendel with no running water or down South where they still use candles for light and chamberpots in the bedrooms? She’ll leave eventually. They always do. Like your mamae, like Kyra.”
His reflection shimmered and the Blighted version vanished. A younger Jerran, eyes flashing with excitement, wore expensive merchants’ robes. He looked… healthy. Vigorous. Confident. Everything that Warden Jerran Thorne was not.
The Voice continued, “Or you could have a happy life with your parents and a wealthy fiancėe. A good reputation. You could live long enough to see your grandchildren, maybe even your great grandchildren.”
A thought occurred to him. “Why can’t I meet Eleanor as a merchant?”
It chuckled. “Come now, this isn’t a romance serial where you meet in every lifetime. Only sappy authors like Varric Tethras do that. Lady Ingellvar would stay in Nevarra where it's safe, protected by her loving family, and recovering from her traumatic injuries.”
Its tone sharpened. “So choose. A short, painful life that dooms the Mournwatcher to a lifetime of misery, or a long, prosperous one where she remains safe and you have a future.”
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Eleanor and Jerran's exchange is from an rp with @a-mumbling-nerd. Thank you for allowing me to use it. Eleanor of course belongs to her!
The Necropolis Lab is from an rp with @soturoayami and myself.
Love that on top of some of the spires in the Black City, you can see where a cherry-picked few of the Evanuris are represented by their symbols.
June, Dirthamen, and Elgar'nan because, well... big boss man.
Hm. Interesting...
My newest headcanon is that Elgar'nan had favorites. Not because he cared about them, but because they were the most useful to him, the most ambitious, or the ones who best advanced his power.
Better yet, maybe he deliberately kept June and Dirthamen close because they posed the greatest threat to his rule. If they ever stopped to realize that Elgar'nan himself accomplished comparatively little while they possessed far greater talent and ability, they could have easily eclipsed him. (Hah. Elgar'nan pun.)
I could even see that kind of manipulation extending to physical relationships because, in a court like theirs, anything, and anyone, can become a weapon in the right hands.
Shrugging, he meandered out toward an area filled with herbs, trees, and colorful flowers from throughout Thedas. He followed a path toward a tall tree where a slender figure sat on a bench with a cloak hood pulled up, obscuring its features. Two sharply-pointed ears twitched slightly from slits cut into the sides of the hood.
His hand happened to brush against a nearby plant and came away sticky. Looking down, he frowned at a gauzy substance coating his fingers. Spiderwebs?
A tremulous voice interrupted his thoughts. “Vhenan?”
Ellie?
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No, it wasn’t quite right. About the right pitch, but less breathy. Jerran reached out to touch the stranger’s shoulder. “Excuse me, I –”
Danylle’s relieved face looked up at his. “Jerran? You made it.”
He recoiled. Danylle? “What… what is going on? You… you and I are getting married?”
She’d changed into a rich dark blue velvet dress with more elaborate golden embroidery lining the hem, along with a cloak lined with sable fur. She giggled. “I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just, wow, I’ve heard so much about you and it’s so nice to finally meet you in person instead of staring at your painting and reading your letters.”
Jerran had a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Please tell me this isn’t an arranged thing, is it?”
Her small lips pursed. “Of course it is. An adopted daughter of a noble marrying the merchant son of a war hero? It’s an honor.” Her eyebrows raised as she observed his attire. “Although, I wasn’t expecting someone who enjoyed wearing costumes.”
Maybe she’d actually tell him something this time instead of acting starstruck. With gentle prodding, he finally learned that Elian had given up the life of a mercenary and signed on to join the army. After saving some high ranking altus – Jerran forgot the name as soon as he heard it – Elian had been launched up the ranks and now commanded a small squadron. Unusual for an elf, but Elian was… rather determined.
Ah, yes. Some things never changed. Jerran remembered his father being particularly bullheaded.
Jerran had gone into the merchant’s business and launched a successful line of trinkets and carvings, becoming an apprentice under his mother’s former master.
Apparently he’d just returned from a trip after evading a mercenary group – “the Midnight Stars,” Danylle whispered, her large eyes wider than Jerran thought possible – and was recovering.
Thank the Maker someone finally told him what was going on. Jerran sagged on the bench and covered his face in his hands, ignoring the cobwebs drifting from the tree branches above him.
A small hand rested on his back. “Jerran? Are you all right?”
“I… honestly, wasn’t expecting this.” Could he leave? A quick glance around revealed high walls covered in prickly vines and no gates. Broken glass glittered from the top of the wall.
She followed his gaze. “It’s to keep the shem and other elves out. I hear some don’t appreciate your family’s… contributions.” Before Jerran could process that, she seized his hand. “Well, come on! Your mamae’s going to be wondering where we are, and we can’t keep her waiting.” Pulling him toward the house, she huffed a bit. “Maker’s feet, you’re heavy!”
Gwynna met them at the door, wiping sticky threads from a vase. “I must really scold the servants. I thought I told them to make sure everything was perfect,” she grumbled. “Your father couldn’t make it. Something, something Lord of Fortunes attacking ships again. As usual.”
Well some things like Elian rarely showing up for important events never changed. Jerran opened his mouth to reply when Danylle clapped her hands.
“Come on, come on, we’re going to be late!” Tugging on his arm, she dragged him to the parlor door, and swung it open.
A crowd of elves, qunari, dwarves, and humans turned in unison at his entrance, their faces lighting up with joy – or was that satisfaction?
Jerran hesitated at the door, his hand brushing the sword hilt at his side.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Gwynna's face. “I know you hate this, but it won’t kill you to participate in our traditions. Danylle’s family traveled here from a long distance, you know.” Taking his other arm, Gwynna glanced at the other woman in an unspoken signal. They escorted Jerran to the parlor where the guests waited eagerly.
Jerran stumbled forward as various perfumes and colognes collided, making his nose twitch. Friends with unfamiliar faces swirled around him– their laughter a tad too bright, and their smiles showing a bit too much teeth.
Their hands gripped his slack fingers and slapped his back. Babbling voices overlapped in a chorus that buzzed in his ears until it was all he could hear.
“Congratulations!”
“Salud!”
“We’re so happy for you!”
“What took you so long? I thought you’d never get here!”
“Jerran…. Jerran….”
“Jerran? Are you all right?” A small hand waved in front of his face. “Hello?”
Jerran Thorne blinked – where was he? The engagement party. Right. Maker’s Breath, he must have been exhausted from the last trip across Thedas. That one had been harrowing – he’d been lucky to avoid the Midnight Stars’ ambush.
A darkhaired elf with flashing eyes – Serva, his best friend’s wife – shoved a glass of wine into his hand and he took it automatically.
Danylle clutched his other arm as they stood near the fireplace in the parlor. Her weight pulled him down as she giggled and accepted congratulations.
Harven, his best friend, chatted with Gwynna across the crowded room about the troubles with the Lords of Fortune. Orasa, Jerran’s business partner, giggled as they swirled a wine glass in their hand, as they flirted with another guest. No doubt they were exaggerating the ambush to a young elf who strongly resembled Danylle. Jerran would bet five gold that Orasa would bed Danylle’s relative tonight.
A small vase decorated with light blue flowers caught his eye across the room. Silver threads sparkled elegantly from the table where it sat. Forget-me-nots? Something about that seemed familiar…. Who had forget-me-not eyes? Jerran frowned. Elizabeth? Alison? El – something. Or a K. Kaitlyn, Kyrsten?
A shadowy figure of a female elf with light hair teased at the ragged edges of his memory, but it vanished the moment he tried to focus on it.
“Jerran?” Danylle reached up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “Are you all right, vhenan? It’s almost time for the toast.”
He blinked, focusing on her. She really was a sweet girl. “I’m fine, Dany. Sorry.”
She giggled, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry. It’s almost over. I’m tired too.”
Right. Danylle had pale blue eyes. That must have been it. Jerran smiled and squeezed her arm.
“Jerran! What on earth are you wearing?” Orsa, laughing, tapped their wine glass to his and took a sip. “I thought we picked out special clothes for today. Why on earth are you wearing that getup?”
Serva eyed Jerran’s armor. “The griffon… isn’t that a Grey Warden thing? Gods, it almost looks real.” She poked at the chainmail. “I should get Harven a similar costume for the next Harvest ball.”
“I’m sorry, but they sound absolutely miserable. They’re always dealing with the Blight, and half of them are criminals.” Orasa raised an eyebrow at Jerran’s outfit. “Why are you pretending to be one?”
Jerran chuckled weakly. Why did he choose this armor? He picked dust off of the heavy chainmail. “I heard wrong. Thought it was a costume party. I’ll go change.”
“Not yet! We still have to do the toast!” Danylle gently tapped a spoon against the base of her glass and the room stilled. An older man wearing fine robes and a golden chain around his neck, cleared his throat. “Thank you everyone for coming here today to celebrate my lovely daughter’s union with the Thornes….”
As Jerran’s future father-in-law droned on about the glorious future and the possibility of grandchildren, Jerran looked around the crowd and grinned. He’d made it. His reputation as a merchant was growing, he had a lovely fiancée (her generous dowry didn’t hurt things either), and a future with plenty of children and wealth.
Jerran could practically picture it – growing old with Danylle, playing with their own grandchildren, telling them of their great-grandfather’s exploits … Looking down at Danylle, he grinned down at her.
She smiled politely back and nudged his goblet. “Cheers!”
He looked down at the goblet in his hand. The ruby liquid swirled as he held it up to the light to admire the droplets clinging to the cup’s sides. His mouth watered at the dark, smoky smell of sweet spices, plum and dark berries wafted from it. Cheering, he raised the glass and tilted it to his lips, prepared to swallow the ruby liquid.
Illario Week Day 2: Charisma/ Repulsion
Illario makes a dating profile and somehow shows as much charisma as he does repulsion at the concept of a steady relationship. 😂
🚫 Do not repost
Hi, everyone! We're back! =D I think I'm just going to wipe the slate clean, so if I didn't get to you last time (I apologize) please feel free to submit again! It's just been such a busy month for me, plus recovering from the concussion and everything, I think it's just better to sort of restart everything.
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This event will run from Noon PST to Midnight PST on Saturday, July 11th, 2026. You can check the time here. Please try to keep your submissions within the stated timeframe, so that I do not have to continue to monitor this post. Thank you! If you are unable to participate within the time period, you may contact me and I will add your fic to the next one for you. Thank you for understanding!
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Reblog this post with a link to your fic OR ART PIECE
I will reblog that for exposure, and I (or @biowaredisasterbisexual, @crowofstarlight, @mageofquandrix who have generously offered their help!) will leave kudos & comment (like + comment, for art) on your fic (multi-chapters, first chapter only). Look for comments/kudos from flyiing_giraffe/hyperions_light (me), MotherGiselle (BDB), mageofquandrix (mage) or starlightcrow (CS). It may take a while to get through everyone. Thank you for your patience!
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Okie dokie! I ended up cheating and giving Jerran two songs. Originally I was just going to use the first one but I just couldn’t do that to Jerran, especially after the last time. Anyways I’ll leave it up to you to decide exactly when Jerran shows up and what exactly he hears.
The second song is very much the vibes that Jerran inspires (in my opinion) and arguably it could also be a song about Eleanor depending on when this is in the timeline (once again I’ll leave that up to you). Only included the first verse for brevity since it was getting long :)
@teamtakagi : Jerran had avoided that section of hallway for weeks, yet for some reason he found himself restless that evening. As Liselath's voice gently wafted out through the crack in the door, he found himself slowly sinking down on the floor to listen.
Liselath sat on her bed with bass guitar in hand, humming slowly as she thought back on the recent pyre readings she’d done. While she considered most to be a good introduction to the other members of the Veilguard, a few stood out to her as less successful; and of those few, one was disastrous. She’d underestimated the strength of the blight which ran through a warden’s blood, and worse, she’d overestimated her ability to control what came through the fire.
She cringed thinking back on that night with Jerran. She knew she owed him a better apology, she’d been the one to ask him to join her after all; but apologies were not Lisel’s forte. The unrest that the event stirred up inside her found its way out through music, Lisel had been working on her Jerran inspired song for three days now and had mostly finished it. She’d hoped to create a piece which reflected his inner strength, gallantry, and the gentle sense of wonder he inspired. Instead, she found herself strumming a familiar song, a favorite of hers. It was a tune known well by the Dalish, a dark and melancholy tale of lost love. Although as she thought through the lyrics she was struck by how much they reminded her of Jerran and everything he’d gone through.
She sighed aloud, knowing that once her brain got preoccupied with something musical, the only way to get through it was to play it a few times. She took a breath, steadied herself and then began to strum the haunting melody.
I shall tell of a hunter whose life was undone
By the cruel hand of evil, at the setting of the sun
His arrow was loosed
and it flew through the dark
And his true love was slain
as the shaft found its mark
She'd her apron wrapped about her,
and he took her for a swan
And it's, oh, and alas it was she, Polly Von
He ran up beside her and found it was she
He turned away his head
for he could not bear to see
He lifted her up and found she was dead
A fountain of tears for his true love, he shed
She'd her apron wrapped about her,
and he took her for a swan
And it's, oh, and alas it was she, Polly Von
He bore her away to his home by the sea
Cryin', "Father, oh, father, I murdered poor Polly
I've killed my fair love in the flower of her life
And I always intended that she be my wife"
"But she'd her apron wrapped about her,
and I took her for a swan
And it's oh, and alas it was she, Polly Von"
He roamed near the place
where his true love was slain
He wept bitter tears, but his cries were all in vain
As he looked on the lake, a swan glided by
And the sun slowly sank in the gray of the sky
She'd her apron wrapped about her,
and he took her for a swan
And it's, oh, and alas it was she, Polly Von
Briefly she considered the idea of sharing the song with Jerran. From what she could understand from the twisted visions, there was a considerable amount of restless ambiguity surrounding Kyra’s fate. No outcome Lisel could imagine was very comforting, but if Jerran was anything like her he might get some closure in simply making up an ending for her. Yet the more she considered it, the more it felt like wishful thinking. She doubted most warden’s would think like her, and more so, a warden knew better than anyone the likely fate of a woman dragged off by darkspawn.
A shiver went down her spine as she recalled the memory.
“Better get back to it. At least then something good will have come out of all this.” Lisel said while fighting off a yawn. She began strumming again, this time being the song she’d intended for Jerran in the first place.
I walked ten thousand miles,
ten thousand miles to see you
And every gasp of breath
I grabbed at just to find you
I climbed up every hills to get, to you
I wondered ancient lands to hold, just you
And every single step of the way,
I pay-hey hey hey hey
Every single night and day
I searched for you
Through sandstorms and hazy dawns
I reached for you
With that, Lisel rose to her feet and sat her bass down by the dresser. She flashed a smile at herself as she passed the mirror, stopping to examine the toll the late night had on her face. It was only then that she noticed the slight crack in the door. She whirled around and took a few rushed steps towards the door, stopping an arms length away from it.
“Someone there?” She called out, worry apparent in her tone.
Thank you, I absolutely loved this piece. Both songs were perfect for Jerran. 😭
Context Posts:
A Little Bit of Pyromancy by @antivan-sprig
Response by me
Mentions of Rooks:
Lisel - @antivan-sprig
Lin - @wardentabriis
Zae- @fret-not
Ulrich, Bruno - @hedgiestail
Eleanor - @a-mumbling-nerd
The familiarity of the Dalish tune startled Jerran; he hadn’t heard it in years since his mamae disappeared. She’d hummed that song as she worked. For whatever reason, she'd liked the tragic tales that made her weep. Jerran hadn't understood. Who wanted to be sad on purpose?
Cathartic, Mamae had called it. A fancy word that meant letting out your feelings.
And now… the words just reminded him of too many plans that never came to pass and too many memories now foggy with time. Things that he’d locked away and carefully hidden since he met Eleanor.
I shall tell of a hunter whose life was undone
By the cruel hand of evil, at the setting of the sun
His arrow was loosed and it flew through the dark
And his true love was slain as the shaft found its mark
He swallowed hard; he should leave. Lisel hadn’t alerted to his presence yet. It would be so easy to just walk away. His throat itched for a shot of whiskey, but the wisps made sure he didn't have any stored in his room; he'd come back to find a chittering wisp hovering over an overturned bottle and a puddle of spilled whiskey.
Now, without the distraction of others and alcohol, the memories started to sharpen, along with the pain. Lisel’s haunting voice continued drifting out into the hallway:
He ran up beside her and found it was she
He turned away his head for he could not bear to see
He lifted her up and found she was dead
A fountain of tears for his true love, he shed
She'd her apron wrapped about her, and he took her for a swan
And it's, oh, and alas it was she, Polly Vaughn
Jerran never knew Kyra’s fate; thankfully, the Constable Warden had spared him from going on that mission. Moss had gone in his stead and returned with the bloody Grey Warden pendant, avoiding Jerran’s questions. After that, the mage drank more and slept less.
He bore her away to his home by the sea
Cryin', "Father, oh, father, I murdered poor Polly
I've killed my fair love in the flower of her life
And I always intended that she be my wife"
"But she'd her apron wrapped about her, and he took her for a swan
And it's oh, and alas it was she, Polly Vaughn"
Jerran hadn’t killed her. The damned useless Grey Warden leaders had with their incompetence. His lip curled at the memory of his court martial in front of the First Warden. The man deserved to get punched in the face.
Why am I staying with them? Why didn’t he say, “Fuck it” and leave like Lin, Bruno, and Ulrich? Why am I putting up with the bullshit rules and stupid regulations?
He roamed near the place where his true love was slain
He wept bitter tears, but his cries were all in vain
As he looked on the lake, a swan glided by
And the sun slowly sank in the gray of the sky
She'd her apron wrapped about her, and he took her for a swan
And it's, oh, and alas it was she, Polly Vaughn
The last chord lingered in the air as Lisel’s voice trailed away.
He grimaced. If this was Lisel’s preferred genre, he might have to limit the time whittling with her. Getting up, he turned to walk down the hall, hoping that the music would cover his footsteps.
Then Lisel paused and softly sighed. He froze. Shit, did she hear me?
The instrument twanged softly as she adjusted it. “Better get back to it. At least then something good will have come out of all this,” she murmured, a yawn distorting the second half of her sentence. After a moment, she strummed a new chord:
I walked ten thousand miles, ten thousand miles to see you
And every gasp of breath, I grabbed at just to find you
I climbed up every hills to get, to you
I wandered ancient lands to hold, just you
And every single step of the way,
I pay-hey hey hey hey
Every single night and day
I searched for you
Through sandstorms and hazy dawns
I reached for you
As she sang, something loosened in Jerran’s chest. It was almost as though Kyra was there, whispering in his ear: Did you really forget, Idiot?
The villages that he’d helped save. The children who eagerly grabbed at the wooden carvings he offered. Antoine, Evka. Moss, Renny, Zae. The entire squad at the Lighthouse. Heck, everyone at the Lighthouse.
Eleanor.
If he hadn’t stayed with the Wardens, he never would have met them.
Did it mean he'd continue? That was a question for the future Jerran. Not now.
Reaching into a pouch hanging from his belt, he pulled out a small halla figurine and began carving, his elvish eyes easily discerning the shapes in the dark. He finished as the song ended and she called out, “Someone there?”
He wasn’t ready to talk to Lisel yet. But the next time Lisel stepped out of her room, she’d find a small wooden halla with Sylaise’s vallaslin delicately etched along its side.
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