City Elf Appreciation Week... BEGINS!

Field of daisies

hi!! Do you know when you'll be posting the optional prompts? I really want to participate, but I'd love some time beforehand to mull over my ideas because I don't think I'll be able to write things day-of during the week 😅

hi!! thank you for your interest :)

sorry, i had intended to post them by now, but i've been feeling really burned out after work. they're locked and loaded in the drafts, i was just holding off 'cause i wanted to try and make some graphics, but 😅

i'll try and post them tonight! :]

"did you know, Alistair, that I was a bride once?"

hahahah man poor Nelaros, the Tabris origin is by far the saddest.

Alienage Soundscapes

For City Elf Appreciation week (organized by @cityelfweek), I present here the main project I have been working on: a collection of a few Alienage soundscapes, featuring songs written by me and sung to melodies invented by me too. The surrounding soundscape are free sounds from pixabay. Making this has been a ton of fun, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did making it. Cheers! ^^

(Below are the links to the posts with each soundscape. They feature the soundscape itself, the lyrics, the audio of the song without the background noises, and a short introduction to the soundscape written in the style of in-game codex entries.)

Alienage Lullaby, performed by a mother

Andraste and Shartan (explicit and irreverent), performed by a teen

Marital Duo: A Performance

Mother, Let Your Kids Go Home, performed by a dockworker

The Rose on My Cheek (rated teens and up), performed by a tired scullery maid

Who Will Your Lover Be? A singing game performed by children

(ID: A screenshot of the opening sequence of the city elf origin from the game "Dragon Age: Origins". It shows three elven women walking away from the viewer, carrying flowers, towards a group of dancing and drinking elves. Overlayed over the image is the text "Alienage Soundscapes". End ID)

Welcome to dadwc!! How about "have you ever lost someone?" for your Tabris & Zevran?!

Thank you so much! 🥰

rated g/t. kallian tabris & zevran arainai for @dadrunkwriting! 365 words. talks of death and mentions of the city elf origin.

* * *

It had been an exhausting day. Kallian sat slumped against a tree stump near the campfire, twisting the gold ring around her finger and frowning.

"What is troubling you, Warden?" Zevran asked with a smile, settling himself next to her.

"Have you ever lost someone?" she blurted out, blushing a little at her suddenness. "Sorry, that was rude."

"You Fereldans," he chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Of course I have. Have you?"

"Yeah..." she muttered in reply, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she lied. "Do you?"

"No," he said truthfully, before sighing. "I grew up in a whorehouse, never knew my father. My mother died giving birth to me."

"...Oh shit," Kallian replied, finally tearing her eyes away properly from the fire to look at him. "That's awful."

"It is what it is," he said dismissively. "What about you? Who is it that plays on your mind?"

"My mam died too," she said, a funny feeling in her stomach she couldn't explain away. "I was sixteen. A bunch of humans killed her because she stuck up for me."

"Such is the life of those like you and I," he said softly, his eyes full of genuine understanding. She'd missed that look.

"Yeah..." Kallian muttered, back to twisting her wedding ring. "I was supposed to get married."

"Truly?"

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I... was kidnapped on my wedding day. He came to rescue me. They killed him."

"Manina," he whispered, uncomfortably sympathetic.

"No it's fine, like I literally met him that day," Kallian started quickly. "It's still... weird, though."

She startled as she felt his hand gently hold hers, stilling her fingers that still fiddled with the ring.

"I had never thought of marriage before, but..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. "Someone I loved was killed. By another I loved."

Kallian searched his face for a moment, until he met her eyes. She turned her hand around in his to hold it properly, squeezing softly.

Zevran smiled at her; small and sad, before he shifted closer. He leaned his head on hers, and they both stared into the fire, letting its warmth burn away the weight in their chests.

Keep reading

The people have spoken...

City Elf Appreciation Week will take place between the 5th of August and the 11th of August 2024!

Optional prompts soon to follow <3

City Elf Appreciation Week

~ 5th of August - 11th of August ~

Here are some optional prompts for next week! Please feel free to do whatever you like with them. Remember to tag @cityelfweek or use the tag #cityelfweek24!

Day 1 - Vhenadahl - A pillar of many alienage communities. Firewood in others.

Day 2 - Folklore - Show the folklore that city elves have created over time. Superstitions, stories, heroes, villains... anything!

Day 3 - Community - Close-knit family, or claustrophobic little box?

Day 4 - Custom and Tradition - Andrastian? Dalish? Somewhere in between, or something all new?

Day 5 - Alienage - The only home many city elves ever know.

Day 6 - OC - A day to celebrate original city elf characters!

Day 7 - Free Day - All things city elf!

[original post][divider credit]

@cityelfweek has been going on all week. Seeing the new and old works on my dash has been absolutely fantastic!

I didn't think I would have time to participate, but all the love for city elves got me excited, so I whipped up a quick story with my OC Loran from his childhood in the Starkhaven alienage.

This story does include fishing and a brief mention of animal death.

--

When he finally came home out of the rain, knees muddy and hands scraped, Loran went to hide with the only quiet person in the room. His grandmother had spent the storm next to the stove, swaddled under their best blankets. She’d grown so old that she looked young again; she resembled her newest grandchild, born only a fortnight ago, more than she did any of her black-haired daughters. Still, she smiled when Loran kissed her waxy cheek, and her bony grip was strong when she took his hand.

"Oi, Fish Fingers."

Caught, Loran met his brother’s bright eyes. He hated the nickname even though Ru always sung it out like a compliment. 

"We're going to the river tonight," Ru told him then went back to poking the cook pot. “Eels are out.”

Only Talea, looking up from the table where she was rolling biscuits, found room to argue with Ru. With long brown curls and an upturned nose that was now dotted with flour, she was called one of the prettiest girls in Starkhaven before she married Ru. He’d heard his brother call her beautiful every day since their wedding, but Loran always thought her face was too small. Whenever she looked at him, her eyes and mouth shrank tighter.

“Can’t you wait til morn?” she asked, voice pinched. “They’re so slimy.”

"Nay, this storm will have them all riled up.” Ru spoke with an easy confidence that matched his broad shoulders. Any elf could nail two boards together, but if an elf in Starkhaven wanted their home to be standing for their grandchildren, they put the work in Ru’s hands.

Loran watched his brother reach out and wipe the flour from Talina’s nose. Ru went on.

"The guard took all the traps up, broke 'em to bits, and said no more nets either. It's the blasted slow poles now. But Fish Fingers will pick them out of the water - won't you?"

He mimed a fast pinching motion and grinned at Loran. 

Sometimes, when Ru smiled, Loran wondered if he looked like their father. His cheeks were marked by the pox that had taken their mother and a sister, but there was plain handsomeness to his face; no one had doubted Talea’s decision to marry him. Her family was happy with the match too. With his good sense and unbroken promises, many understood that Ru was building a reputation worthy of a Haren.

Loran could imagine his brother among the Elders. When they first came to ask Ru favors, he had served them weak tea, and Loran was allowed to linger if he sipped his cup in silence. These days, when the Elders came through the door without knocking, Ru brought out a bottle and sent him away.

"I don't want to go for eels," he spoke up.

Ru’s look of disappointment, Loran knew, came from their mother. “I’ve got these lines all mended, food in eight bellies, roofs patched all the way up the hill – what’ve your fast fingers been helping me with lately?”

“I helped fix Karsi’s place.” Loran slowly began to work his hand from his grandmother’s grip. With her deaf ears, she’d already dozed off.

“That take all day?” Ru raised his brow, and Loran knew his brother was calling him a liar. “Go fetch bait.”

Loran answered with sullen silence, looking at the hot, half-made supper that would be cold by the time he returned.

“Now.”

-

After night had set in, the brothers put baskets on their backs and set off down streets swollen with water and filth. The storm had sent all of Starkhaven’s dirt spilling onto the doorsteps of the alienage. Come morning, when the sun broke through the gray clouds, the smell would be worse than the bag of chum in Loran’s hand. He kept his other hand on the knife tucked into his belt. Ru, carrying their old poles tucked under his arm, moved through the mess unbothered. Loran was careful to step in his footprints.

Not many people knew the old path they took to the river. Ru said their father had shown him the way; he kept some secrets for family. Tonight the narrow trail was slick, with the cool mud coating Loran’s toes, and he slid to his knees twice before they reached the bank. They didn’t stop until they were knee-deep in the wide, flat water.

Ru moved upstream in the shallows, but never so far that Loran couldn’t catch the glow of his eyes. He was right that they venture out tonight; the eels were quick to bite, and the brothers dragged their long, whipping bodies from the stillness of the river. After a short move with their knives, the wriggling struggles of the fish ended. Even in the dark, Loran could see that after each eel Ru put in his basket, his brother made the sign of thanks across his forehead like their mother had taught them. Loran tried to copy him until his hands became thick with eel slime.

When Loran’s basket was beginning to grow heavy, Ru waded over to him.

"Your fingers aren't feeling fishy, eh?"

"I've caught more than you." Loran mumbled, trying to thread fresh chunk onto his hook.

Ru peered into his brother’s basket. "All the wee ones, looks like."

When Loran only scowled in reply, Ru stretched his arms tall.

"You used to catch the big ones - bigger than you! With your hands." 

Loran cast his line with a sharp flick of his wrist. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"Okay, okay, if you don't think you can do it.” Ru pressed his palms together in a show of exaggerated sympathy. “It's a shame you got slow in your old age." 

“I’m not slow,” Loran snapped, although he knew his brother’s game. "I can do it. It's not hard."

"If you say so."

Loran shoved his pole into Ru’s hand with a glare, grabbed a handful of bait from the bag, then knelt down in the river. He reached his arms out in the black water. Even though Ru kept his smile, he seemed to understand the seriousness of Loran taking his challenge, and he stayed still. They waited.

After a time, when all he felt against his hands was the black push of the river, Loran began to worry. He worried no eel would come. Or if one finally came, with Ru’s eyes on him, he would miss it. The cold river ran faster around his neck. Ru believed he could catch one; what if he was wrong?

Then he felt a sliver flash over the back of his left hand. He held his breath. When it came again, he struck. He pulled the eel out of the water and it began to thrash, but it was too late. Loran had his grandmother’s grip.

Ru whooped. “Gods! You’ve caught a water dragon.”

Loran giggled as he juggled the slimy beast. The eel wasn’t the largest catch that night, he knew, but when Ru grabbed his shoulders and laughed, it felt like it could be.

for dadwc prompts, how about eireann and "A freshly painted vhenadahl" from the dragon age artefacts prompt list?

artefacts of Thedas prompts | @dadrunkwriting

Shadows and Tall Trees

“Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas in incarnadine, making the green one red.” – William Shakespeare, Macbeth

The vhenadahl casts its dappled light over all the memories Eireann has of the alienage. Even as a child, she received no answer for why it was there, why they painted it every spring, or even what it was meant to do. “It means ‘Tree of the People,’” was the most her father could tell her, as he handed her a brush and a little pot of scarlet paint. More of it ended up on her hands than on the tree, but still, he told her she’d done a good job.

Odhrán Surana is dead now. He died in his daughter’s arms, and she cannot ask him anything else.

Eireann stands beside the vhenadahl, in the gloom of approaching twilight. The smell of new paint cuts sharp through the miasma of destruction and poverty, through the fourteen years since she had helped to paint the tree. She is alone, but for that memory. She doesn’t know how to be anything else. She can’t hold her mother, can’t reach out for comfort, can’t cradle the child resting in her womb, because when she looks at her hands now, all she sees is her father’s blood draining through her fingers.

She places a hand on the bark. It’s still tacky. When she peels her hand away, her palm is patched with paint. So she touches it again, and again, and again, until the tree is scattered with the voids of her handprints, and the vhenadahl’s patterns are ruined, and her palms are streaked red, white and pink. Anything to hide the stains of that memory.

They find her at nightfall, slumped at the foot of the vhenadahl, covered in the evidence of her outburst. Nobody blames her. The tree can be repainted, but her father cannot be returned.