All my unhinged dragon age stuff Had to make a new blog just for this because the brain rot was real and driving me to new feral heights Icons by jollysaw
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The Shadow Dragons Cobra, redraw of the tattoo from the game.
Transparent PNG at the bottom.
Pilgrimage
Summary: After being smuggled out of Minrathous in a pilgrim's caravan, Gladius is recruited into the Shadow Dragons by a mysterious man in a cloak headed to Nessum on an important pilgrimage.
The stitches across his stomach itched in the heat. There was a dull ache in his knee that no amount of healing seemed to touch, but it was nothing like he blasted itching. The pilgrims had not been stopped for long, and already the stale air was making sweat prick out across his skin in the midday heat. Idly, he ran his fingers down the line of the injury, willing the slight touch to give even a little relief. Instead, he just stewed in the back of the covered cart reserved for the sick, elderly, and at the moment, one person recovering from an ill-advised exercise of their own pride.
Pride had been involved, at least in the injury itself, and not even his own. He probably wasn't recommending himself very well to the Maker, but he had always been pretty bad at sitting still for Chantry services. The priests were always so dull.
"If you worry at your stitches, you'll have to get new ones, and they'll have to stay in even longer," a low voice rumbled from across the cart as a large man climbed in, covered head to toe in a billowing, dusty brown traveling cloak. The style was popular among the pilgrims walking the entire distance to Nessum, it kept the sun off of their skin, the sand out of their throat, and masked them all in the same class together.
Pilgrim.
Of course, there was one person on this pilgrimage who couldn't help but stand out. Gladius didn't know his name, but he remembered the voice from that night. The man who had saved him from his own stupidity. And who visited each day to make sure he was healing. He hadn't talked much before today.
"Did we stop for water?" Gladius asked to keep the conversation going, moving his fingers away from the healing scab as he scooted himself gingerly so that he was a bit more upright.
"And the recitation of the Canticle of Penance, of course, so the burden of our steps is as a song of praise to the Maker," the man crouched down nearby and leaned over to look at how the gash was healing.
"Of course," Gladius smiled, and while the man's face was hidden in his hood, the crinkle around his eyes gave his own away as well. "So, when can I ditch the cart?"
"That eager to walk the road? Or just to get away from the unlucky faithful who end up riding with you?" the man asked in amused tones. "Sadly, you may be stuck in here for a while, unless circumstances change."
"The pilgrims aren't so bad," Gladius shrugged, remembering the older women who occasionally took a break in the cart at the end of the day. They often shared their food with him while they sat and gossiped about the other people on the pilgrimage. "I know I'm probably stuck here for a bit. I know why."
"You don't have to be," clear blue eyes regarded his solemnly. "Someone with your skills could find that they are very valued by those who strive for a free Imperium."
"You're talking about the Shadow Dragons?"
"That is what they call themselves," a gentle glow illuminated the interior of the cart as the hum of magic warmed his knee from the inside. "There is a lot of work to be done by those willing—"
"Yes," Gladius interrupted. He didn't need a recruitment speech, even if it was likely a good one.
"You don't want more details?" the man laughed, removing his hand as the magic ceased. The ache was gone.
"I know what you do, and I want to help," Gladius shrugged and gave a smile, thinking about what his father would think, a soldier of the Imperium.. His sister, toiling away as a working mage for the Imperium. Both wanting the place they served to be worth that devotion.
"It's unfortunate you won't be able to complete the pilgrimage then," the man said, as he pulled back to the cart opening.
"It is?"
"Of course," Gladius could have sworn the man gave him a wink. "Your injuries are far too severe to complete the pilgrimage. Some of the caravan will be leaving for Val Dorma, and your recovery will be greatly accelerated there."
"As the Maker wills it," Gladius gave a grin, and the man nodded his head and left the cart in a swirl of fabric that snapped as the canvas fell shut. Not for the first time, he wondered what sort of life that man must lead to effortlessly make that kind of exit each time he left, and decided it was probably better not to borrow that kind of trouble.
If half of what he heard about the Shadow Dragons turned out to be true, he would have have his hands full soon enough.
the crows send their regards motherfuckers hahahah kidding love you all
special thanks to @sorcerousadventurer for riley on the microwave and @serialsforbellara for listening to me crash out about shadow dragon armor and helping me out with glad
done for Shadow Dragon Week: Shadows Stand Together
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Both prompts in one. Featuring my Rook, Dawes Mercar. Thank you for hosting, @shadow-dragon-week!
Here's Dawes not long after he joined the Shadow Dragons. He refused to sit idle so his lightning burns took ages to heal. A common sight would be to see him sitting broodily in one corner imbibing every substance known to man.
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@grad-writes sent me a very lovely ask and I'm just now getting back to it!
Happy Rook Appreciation Week!! A writing prompt if you're interested [CROWS au or otherwise]: It's Viago de Riva's birthday. What do Isadora and Ayde plan together?
Because there were two prompts and I wanted to do them both, here's the first one! ~1700 words below.
Read on AO3 if you prefer
Thursday, 4:35 PM, A.N.T.I.V.A. HQ
“In case you wanted to know, it’s Viago’s birthday next Tuesday,” Teia said from the doorway of Aydenne’s office.
Aydenne had a pen in one hand and a stylus tucked behind his ear, and he looked faintly startled to be interrupted. He tapped at his keyboard before glancing up. “Oh! I do actually want to know that. I asked him once when his birthday was and he just glared at me and said he didn’t think it was appropriate for me to know.”
“Vi’s bark is much worse than his bite,” Teia grinned. “Unless you ask him to bite.”
Aydenne pushed aside the mental image that threatened to form and shook his head. “Leaving that to you.”
“Good call.” Teia scrolled through her phone, then looked back at him. “I’m taking him to dinner that night, but if you want to do something in the office for lunch, we can. Or we can plan something over the weekend. We should surprise him. He hates surprises.”
“Let’s do office lunch,” Aydenne said thoughtfully. “It’s easy. And maybe—no. Never mind.”
“What?”
“I think Isadora would love to celebrate with him. What if we let her ‘cater’ the lunch?”
Teia lit up. “She would be so cute. I can buy her a little chef hat and coat. I’ll text her dad and get permission.”
“I’ll get it. I think she’d like it if we matched.”
“She loves you. She would adore that.”
Tuesday, 10:55 AM, Viago’s Office, Fifth Floor
“We ordered lunch today,” Teia informed him. “Everything should be ready around 11:30.”
“I trust you got my usual,” Viago said, already irritated. He wasn’t interested in pizza or enchiladas or whatever HR usually inflicted on the team.
“We have something different for you today,” Teia said, already walking away.
Something different. The phrase alone made his skin crawl.
By 11:28, Viago could no longer contain the rising dread. He closed his laptop and reluctantly dragged himself down the hall to the break room. He pushed open the door with his elbow, eyes sweeping right to left, checking the seating area first in case he needed to retreat.
Argos and Jools sat near the wall, laughing. Arthik gave him a small wave and looked ready to stand, but Viago raised an eyebrow and his assistant settled back down. Aydenne stood with Teia in the center of the room, both gesticulating wildly.
Hollins and Juni O’Hara wore party hats. Brad from Analytics—
Wait.
Wait.
Why was Aydenne wearing a chef’s hat? Even for him, that was questionable. Viago’s gaze shifted to the side of the room that seemed brighter and busier than usual.
A life-size Chance Candide standup with a sign reading “THE LAKE REMEMBERS” stood in front of a plastic photo backdrop of a house on a lake. Beside it, a violently colored children’s party backdrop featured a neon unicorn flying through space with a “Happy Birthday” streamer trailing behind it.
In front of this spectacle stood the catering table, steaming dishes being served by a smiling Xiqaa Laidir and their small assistant: Isadora de Riva. She wore a white chef’s coat and matching hat, her spill of curls decorated with tinsel-and-ribbon clips that shimmered whenever she moved. Standing on tiptoes, she reached across the table to serve Armida a tongful of salad.
“That outfit’s hardly food-service compliant,” Viago said to Isadora, noting the friendship bracelets she wore that clicked and clacked each time she moved her arms. “Your coat should cover them.”
“But then my friends couldn’t see how much I appreciate them!” Isadora objected, tossing her salad tongs aside and running around the table to throw herself at him. “Happy Birthday, Viago! Aydenne and Teia gave me a job to do!”
A smile tugged at his mouth despite himself; he adored her as fiercely as she adored him. “Thank you, Isadora. I suppose we can overlook food safety for the moment. These people eat anything and everything. It reminds me that even in the most squalid conditions, people can still thrive.”
“These people?!” Cruz Ren burst out with a laugh.
“Ah, boss, it’s not that bad!” Kaori Mihai called from her spot in line.
Viago gave Isadora one more squeeze and then a gentle push back toward her station. “You have a job to do.”
“Yes, Viago,” Isadora said, beaming.
Isadora had barely returned to her station when Aydenne stepped forward, still wearing the chef’s hat that sat just slightly askew on his head. He carried a cake with both hands, arms locked straight as though any tilt might cause catastrophe. The frosting glistened in a way frosting should not glisten. The piping around the edges looked like it had been done during an earthquake, by two people who were unable to see either their target or the result of their efforts.
Teia noticed first. “You baked this?”
“We did,” Aydenne said, too calmly. “Isadora helped.”
Isadora burst out with pride, “I held the piping bag! And Aydenne said I had excellent aim.”
“You did,” Aydenne confirmed, though his voice carried the quiet resignation of someone who had witnessed that aim in action. “I thought… it would be nice.”
Viago stared at the cake as if it were a threat assessment. “What is that supposed to be?”
“A cake,” Aydenne said, with the stubborn dignity of a man who had already accepted his fate. “For your birthday.”
The room quieted. Even Xiqaa paused mid‑service.
Aydenne cleared his throat. “Happy birthday, Viago.”
The words landed with a sincerity that softened the absurdity around them. For a moment, Viago’s irritation faltered. He looked at Aydenne, and at Isadora, who was practically vibrating with excitement and love, and realized that the entire picture, the earnestness, the effort, the way they had clearly tried to make something special despite having no business anywhere near frosting, was actually quite touching when taken in a larger context.
Then he looked back at the cake.
“What,” Viago asked slowly, “is the decoration meant to be?”
Aydenne hesitated. “It’s…a crow. With a briefcase.”
Isadora nodded vigorously. “I made the wings! They’re the part that’s sliding.”
Teia made a noise that was half‑laugh, half‑groan. “Aydenne, it looks like it’s melting! Did you leave it in your car too long?”
“It was structurally sound when we finished it,” Aydenne insisted. “Then gravity happened.”
Viago exhaled through his nose, a long, resigned sound. “Of course it did.”
Isadora bounced in place. “I think it’s beautiful! It’s like the crow is flying really fast and got a little tired.”
“That is not what happened. It seems worse than that.” Viago said, but his voice had lost its edge. He reached out, steadying the plate with two fingers, acknowledging the effort required to get it here intact. “Thank you, Aydenne. And you, Isadora.”
Aydenne’s shoulders eased. Isadora beamed so brightly she looked ready to ignite.
“Just don’t let Lucanis see it,” Xiqaa joked from behind them. “His heart couldn’t handle it after what happened at Aydenne’s birthday. Viago, I have your order right here, separately packaged. Half‑order mushroom ravioli, salad with mustard vinaigrette, dressing on the side, no walnuts, allergy risk.”
Viago regarded them steadily for a moment before Teia’s elbow found a tender spot along his ribs. “Thank you,” he said belatedly.
“Of course. Isadora insisted we keep it aside for you.”
Viago let out a reluctant, quiet laugh. The room brightened around the sound, the absurd decorations suddenly less ridiculous and more… affectionate. A strange, chaotic tribute from people who cared about him more than he ever let himself actually accept.
Accepting the covered dish from Xiqaa, he let Teia lead him to a table near the cardboard standup of Chance.
Teia had barely settled into the chair beside Viago when Isadora came skidding across the floor, curls bouncing, tinsel floating like magical flyaways. She stopped in front of him, regarding him with a curiously authoritative expression.
“Viago,” she said, planting her hands on her hips, “you have to make a birthday speech.”
“No,” Viago replied immediately.
Isadora blinked at him, scandalized. “But it’s your birthday.”
“That is precisely why I should not have to make a speech.”
Aydenne, still hovering nearby like a man guarding a fragile relic, offered gently, “It might be nice.”
“It would not be nice,” Viago countered. “It would be unnecessary.”
Isadora gasped. “Speeches are never unnecessary! They are important. They make people feel appreciated. And they make the day special.” She leaned in, lowering her voice as though imparting a grave truth. “Also, Teia said you’re very good at speeches when you’re not trying to be.”
Chuckling, Teia raised both eyebrows, unrepentant.
Viago stared at the ceiling for a moment, as though appealing to a higher power. “I am not giving a speech.”
“Speech! Speech!” Arthik stamped his feet, encouraging the worst.
He sighed, long and resigned. “Fine.”
Isadora lit up like a lantern. “Yes! Everyone, Viago is making a speech!”
Argos whooped. Juni clapped. Even the Chance Candide cardboard cutout seemed to lean forward in anticipation.
Viago stood, adjusting his jacket with the air of a man preparing for execution. “This is not a speech,” he warned. “It is a brief acknowledgment.”
Isadora nodded, already thrilled.
He looked around the room: Aydenne’s crooked chef hat, Teia’s grin, Xiqaa’s careful plating, the melting crow cake, Isadora radiating excitement.
“I… appreciate the effort,” he said, each word chosen with care. “This is all extremely unnecessary. And chaotic. And ill‑advised.”
Isadora beamed.
“But,” Viago continued, “it is also… thoughtful. And I recognize that. So thank you. All of you. May we continue to work together harmoniously for many more years.”
Isadora threw her arms around him, ebullience threatening the glass of iced tea on the table.
“That was the best speech ever,” she declared.
“It was not a speech,” Viago insisted, but he didn’t push her away.
Teia leaned toward Aydenne. “He’s going to pretend he hated that.”
Aydenne smiled. “He already is.”
“I did,” Viago sniffed with offended dignity.
“Good thing I recorded it all!” Arthik crowed, triumphant.
“Thank you for letting me work here today,” Isadora said. “I hope Arthik sends me the video so I can watch it over and over again!”
Viago slumped down into his chair. There was no chance he could destroy the evidence now. He might as well accept a slice of questionable cake.
Just trying to be better with posting what I draw because otherwise I'm only annoying the same three people instead of the greater populous as I should be ^_^;
Finished off my Illario x Lilya piece from earlier this week, I could have done a lot more but It was meant to be a quicker piece and didn't want to spend hours and hours on it. And then I drew the dynamic trio of Lilya, Ilene ( @kabsey) and Zalan ( @blackwall-my-tiny-husband ) – which I affectionately labelled, "idiots". Also throwing in a super quick drawing of Naera and Turvi/Turbee/Turbs ( @davrinsleftpectoral ) Bless them all, I love all these Rooks so damn much XD
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