Just a BioWare Fan

Though I could have brought all of these to the Dragon Age: Inquisition forum and posted them on the confessions thread there, I discovered that I had an awful lot of things I suspect I do “wrong” in DA games. Instead of hijacking the thread with two full pages of confessions I thought I’d post them here. You, my darlings, are naturally more than welcome to post any of your own or to explain how very wrong I am, complete with Chant verses or explanations of a character I’ve disparaged.

I confess that my first trip through DA:O confounded many of my expectations. The girl did not ascend to the throne despite all adversity. In fact, she didn’t even get the guy. First he dumped her and then he fed himself to a dragon after she had thrown fireballs at its ankles for an hour and a half. (You can use ballistas?! Why don’t my allies use them instead of getting slaughtered wholesale by Darkspawn?)

I confess that, though I adore Zevran’s romance, I cannot resist Alistair. I also confess that I’ve never romanced Morrigan. Achievement be damned, I just don’t like her. I would make a male Warden if he could romance Sten, though.

I confess to giving Isabella to the Arishok my second time through DA2 because she ran off with the book and never returned the first time, even though the second she obviously did come back to Hawke. I hold meta-game grudges.

I confess that I find Anders to be a consistent progression from DA: Awakening through the acts of DA2 to the end. I also confess that, the first time I finished DA2 (unspoiled), I almost threw my controller through the screen. As noted, I held the grudge long enough to banish him from my party for an entire game. Then I let him back in, caught all the painfully obvious clues I blew past the first time, and now have a terrible time deciding whether or not to jump his bones or go with Fenris. The decision usually rests on how long it’s been since my Warden was frustrated by his resistance to her charms in Awakening.

I confess that Daveth and Jory are stripped of gear in every run just before we meet Morrigan because I find the discussion about how cold it is much more entertaining that way. Also, Alistair is always in the Chasind robes.

I confess to making an M!Hawke and rivalmancing Fenris just to ogle that one scene. [mops drool and fans self]

I confess that I always steal the sword from that poor elf messenger at Ostagar, even though I feel guilty for getting him in trouble and doubly so when I’m an elf. Solidarity is not enough to outweigh the stat boost.

I confess that, despite being uninterested in finishing my playthrough as a casteless dwarf, the Aeducan run ended up being my favorite of all. She toyed mercilessly with Behlen and Harrowmont, all the while intending to wrest control from both at the first opportunity. Branka’s quest had massive emotional impact on her and she ignited in me a deep interest in seeing the dwarves push back the Darkspawn and reclaim their thaigs.

I confess that I find Bethany dull and let her die in the Deep Roads for the drama, but that I always make Carver a Grey Warden because he seems so much happier there—after I needle him endlessly through Act 1 about being my sorry little brother. Sibling rivalry FTW!

Also, I confess that I find Leandra irritating in Act 1, forgettable in Act 2, and still heart-wrenching in Act 3. I don’t care how unreasonable her barbs and demands or how uninterested she seemed in Hawke’s life, no one deserves what was done to her. It wasn’t quite broodmother-level like in Origins but I found it a very effective scene.

I hated the Fade in Origins the first time because it was endless. Then I discovered that I was going around the circle backwards so I had to go through everything twice to get through all the obstacles. So many needless, fiery deaths and barely survived golem fights! Once I figured it out, I learned to enjoy shape-shifting and that whole sequence.

I confess that I once failed utterly to win Fenris to my side and, when I sided with the mages, had to strip his weapons and accessories before my squishy little healer could kill him. I may also have shed a tear or two at having to do so.

I confess to resenting Wynne at first because I have long preferred to play a healer. I loved having her in my party (especially with Alistair and Zevran) but it always made one of us redundant. Then I discovered the arcane warrior and learned to love her again.

I confess that I’ve never once wanted to romance Varric and I wish him and Bianca all the best. Further, I don’t love chest hair so I’m just as happy to have him cover it up in DA:I.

It depressed me that I could not always keep my Mabari by my side in DA: Origins without taking up a party slot. When I discovered that the human noble couldn’t save the dog at Ostagar I may or may not have said some harsh words about the writers. There’s enough room at camp for two!

I confess that I run straight to First Enchanter Irving and tell him about Jowan. All my Circle mages consider Irving their surrogate father. Some of them get over it and some don’t but Jowan is such a user that all of them want to make sure he doesn’t get away with manipulating their supposed friendship. Besides, Irving knows anyway so from a metagame standpoint it doesn’t make any difference. I really can’t stand Jowan.

I hated Anora first because of how she treated Alistair, then because she got weirdly jealous and tried to keep me away from the delectable Teagan, and then because she was so short-sighted that she hired Jowan—that greasy weasel JOWAN, I ask you!—to teach her kid how to be a mage rather than sending Connor to the Circle, plus she lied to her husband about it. Even my first time through I knew she was high-noble enough to be able to see him whenever she wished and he’d have been, in Circle terms, right next door. Every death in Redcliffe is laid at her door, as far as I’m concerned, and a fair number of the ones at Ostagar, too. If it hadn’t been for her Eamon would have been there with his army instead of unconscious while his soldiers killed and probably ate their friends and neighbors. I kill her almost every time and give Alistair a stern talking-to about it afterward. Then I give him a present I found in his uncle’s house and we’re in love again. :D

I confess that, much as I love the boys in Dragon Age 2, Aveline was still my favorite companion. Her story about her father makes me cry; that’s the kind of writing that brings me back to BioWare again and again.

I have always wanted my Dalish elf to be able to profess her undying love for Tamlen before he disappears into the eluvian, and to have a heartbreaking scene with him when he comes back later in the game. I head-canon them as pledged to one another but the game won’t let me say it.

I confess to not loving beards (except Duncan’s) and to romancing elves and Alistair by preference because they’re clean-shaven.

I confess to reading and writing lurid fanfic and to knowing all too well about the k-meme. I also admit to shipping Elthina and Petrice solely to maximize the drama of that moment Elthina leaves turns away and starts back up the stairs.

I cannot complete a straight aggressive playthrough, mostly because when I did a full renegade run in ME1 the last conversation with Kaidan made me cry because of how Shepard had changed him. I’m scared of what I might do to my darling companions when I’m pretending to be psychotic!

I confess to disliking Leliana’s song. On top of that I find her to be terrifying after the eyelash comment and none of my Wardens talk to her any more than strictly necessary after the one that romanced her (and then ran away, screaming).

I confess that my Wardens can never be bothered with laying traps. They’d rather bomb in on the enemy with daggers (or two swords, may the Maker grant it) flailing and dazzle them with rogue-y goodness than take all that extra time planning and strategizing.

I confess that I want Orzammar or whatever thaig we see next to be colorful. All of the Deep Roads don’t have to be earth tones. Andraste’s toenails, haven’t the dwarves bumped into any rocks that make pretty colors in all that digging down there?!

I’ve never been able to bring myself to desecrate Andrasete’s ashes. My conflict arises not in some devotion to the Chantry but a complete inability to side with the dragon cult freaks. If they want me to do it then it must be wrong so I never do.

I confess that the idea of having Morrigan's sloppy seconds grosses me out and that was why I denied her the Dark Ritual the first time I played Origins. It's a factor every time I decide whether to persuade Alistair or do the ultimate sacrifice.

Lastly, I confess I've never liked Ohgren.

After the Storm

It had been a year since I’d staggered out of the keep that no longer had a Viscount. In the power vacuum his death left Meredith expanded at an alarming rate and every inch of her bristled with unreasoning fear. Even mages who never left the Gallows, who had, until recently, supported the Templars, stood accused of plotting and nefarious deeds.

Things had gotten so bad that even Cullen, her second in command, had begun to question her judgment. Though he never admitted it in so many words he’d begun to shade the truth and then outright lie to her to keep her placated as best he could.

The haunted look he’d had when we’d first met, an artifact of some horrific experience in the Ferelden Circle, had faded in the first few years I had known him. Over the months after I was named Champion the deep circles beneath his eyes returned again. As Knight-Lieutenant he retained enough authority to do much without involving Meredith but he couldn’t have been more than ten years my senior and a good number of those he tried to command were much older.

An Offer from the Arishok

I needed to make sure Bethany knew about Mother before we did anything else. Gamlen had promised to send word but he’d hardly proven the most reliable of family members. Once I’d helped my sister to her feet she embraced me, gingerly to avoid being impaled on my pouldrons. Before I could decide how to ask delicately if she knew our mother was dead, however, Bethany proved she did.

“Did mother suffer, sister, or was it at least brief?” As always, she wore that earnest expression that made me want to tell her everything was going to be all right. It had never worked on Carver, who used to nail her braids to her bed when she was sleeping, but the rest of us had coddled her utterly. No wonder she had become so comfortable in the Gallows where no outside concerns intruded unless a mage sought them out.

As I hadn’t been there when Mother had been beheaded and sewn onto that monstrous, piecemeal body, I couldn’t really answer her question. I did the best I could. “She lingered a bit but she didn’t seem to be in pain,” I said. Bethany nodded mournfully but more pressing matters interrupted our talk.

Certain Doom and a Reprieve

The looters discouraged or dead, we returned to following bands of Qunari across Lowtown. For every ten we killed two more hauled another well-dressed human off toward Hightown. Satisfying as it was to finally let loose on them, we’d have to make our way up as well and find out what they had planned.

As we followed the warren of alleys, circling around closed gates and collapsed buildings that still smoldered and spit flame, we found ourselves outside Gamlen’s apartment. Instead of guards or armed thugs fighting for their lives we found three men wearing impressive blue and silver armor in battle with the Qunari. They fought well but were hopelessly outnumbered.

We threw ourselves into the fray and, between the seven of us, we made short work of the remaining troops. In the quiet that followed, the sounds of struggle much subdued after the swath we’d cut across Lowtown, one of the men bowed and introduced himself in a ridiculously formal Orlesian accent as Rochard, a Grey Warden.

Making the Best of It

Varric laughed when we told him the scope of Isabela’s exploits. “You have to admit, Rivaini’s got bigger balls than the Arishok,” he said. “I can’t wait to see what he says.”

Off the four of us went to tell him that we knew why he couldn’t leave and then convince him to turn over the “converted” murderers that Aveline wanted. None of us was optimistic about our chances of success.

While we’d been at The Hanged Man Aveline had sent word for a contingent of guards to meet us outside the Qunari compound. When we arrived, however, the men at the gate refused to allow them inside. This did not increase my confidence.

After a tense moment during which I thought Aveline might behead the poor man just doing his job, we agreed that just the four of us would enter. As ever, the Arishok’s sources had informed him of recent events faster than we could. He was pacing agitatedly, axe the size of Varric in hand, but spun to a stop as we reached the base of the stairs to his rough throne.

An Evening of Surprises

I spent the afternoon making the rounds, visiting my friends in their various homes around the city. Varric regaled me with tales of Merrill’s latest midnight wanderings and how much it cost him to hire thugs to guard her from thugs. Anders told me about his more colorful patients and let me cajole him into clean robes and a hair brushing.

Sebastian showed me where he’d added my mother’s name to the prayer wall. Merrill nattered on about the eluvian and described how much more she could do with the arullin’holm. She took my refusal to hand it over with equanimity, however; she hardly expected a different answer after all these months.

I crossed the bay to the Gallows on the off chance that they would let me see my sister. Cullen, sweetly apologetic but firm, told me that the mages were all sequestered and could have no outside contact. He did let me know that a message had come from Uncle Gamlen so at least Bethany knew that Mother was dead.

Resolutions

When I woke some time later the fading embers in the grate provided the only meager light in the room. I’d turned in my sleep, pulling my knees to my chest, and Fenris was curled around me, one hand draped over my waist. His breath tickled the fine hairs on the back of my neck and I became acutely aware of his solid presence behind me.

It soothed me that he had come tonight, despite his own reservations. I fought against the hope that it was more than a renewal of our close friendship.

As I stirred, he woke with a start, his body tensing against mine. A moment of silence stretched out before I felt him relax behind me. “Hawke,” he said finally, his relief obvious. I wondered where he had thought he was, what ghosts had haunted his dreams.

Awkwardness

After a quick plea for Donnic to have just one more drink and another few minutes of excruciatingly-awkward conversation I looked up to see Aveline pacing behind the others. She turned her panicked face toward me, waving her arms, and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” Then she fled back up the stairs to Varric’s rooms.

Donnic had noticed my nonplussed expression and turned to see at what I had been staring. My friends hurriedly pretended game of Wicked Grace and he looked back at me, frowning. I gave a little “heh heh”, about the only thing I could think to say for a moment. “So,” I finally came up with, “that Aveline is great.” I gave him an encouraging smile.

He shook his head disapprovingly. “Look,” he said sternly, “if this was all a plot to get close to me through the captain I have to tell you, you’re not my type. I like a woman with a little backbone, none of this pussyfooting around.” He stood brusquely and gave me a little nod of a bow. “Thank you for the drinks.” Then he stalked out the door before I do more than protest, “No, I…”

A Warrior’s Problem

What had driven Du Puis and Emeric from immediate attention started the next morning when I presented myself, Merrill, Isabela, and Varric at Aveline’s office bright and early. Bela seemed immune to hangovers and Varric never actually drank much despite the constant presence of a mug in his hand but only the Guard Captain’s urgent request the night before could have roused me from the floor in Varric’s rooms.

I was thus impatient when all she did was ask me to deliver something to one of her guardsmen, a fellow named Donnic who stood in the barrack’s dining room nearby. For this she had been so agitated? But this was Aveline, a woman I admired and who had stood by me through some unsavory escapades so I agreed to do it nonetheless. It must be important to have her so upset.

You can imagine how thrilled all of us were when Donnic removed the wrapping to reveal a copper relief of marigolds. He looked at me, after my pronouncement that it was critical he open it, like one would a grown man found playing in the mud like a toddler. Had it not been for the fact that Aveline and I had rescued him from a group of bandits in our investigation of the corruption of the former guard captain he’d likely have assumed I was a complete fool.

Interrupted Investigations

Varric would be sorely disappointed in my ability to weave a story, even after so much time spent at his side listening to him effortlessly pull a dozen such lines together. Yet again I’ve forgotten an important thread in my own tale. But our investigation into Kirkwall’s disappearing women came home to roost with a vengeance that even Justice could have envied.

It started early on, one of the first jobs I took after my year with Athenril when Bethany and I were still amassing the funds we needed to buy our way into the Deep Roads expedition. A thoroughly distasteful but wealthy man by the name of Ghyslain de Carrac, his Orlesian accent so thick you could have used it for mortar, hired us to find his wife. Apparently she’d disappeared and her family suspected him of foul play, a concern he found more disturbing than the fact that she’d gone missing.

The only hint he gave us was the name Jethann, a whore at the Blooming Rose. Ninette had been rather free with her favors, it seemed, even with those whose favors were not free. Ghyslain had only found out about the elf when Jethann had sent the woman lilies just before she’d gone but the prostitute wouldn’t talk to his customer’s husband.

Fixing the Family

Viscount Dumar shuffled along the shadowed entry and into the moonlit expanse below us. His ashen face showed me that Aveline had already broken the news. I’d never before considered the man old, despite his balding grey head, but at that moment he seemed ancient. Aveline helped him up the stairs and he all but fell beside his son’s body.

As the guards cleared away the survivors Dumar gathered Saemus into his lap. For a time it appeared that he spared no thought for what surrounded him. Then he spoke to me, though his eyes never left the young man’s face. “Who did this?” he quavered, throat clogged with grief.

“She’s dead, sir.” Aveline spoke as matter-of-factly as ever. “We’re rounding up the accomplices that survived and they will stand for what they’ve done.”

“And the Arishok?”

Not long after Sebastian described the new tack some Chantry members were taking I received yet another summons from Viscount Dumar. The note arrived just before I returned, with ‘Bela and Fenris in tow, from another jaunt up the Wounded Coast. Fenris and I remained friendly in a stilted way that left much unsaid. He remained my strongest fighter, though, and I wasn’t about to let personal matters interfere with business.

That’s what I told myself, anyway. In truth, I couldn’t stay away from him. The lazy evenings drinking wine and talking, just the two of us, had ended but I invited him on jobs regularly and he still joined the group at The Hanged Man. The others seemed as determined as Fenris and I were to avoid our being alone. That eased the worst of the awkwardness most nights.

Some undertone to Dumar’s message that evening urged me to respond quickly. Instead of playing Wicked Grace with my Mabari as we’d intended we headed right back out the door and up the nearby steps to the keep. Seneschal Bran ushered us into the Viscount’s office immediately. His normal, snooty disdain carried overtones of anxiety, ratcheting up my concern another notch.

“It’s a disaster!”

Anders threw his hands in the air and dropped back onto his heels. I dodged from his left but blood still spattered my cheek. My flamboyant healer did insist on melodrama after a battle when the injuries were relatively minor. When the wounds were serious it brought out his concentration and best bedside manner but the slash on Aveline’s leg inspired only histrionics.

“These edges won’t line up. What did that thug hit you with, a rose bush? You’re going to have another scar.”

Confrontation and Dismissal

Anders face settled into a serene smile and I wanted to take him in my arms to protect him from himself. He stared into my eyes, that pain I’d longed to erase hiding as he simply looked at me for once. That little crease between his brows that never seemed to disappear had gone and we just stood quietly. It was the most content I’d ever seen him look.

“Maker, I love you,” he breathed, snapping the moment. The enormity of what had happened struck me with the force of one of Varric’s bolts. I pulled free of him, my face aflame as I tugged my smalls into place, my eyes on the floor. My brain worked furiously trying to decide how to respond to him.

I hadn’t come here with the intention of seducing him, hadn’t meant any of this to happen. Yet here I was, half-clad and sweaty, catching increasingly confused looks from the corner of my eye as I restored my blouse to something resembling decency. Oh, sweet Andraste’s flaming left ear, what had I done?

A Plague of Dragons

Suddenly frustrated, Fenris spun and stepped even closer, stopping with his face an inch from mine. He growled, “Maker’s breath! Are you a mage, like your sister, to have bewitched me? Ever since we talked I can think of nothing else.”

I blinked at him, unable to form a response. The heat in his gaze and the sudden change of mood made it hard to think. It was nice to know that he’d been thinking about me, at least. Yet his markings began to glow as he continued.

“How can I accompany you into danger when I’m more concerned with keeping you safe than completing any task? How can I fight at your side distracted by watching the muscles of your shoulders slide under your skin when you swing your shield, by seeing the flash of sweat trickling down your neck as you spin to strike down a foe?”

Like Déjà vu All Over Again

Petrice was, with the help of her pet Templar, busily erasing every trace she’d ever been in Lowtown. Being a sporting soul I spoke to her before the planned shield back-hand. I was stunned by the venom in her voice as she attempted to explain why she’d laid such a trap. She seemed to think that our deaths at the hands of the Qunari would have caused an uprising and that the people of Kirkwall would turn the godless heathens out of the city, despite the disdain or disgust with which most of the citizens regarded us refugees and outsiders.

In the face of such delusion I couldn’t bring myself to actually strike her. Clearly she had problems that the Maker alone could fix, all of them in her head. I made a mental note to ask Sebastian about her and then ordered her to get out of Lowtown and not return. Finally, the rest of us went to get those drinks. We’d well earned them by then, nearly dawn or not.

That was the sum total of my experience with the Qunari before I travelled to the Deep Roads, three accidental encounters, only one of them with the Arishok. So you can imagine my surprise when I received, at the end of those three years of relative leisure, a summons from Viscount Dumar who proceeded to tell me that the Arishok had specifically requested my presence for an unspecified reason. What had I done to draw his attention beyond killing other Qunari? I could only spread my hands in confusion when the viscount asked.

While my family struggled to maintain even our humble place in Lowtown Aveline had joined the city guard and moved into the barracks in the viscount’s palace at the very top of Kirkwall. Her skills and integrity had quickly brought her up the ranks but I avoided visiting her much for fear of dirtying her reputation.

She threw jobs our way when she could, however, and had remained a fast friend that joined us for evenings of cards and carousing at The Hanged Man from time to time. She acted more as a babysitter on evenings when we got snockered on cheap whiskey; losing control and looking like an idiot in public held no interest for my straight-laced friend. But she clearly enjoyed seeing us act like fools and seemed at ease fostering our banter and restraining us from joining the not-infrequent fights that erupted there.

The city swarmed with corruption, dock officials and city guards taking bribes and involving themselves in even the nastiest business in Darktown much less the more affluent sections of the city. Aveline was shocked every time we uncovered another scandal, unable to believe that everyone who served the city did not do so with her commitment to the public good. I found her naiveté adorable and teased her mercilessly every time she hired me to recover goods from a sleazy dockmaster’s assistant or to corral criminals that had bribed a guard to look the other way while they looted someone’s home. She kept her ear to the ground and had paid me to thwart many a criminal enterprise but there was always another brewing.

Aveline and the Dragon

Varric has told this story in so many ways with so many embellishments that I find even my own memory wavering. Since I alone was involved in every step and helped make every decision along the way I feel obliged to set the record straight. It may be that no one will read this but at least I can remind myself that, Champion though I may have become, my experience in Kirkwall was not all glory and easy power. Yet there were moments when things came together perfectly or when magic blocked my path in ways so unbelievable that even Varric cannot convince people of the truth.

Once upon a time I lived in a little village in Ferelden. My father was an apostate mage and my mother a noblewoman from far away who had defied her wealthy family and run away to marry him. They’d put half of Thedas between themselves and her parents, settling in Lothering and raising three healthy, powerful children. My sister Bethany took after my father, both in dark-haired good looks and in talent, while her twin, Carver, was the ugly duckling just coming into adulthood. Perhaps in a few more years he’d have grown into that chin but he never got the chance.

My father was killed before we even got clear of our small farmhold near Lothering when the darkspawn horde, the one that should have been turned aside at Ostagar had that bastard Loghain not betrayed poor King Cailan, overran the countryside. It was a brown and struggling place even before the taint poisoned the land. We farmers worked hard and many of us were trained in weapon skills, trap making, and—secretly—in magic because the predators and vermin fought back and often were bigger than we were. But we had been proud of our whitewashed cottages and even had our own Chantry, humble though it had been.

A Shining Example

I first saw Sebastian Vael arguing at the chanter’s board. He had a stumbling, lilting accent like none I’d ever heard and piercing blue eyes that flashed as he insisted his point. And when the Grand Cleric tried to remove his request he almost pinned her hand to the board along with it, sending an arrow so quickly I hardly saw him draw the bow. I knew I had to have him.

I didn’t want him for myself, you understand. I was drawing together some people to help me effect a change in this most melancholy of cities, the former slave trade nexus, Kirkwall. Namely, that change involved me making a lot of money on an expedition to the Deep Roads with a dwarven crew so that I could move my family into some decent quarters. The altruistic, helping-my-fellow-man part came much later.

I’d fled Ferelden with hundreds of others, escaping the blight of darkspawn that was poisoning my home. Instead of welcoming and helping those of us who had already lost everything the citizens of Kirkwall had relegated my countrymen to slums and former slave pens. We were disdained and spat upon, treated like leeches, and hired for only the jobs that no resident wanted.