I Keep Drawing Her In Nice Clothes Even Tho I Think In Some Respects They Would Make Her Uncomfortable

A helpful list of city elves :)

the ninth talon

City Elf Appreciation Week- Day 2 - Folklore (and history)

Day 2 - Folklore (and history) for @cityelfweek

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

“Did yah hear! Did yah hear!”

“Hear what Lani?”

“The bride spirit! The bride spirit killed all the snooty shem up in the castle!!”

“That’s nonsense, Lani. Spirits aren’t real.”

“They are too Peytor!”

“Yeah, well why are you only just telling me about this ‘bride spirit’ if they’re real? Hmm? I bet you don’t even know what they look like.” Peytor rolled his eyes and pretended to humour his young cousin, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed with a mix of agitation and childlike wonder.

“I d-d-do too! She’s super pretty! Prettier than Mamae!” The little girl fisted her tiny hands in her penefor, stomping her feet.

“Oh yeah?” Unimpressed, Peytor grabbed a stick and started to scratch patterns in the dirt.”What do they look like then, that you’d risk Aunties wrath?”

“She’s beautiful! Her eyes are red like my bird's favorite berries! And her hair is so hot it’s on fire!”

“So she’s a wrath demon?”

“Nuh-uh! She’s vengeance, Peytor! And her wedding dress is so pretty and sparkly, nothing can make it dirty!” Lani was twirling her own dress, its dirtiness forgotten in the fantasy.

“If she killed all them shem, how is she still clean? That doesn’t make sense, dummy.” Peytor’s drawing was taking shape. Fiery hair, big ol eyes. Fangs.

“She’s a bride, duh, they’re always clean and pretty. BUT!” Lani jumped, arms raised, little hands waving pudgy fingers. “Everywhere she walks she leaves a trail of shem blood!” the little girl grinned, her eyes scrunched up in little girl glee, her ears pricked up in excitement.

“That’s gross, Lani” he laughed, scribbling more waves of blood onto his dirt doodle.

“Is not, she’s beautiful~” The girl giggled again. 

As a couple of adults walked by,  Peytor pulled his cousin out of the way. Glancing at them, an elven woman with crimson eyes caught his, winking once, before looping her arm around her companion and going on their way.

icon credit: @pridebicons

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SERA WEEK

October 13 - 19

Prompts (use one or both) Oct 13 - Denerim / Lady Emmald Oct 14 - Cookies / Fiberworks Oct 15 - Alienage / Dalish Oct 16 - Andraste / Magic Oct 17 - Inquisition / Winter Palace Oct 18 - Archery / Bees Oct 19 - Pranks / Halloween

Alt Prompts 1 - Journal 2 - Sera Was Never... 3 - The Breach

Rules No shipping with men (including trans men like Krem) No generative AI submissions (confirmed cases will not be reblogged/will be deleted from this blog) Explorations of homophobia must be tagged #homophobia cw; explorations of compulsory heternormativity must be tagged #hetcomp cw Explorations of other heavy themes - such as abuse, rape, etc. - must be tagged appropriately as well ALL forms of human-made art will be accepted

"The fear: that nothing survives. The greater fear: that something does." - Richard Siken, The Language of Birds

A little birthday something for my beloved @v-arbellanaris of xer beloved Tabris, Kal!!! 😌

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 - Customs 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]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, @daggerbean! c:

I haven't had much time to write this week (given the circumstances), but luckily I have a handy pile of WIPs in various states of completion. This one covers the wedding scene at the beginning of Origins, the return to the alienage, and the Landsmeet, but it's a bit patchwork at the moment. This scene is set just after finding Shianni later in the game.

Sorry if I tagged you on the other blog already this week haha, my brain is goop. Tagging (no pressure): @demandthedoodles @dungeons-and-dragon-age @greypetrel @ndostairlyrium @vakarians-babe @star--nymph @zenstrike

CW: Panic attack, indirect references to the events of the Tabris origin

“The things that happened after your wedding,” Shianni said, her voice tight, “it was horrible.” Already, being back in the alienage was doing something to her. Wen was not the same girl who’d walked away from here. She could not duck her head and hope for the best as she had for the last ten years. She…also could not hate these people as she had when she’d left. Plenty of them were awful—had been awful to her family for as long as she could remember—but she could see the pained exhaustion in their faces now, too. They were all trapped here together and none of them could do a blighted thing about it. The closest they’d ever come to feeling powerful was kicking at her family when they could.  Arianwen didn’t want them all to die.  But this was—oh, this hurt her. Shianni’s eyes flicked to the left a second before Zevran spoke.  “A wedding?” he sounded like his old, amused self—which, she supposed, meant that he was very hurt. Curse it all. Curse this place and everything that'd happened here. “So there is a secretive side to you after all.”

Little insects crawled around inside of Arianwen’s skin. They carried with them the stench of the alcohol on Vaughan’s breath, the sharp scent of the hair oil Wen had been wearing that day, the heaviness of the dress on her body, the ringing in her ears when she’d woken in the arl of Denerim’s residence. Secretive—yes, she’d been carrying many tiny secrets inside of her. She’d thought she’d gotten rid of them, pawned and forgotten like the golden ring in Ostagar.  Zevran was waiting; she did not want him to wait. Wen looked over her shoulder at him and forced herself to meet his eyes.  “I was…betrothed,” she said, and his face didn’t change one whit. She’d have to explain herself later, when she wasn’t…when they weren’t… “It didn’t end well.” Shianni looked at her, but Wen couldn’t read her expression. It was too loud in her ears to make anything out, though she’d once known her cousin’s face better than her own. Everything around her seemed blurred, somehow, oil paint smeared by a careless finger. Zevran and his bright eyes and his kidskin voice were her present; this place, crooked and dark and foul-smelling, was her past. She didn’t like them meeting. If she’d been thinking, she would have left him at home and dragged Leliana and her pity along instead.  “No?” Zevran’s brows were arched, his mouth crooked with something that might be described as a smile. She wished she didn’t know him so well; she wished she couldn’t see the wound underneath the golden veneer.  Wen wanted to crawl out of her own body. No—she wanted Morrigan’s trick of shedding her own skin and taking another instead. She’d be a cat up the vhenadahl by now if she could, or a mouse lost to the roots.  “You left him at the altar, didn’t you?” Yes.  Yes, she had, in a way. She hadn’t been there for that, though. She’d been neither here nor there, really. She looked at Zevran, her lips parting and pursing again, and his smile faded to a sliver. Beside her, carefully, Shianni’s hand crept into hers. They’d stood like this a hundred times: in the market, when the other people would jostle them as they carried their purchases home; down the street to the gates when Shianni would leave for work; beside the pyre when Mother had been burned. Wen squeezed and Shianni squeezed back, her hands rough and cold but nonetheless comforting in their familiarity.  Tabris couldn’t read Zevran’s face, either. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes looked—she didn’t know. Would it be horrible if she was sick right now?  Yes. She should say something instead. Wen worked her jaw loose from its rictus and spoke.   “He died,” she said. 

City Elf Appreciation Week... BEGINS!

Please remember to tag @cityelfweek or use the tag #cityelfweek24 so your works can be reblogged! Today's optional prompt is vhenadahl - but anything that's focused on city elves is welcome, new and old!