A Crow Rookery

DAO -forlorn, spanning, ethereal, epic you can feel the darkspawn approaching

DA2 - oppressive, contemptuous, rebellious, with constant edge-of-survival/fighting-to-the-death/having-a-ball-at-the-man’s-expense

DAI - gritty, hopeful, you can feel the open world and the end of the world all at once. That cello feels like the fade bleeding into the structural composition of the past games’ more oppressive feel.

DAV - instantly feel the pressure, the first few notes of DAO in the fist notes of the melody of the theme pulling you all the way back, the orchestration builds to being surrounded by fights and literally twisting your way out of it.

I’m constantly writing about them. What the guard is doing while Rook’s gone. How it plays out to each with back stories and cannon and everything in between.

I’m debating someone who claims Lucanis’ possession has zero nuance. That it is ridiculous and “friendship is magic” is the only takeaway.

As the comments flow, the nuance is fed. And yet…is there a version of Veilguard Bean Soup that doesn’t have Beans?

“Do you know what this is?”

Me: THE TOME OF KOSLUN!

The nuance. The hypocrisy. The double standards. IS. THE. LORE.

Origins top. Veilguard below.

The pain was there. The pops and cracks of bone and tendon. His breath eluded him for minutes. Each time was harder. Longer. Each time he found his breath. His bones mended. His heart raced. His mind fell instantly to Bell.

He turned onto his back and tried to find the path from the ritual site. The buildings and statues. The obstacles that cracked his skull and bloodied his mouth were absent in the green maw of the endless fade above. He knew he could stand. He knew he could do anything. And the more certain he was of anything, the more real it all became.

Perhaps, Rook thought, if I think of nothing, clear my mind and imagine just being back there.

Emmrich’s voice called to him to take the dagger. Bellara noted the tear in the fade. Just hold that. The moment before. Go to the moment before. Then just don’t take the dagger. But his hand would reach out. He would pull it from Ghili’nain’s fresh corpse. And he fell again. Landed anew. Broke again.

He turned to his back and stared.

A prison built for gods. Mages with the ability to change the very fabric of the fade would stand no chance here. How could a mortal, mundane city elf?

How many times has he done this? Living the worst moments of his life over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

If this were a dream, hours would be measured only. Wherever his body lay.

“But I’m not dreaming.” How many times did he remind himself this?

An end

Rook gasped. His breath sputtered as his body fought the inevitable. Bellara pulled Rook into her lap, his body limp, weak, fading.

“Is everyone okay?” Rook grasped at her. “They all knew. They believed. Are they fine?”

“The fight below went our way.” Neve placed a steady hand on Bellara’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Bel.” Rook began to sob. “I made it so much worse. The gods. The Veil! I shouldn’t have rushed in after you. I should have-“

He coughed as his body fought the consequences of killing an archdemon.

“Rook, hush. It’s over.”

It must be morning.

Someone was keeping time without day or night, but it wasn’t Rook. He had sat and stared absentlymindedly. Not completely absent. His thoughts were on Bellara. He couldn’t see her anymore. He tried to think of the Veilguard. Once. It angered Elgar’nan and threw Rook onto the ground in pain. They would go on without him.

His body buzzed. The red in his veins did not recede. Nor did the pain. Like a knife constantly drawing across every inch of skin with scars. He had forgotten how much of his body had been marred in his youth. It all but healed in the nearly two decades.

“Stand.” It was all Bataris had to say to bring Rook to his feet. Only when he stood did his body understand how long he had sat, knees pulled up to his chest. Chin resting on his knees. Eyes staring through the hole in the wall.

“Follow.” The Magister lead Rook through the suite and down a long hallway. “We have a present for you.”

They pushed through heavy double doors. Bound, gagged, and unconscious sat Bellara.

“Be careful! The gods might know we’re here now.”

She held a hand gently out to Rook. Her face was calm but cautious, listening for any effects of breaking the charm.

No one noticed the darkened eluvian in the corner, nor that it was activating.

“That is a certainty.”

Elgar’nan’s voice whined from the mirror like metal scraping in metal. Before anyone could move, a tentacle of blight wrapped itself around Bellara and sucked her into the mirror with a squelch.

Rook did not hesitate. He leapt in after her. Quicker than any. Quicker than Davrin’s hand that caught naught but the mist of the remnants of blight. He ran after them, but the mirror went dark and he smashed it face first.

“Rook! You idiot!” Lucanis screamed. He paused at the lyrium dagger Rook dropped in his haste.

Rook heard none of it. The blight tendril moved faster than he could keep up. And more blight caught at his ankles as he worked every bit of acrobatics he knew to catch her. All he could hear was Bellara. He called after her.

She screamed. Reaching out to him. He leapt and caught her hand just as a tendril wrapped around his ankle. They were held aloft in a large chamber. Bellara stopped by Rook’s grasp five or so meters from the ground. Rook below her one hand clasped on her wrist, the other flailing for anything else. Holding fast as long as their grip would keep. But the blight was as strong as Elgar’nan’s will. Rook grunted as his body was pulled taught. Whatever strength he had would overcome the power of the blight. He would not let Bellara go. She yelled in pain as the tendrils strained to part them.

“Rook! Don’t let go!”

“Never, Bel. I’ll never leave you! I Lo-“

A third tendril shot up and smacked Rook square in the jaw. His hand dropped instantly. Rook tumbled to the ground and hit the blight with a wet thud. He was out cold. Flopping forward over a tendril. Bellara wailed and screamed until another wrapped its fleshy finger over her mouth.

Rook folded forward, motionless. There was no sound but the gentle pulsing blight that bounced about the room. Rook softly groaned. Bellara could hear Solas in all of it. Like he did early on in Rook’s sleep. Shots of magic pulsed over Rook’s scars as the Dread Wolf sought to wake the elf.

They hung like that for what seemed an eternity. Then the chamber shook. Hours upon hours later. Rook was still unconscious. He went silent. Bellara wept into her binds, stuck wondering if Rook was dead just meters away.

The room was engulfed in a terrifyingly bright light. The sound of an archdemon roaring. But not just roaring. The guttural cry of pain and anger. Elgar’nan used his dragon thrall for immense blood magic. Bellara blinked through the light as her eyes adjusted. Everything was a weird blue. Colors were skewed.

The tendrils moved and she and Rook were raised and passed through another eluvian. The blight dumped them at the god’s hems of his battle robes. Three high ranking Venatori magisters and three Antaam commanders flanked the towering elf.

Bellara struggled to find strength enough to rise to her knees. Most of her body had fallen asleep. Rook rolled across the ground, stopping on his back, his head resting facing Bellara. She fell to him. He was cold, life-less.

“I have caught two birds with one enchantment, it seems.” he pulled Rook’s body up to his height with a tendril wrapped around the dwarfed elf’s neck. “Awww, Rook. How you shall make them pay for what they have done to my sister.”

“Let him go!” Bellara thrashed against the tendril.

He waved his hand and two Antaam grabbed the Veil Jumper and dragged her off. She kicked and screamed and cried out to Rook.

“Rook cannot help you. Yet.” Elgar’nan looked at the remaining magisters. “By the time he wakes you will have him enthralled to me. Let’s see how Solas likes my castle.”

The last thing Bellara saw before being shuttled to her own doom was Elgar’nan forcing Rook awake with magic. Rook screamed in the pain of the spells waking and holding him. He floated a few feet off the ground and still was not at eye level to the god. His scars all glowed with the power of the fade ripping through him.

Tears of blood blinded Rook. He could only see blurred blight surrounding a very angry and sadistic smile on what he knew was Elgar’nan’s face.

“Rook. Your god thanks you for making this so easy.”

“You. Are. Not. My. God.” Rook muttered through the pain and clenched teeth he could not open.

The response was more pain. Rook’s body would have lost consciousness by now, to protect him. Like it had in his Crow training days. But the god of vengeance would not allow escape. He would know every moment of what was happening to him.

Elgar’nan waved a bored hand and Rook fell back to the ground. He tried to push himself up, but he fell, bloodying his nose on the stone. The two Venatori laughed as Rook shook.

“Take him. We will perfect him. Give him the gifts of the gods he has forsaken. And make him remember this was all because he sought to defy me. Let him always know that loyalty is his salvation. And it was I who elevated him beyond the pain of resistance. And let him know his resistance will only hurt his beloved Dalish more. Let him see her change and wither in his defiance. Only his love, for me, for her, will save them.”

Rook shook under the pain, which had subsided enough for him to hear every word.

“Bel.” He thought.

“You did this to her.” Elgar’nan was in his head again. “And Solas did this to you.”

Few words could describe any of this. Rook had sublimated beyond pain. His existence seemed unreal. Part of him wondered if he was dead and trapped in his corpse the way he imagined Emmrich when he spoke of being a lich. Elgar’nan was there to answer every thought. Assuring him he was alive and at the grace of his Creator.

He was released from some of the spells, but the Fade clung to his scars. A lyrium collar and cuffs were slapped around his neck and wrists. He heard the voice of the most senior commander call him to follow, and he was compelled. Every second of resistance was met with debilitating pain. And when he hurt, he saw Bellara, wherever she was now, also in pain. And she was not trained to battle this torture as he was. And it was too much for him. Stopping his breath for as long as he resisted. But no matter how long he did, he would not die. He would only suffer as the magic kept his body functioning. Bellara, though, Elgar’nan promised, would not. Rook walked willingly.

They took an eluvian directly to the archon’s palace high above Minrathous. Rook had only ever heard of its opulence, and it was grander than his imagination. Magic and wealth combined over centuries to create awe. Blight was already growing in. Wrapping through windows. The veil was so thin here Rook could smell the magic. Tinny. Cold.

He was taken directly to the throne room where every chair was filled by supportive Magisters, Venatori leaders, and the corpses of some unlucky opposing magisters who were present during the usurpation.

“Fenrir de Riva!” Elgar’nan sat at the throne. It was made larger with the aid of blight. A red glow filled the room from the eclipse.

Rook looked at him. Glaring. He clenched his jaw tight. Elgar’nan pointed and Rook fell to a knee. “Speak!”

“I am Fen de Riva.” Rook croaked. The hall laughed at his weakness.

“Also known as Rook.”

“Yes.” It was impossible to speak and yet his body made sound. Like corpses animated to whisper their own truths.

“Why are you here?”

Rook glared at the god. His wild. His determination. His reckless screamed inside him. But he saw Bellara easily in his mind’s eye. Her face stained with tears and blight. Her eyes bloodshot. Eager for him not to hurt her any more. He apologized to her. Hoping she could hear his kind words locked in his heart for her.

“Speak, elf!” The god said the word as if he weren’t also an elf. That he was above the criticisms of his race. “None of that sap. You defied your god now speak to him!”

Bellara writhed in pain.

“I am here because I sought to defy you!” Rook held out his hands, pleading for him to release her.

“You seek more than defiance.”

Bellara began to twist unnaturally.

“I sought to kill you!” Rook fell on the steps. He didn’t know if Elgar’nan was making him look weak, groveling, or if he desperately wanted him to stop his torturing Bellara. “I gathered a team to kill you.”

“As they have killed my sister.”

Rook’s eyes widened. They did it. Without him. They still could.

“Yes. They have the Wolf’s Tooth but not his pawn. They need you not.”

“But I brought them together. Made them strong enough to kill a god!” Rook pleaded. His guilt could save Bel. Yet he couldn’t tell if this was his voice, his will, or not, speaking. “I am complicit in Ghilin’nan’s death.”

“Hundreds of your lives we ruled. We flourished. To be ended by such quickened children.”

Elgar’nan thrust his hand out. A part of the veil ripped open and pulled Rook to the center of the room. The crowd cheered at the spectacle. Rook screamed again. Unable to keep the pain and surprise quiet. The more he made a display of his pain, the more the Venatori cheered. And the more pain Elgar’nan would create.

Rook could see his smile. His disgusting pleasure and a room full of people applauding his depravity.

But the more Rook endured, the calmer Bellara seemed to look. As if his torture saved her.

“I find you guilty of treason, Rook de Riva.” The god stood. “And I sentence you to a lifetime of service to your last remaining god. We will see you changed, improved, and we will find your love for your god.”

With every sentence the crown cheered.

“I will protect him as I protect myself.” Elgar’nan’s golden eyes glistened with cruelty. “Try to destroy him. Do your worst.”

There was a hesitation. But one mage stood and pulled lightning down upon Rook. He bellowed as his body felt the spell that would have sent him sprawling. But he absorbed it. The power sizzling through his skin. A fireball burned his flesh, flesh that ate it and stored it in the very scars meant for magic. Ice. Blood magic. Spell after spell ripped into Rook. Battered him about as the Veil he tried to save held him aloft for his punishment.

A magister took a dagger and sliced Rook’s leg. The blood that spilled almost glowed with the amount of lyrium he was pumped with. The blood was turned on him, slicing into his scars, tearing the scraps of his clothes to shreds and splicing open every lyrium scar across his body.

Rook was dumb with anguish.

Another took liquid red lyrium and poured it up his body, trapping the molten metal in his open wounds with a spell to heal the skin. Rook tried to pull away from the pain, but it was everywhere. And Elgar’nan made sure he was aware of every second of his punishment.

Rook drooped in the air after hours of the Venatori’s amusement. One by one each was allowed to name their grievances and attempt to kill the god’s new toy. Each was not able to overpower Elgar’nan’s spell. Each laughed at amazement as the ancient elf was able to easily out match them.

“What have you to say now, Rook?”

“Please.” He could barely talk. He couldn’t think. He could only breathe and dangle.

“Exactly.” The god lowered Rook to a pile on his knees. The color and cuffs fell off, giving Rook a reprieve from a portion of the pain.

“Look at me.”

Rook raised his head. Or his head raised without his consent. He couldn’t tell.

“Good. Less defiance in your eyes. You have done well. Rook. But you have only felt a fraction of what I owe you for my sister’s death.”

Tears filled Rook’s eyes. They were bloodshot, the whites of his eyes now an unnatural red glow from the blood magic. His irises dimmed and still green. His pupils were pinpoints. Every scar glowed red. His skin paled with exhaustion. His muscles ached with the power that coursed through his blood. He was unable to hold a thought, speak clearly, or move.

“Yes.” Rook felt the word slide over his tongue like a fresh drink of water.

“Commander Bataris, take him to your chambers. You shall have a chance to show your worth, as we discussed. What better subject have we?”

“I have not forgotten you.” It was the son. The one Neve caught and the Templar Commander loosed. “My father cannot see how far I’ve risen, but you will.”

With a spell, Rook was compelled to rise and follow the cultist.

Rook felt more and more like an undead creature. His will at the mercy of others. He wanted to test his own will, but the vision of a broken Bellara silenced his autonomy. His took to wondering if this is what undead endure. The souls of their lives caught up with the will of magic compelling them.

He then recalled the moment he decided he would do anything and everything Viago demanded. He remembered the day his fear melted away under the torturous methods of the Crows. When his desire to excel overshadowed the fear and pain.

When did that sense of loyalty shift? Was it ever autonomy? He saw the loyalty to House de Riva fracture as the Veil’s guard strengthened and solidified into the family the de Rivas never were.

He could feel that life slipping from him. The inevitability of his new service overtaking him.

He was given a small room. A bed. A meal. But he was neither able to sleep or eat. The amount of magic coursing through his system kept him pacing the room.

He heard Elgar’nan’s laugh intermittently throughout the night. At least he assumed it was night. The eclipse stop all fell off time. And he has lost awareness of when long ago in the barrage. The changing.

He was still naked. His skin creating a red glow where the light of the eclipse could not reach. He sat in the floor and ran his fingers over the red, pulsing scars.

They hurt to touch, but curiosity was stronger than the pain.

He remembered sitting in the floor, nine years old. Feeling the healing scars the first time. He could not grasp the proper movement of time. Was he a child still? Imagining his power? He remembered punching the wall. To see if he had gained enhancement.

Rook stood and approached the flat of the wall.

A child naked in Antiva. An adult naked in Minrathous. He raised his tiny/large fist and slammed it into the wall. His street fighting/ intense years of training and combat were not nearly/were more than enough to pierce the plaster. But the magic in his scar dented/tore a hole clean through the wall. He pulled his fist back/his arm out from the fresh hole in the wall. No pain. Footsteps hastened to the door that locked him apart from his overseer. He turned to face the door.

The door whipped open. Rook stood calmly waiting.

Bataris rushed to the wall. He could see foggy rooftops below, cold wind rushing into the room.

“You did this?” His beady eyes narrowing.

“With ease.” Rook’s voice was emotionless. Mechanical.

“I wonder-“ Bataris squared up to the elf. He was the same height as Rook. Thinner. “Pick me up.”

Rook didn’t think. His arm jutted out, snagging Bataris by the neck and lifting him, arm locked out straight, as far up as he could reach. Bataris kicked and pulled at Rook’s grasp. Rook opened his hand and the man fell to the floor, barely catching himself from falling to his ass.

“Lath!” Bataris called out, his voice broke a little.

A Qunari slave entered the room. He stepped quickly to Rook, attempting to wrestle the elf to the ground for harming his master. Rook swatted away the grab, leapt over the Qunari. He swung. Rook blocked the punch and elbowed the exposed torso. The Qunari staggered back, gripping his side in pain.

“Remarkable!” Bataris healed the broken rib instantly, but his eyes remained on Rook. “The red lyrium has enhanced you!”

Rook had a spark of acknowledgment that he could overpower both the magister and his bodyguard. But a flash of Bellara, sleeping, fidgeting in an exhausted slumber, already pale and bloody from her own tortures, flooded his brain. He looked to the wall. He could leap.

“As long as you are alive, she will live.” Elgar’nan’s voice was more present than Solas’s ever was. It hurt to hear it.

Rook stood and waited. The Qunari stood to leave. As he passed by he back handed Rook across his face. It hurt, but it barely moved him. Rook looked only at Bataris.

“Well done, elf.” His smile was oily, weakness given too much power.

Rook dropped his eyes. An action he recalled from training for a contract where he needed to be a slave. The training held. He would make an exceptional slave.

He did not feel compelled to move from the spot. He tried to see Bellara on his own. Eyes open. Eyes closed. He could not. And doing something to endanger himself only endangered her. He would not risk harming her just to find comfort in seeing her.

Instead he thought of her touch. He smell. He could barely remember the small of white flowers and red woods. And the faint tin odor of the magic she was always tinkering with. That he smelt in abundance.

He spared a thought for the guard. They had succeeded. They would be rallying their allies to move against Elgar’nan. They would seek to rescue him. Bellara.

He couldn’t tell how to feel about that. Their success caused him…this. He looked again at his new scars. He didn’t feel blighted. And there was no song to the lyrium in his veins. Just Elgar’nan’s voice.

It was an easy task, and his supplies were running low. Purchased poisons never had the punch or shelf life of a home brew. As ever, no one would praise him for his quality, which rivaled Viago’s, nor would any notice his ingenuity. Well, he smirked, maybe an Antaam or a cultist would note how their skin simultaneously experienced a minty burn as strong as a pepper burn. But they’d be too busy gargling for air to have a conversation about it.

Rook had grown ruthless in the couple dozen months since Viago exiled him. All the desire he harbored to be seen as a … son wasn’t the right word… something. Someone Viago could be proud of and take pride in. No feat was enough. No kill. No seduction to turn an eye, many eyes that made Viago look flawless when he otherwise may have failed. Being one of the best of his age, being the ghost and the blade of the de Rivas. He studied. He had studied other houses. The Dellamortes. Arainai. The Stripped. Outwitting a Crow was as much a talent as a sin. But to keep one’s head, one must keep it on a swivel.

He’s paid his dues. Overpaid. Even now, leading the charges against gods, there was no credit.

He sighed. He wasn’t in this for credit.

“You stepped up because Varric can’t.” He reminded himself. Rook heard her steps before she spoke, he smiled but did not turn.

“How are you not dead?”

“Is this a metaphysical question or..?”

“It smells like death in here,” Bellara coughed.

“I suppose I have built up immunity.” He tapped the vial gently. “Just finishing up.”

“Is that elf root?” Bellara leaned in as far as she could stand. “But…”

“Dried, muddled-“

“Denatured. It amplifies the deathroot.”

“Because deathroot grows where elf root is overcome by blight.”

“It is mimicking the metamorphosis of the plant. In the vial, so all the toxins are trapped and when released-“

“It’s like a rapid blighting.”

Bellara was less shook than Rook expected.

He smiled up at her and sealed the last vial with a special wax.

“My dad-“

“Is an herboligist, I recall.” He turned in his chair to face her. She was within reach. He could just wrap his arms around her thighs and pull her in. He could smell her; sandalwood and jasmine. She had just washed her hair and it was down, cascading like a river at night, twinkling in a rare new moons’ light.

She looked down at him. Studied his face, his eyes like the full moons, large, reflecting every fractured light. His lips slightly parted and a wry smile.

“Can I help you with anything?” His hands pulsed with the urge to touch her. He anchored them on his hips to keep from fidgeting or from grabbing her.

“Um. No. I just was passing by, after a study session with Emmrich. I smelt-“ she waved her hand about “this. I was curious. And slightly worried. About you, I mean.”

“Someone snuck into the Fade through heavily guarded and enchanted mirrors and poisoned a de Riva?” He laughed gently.

“Anyone can get poisoned.”

“Don’t say that around Viago’s he’ll up my dosages.”

“What!?”

“Viago slightly poisons all de Rivas. I’m sure he’s tried it with other Crows, but he will not lose a house member to something as preventable as a poisoning.”

“Doesn’t it make you sick?”

“Sometimes.” Rook shrugged.

“Mythal’enaste’” Bellara’s face was flush.

Rook laughed heartily and stood and pulled her to him, hugging her as he laughed. She was rigid with the sudden touch. Rook felt her hesitation and immediately let her go and stepped back.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.” She said in unison. “No, I’m sorry. I just. You. I wanted. But. Then you. And. Um.”

“No, Bellara, please forgive me for -“

“It was good!” She thrust her right fingertips to his lips to quiet him. His lips were soft, plump. He was terribly good looking, even for an elf. That androgynous allure amplified. His silver hair fumbling into his eyes slightly.

It was his turn to freeze. Her fingers were warm. And they lingered. He could kiss them. Easily. He wanted to, but she just… Now she was.

They locked eyes. And they held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Maybe two. He could have killed them both and escaped by now.

The sound of footsteps in the end of the hall shook him. He swooped up his poisons and darted out of the room to upgrade his weapons. At the end of the hall Emmrich stood, craning to find a certain book. Rook nearly ran into the statuesque mage. A vial slipped from his grip. Rook somersaulted and caught it before it hit the ground, sending the others rolling gently across the stone floor.

“I- uh-“ Rook stuttered. He snatched and fumbled his awkward bundle. So sorry. Emmrich! Hi. I didn’t see you there. Here!”

He looked back. Bellara haunted his doorway. Emmrich noticed her, then Rook. He said nothing. Rook darted down the stairs before he could.