i was thinking about darya's blight progression and i'm Not Okay

she's probably still at the third stage during veilguard tbh. but i needed to do the fourth for the angst™

All of you

Caelen rested his elbows on the table, his arms crossed.

Maevaris Tilani sat elegantly at the opposite side, fingers entwined as she studied him. They had been discussing several issues over the past hour — the rebuilding of the Shadow Dragons, the rise of Venatori after the dragon attack in Minrathous. Though these were matters Caelen needed to address, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat distracted as their conversation drifted from business.

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thanks for the ask!! from the random inquisitor asks:

14. How does your Inquisitor feel about the anchor? Does it bother them?

Marel is definitely bothered by it, lol. He was perfectly fine without any strange, unwanted magical powers in his body before the Conclave. He wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible, especially since no one knew exactly what it was at the beginning (except for Solas, obviously).

He eventually got used to the Anchor, but only because there wasn’t much he could do about it.

17. How did your Inquisitor feel about becoming an Inquisition agent? How did they feel about getting promoted to Inquisitor?

Being part of the Inquisition was one thing, but getting promoted to Inquisitor? That was literally a “I’m sorry, what the fuck?” moment, lmao.

Jokes aside, it was a lot to process. That was the moment Marel realized things had escalated far beyond what he initially expected. All he wanted was to go back home, yet somehow, he was turned into a religious figure overnight — a hero he never imagined himself to be. He didn’t want the role, believing there were far better candidates (Cassandra, for instance).

So yeah, I think “overwhelmed” pretty much describes how he felt.

25. What's one thing you wish your Inquisitor could have done that wasn't an option? (e.g. become Divine, alternate romance, different quest outcome, different region map, etc.)

Oh, I’d love to see more of the aftermath of Clan Lavellan’s war table mission. Marel’s clan was wiped out, so a side quest to search for survivors would have been interesting. I also wish we had seen the companions' reactions, even if it was just a small piece of dialogue (I know that’s wishful thinking, though).

On another note, I also wish we had the option to destroy the Well of Sorrows. Marel wasn’t inclined to drink from it because he had no idea what the consequences would be—not to mention he already had enough on his plate with the Anchor. On the other hand, he was pissed off at Morrigan’s insistence on drinking from the Well. He didn’t want all that knowledge to fall into her hands, firstly because it was part of the elven heritage, and secondly because he didn’t fully trust her intentions.

In my headcanon, Lenarin (Marel’s sister) drank from the Well instead. She was involved in the endgame missions as an Inquisition agent and didn’t hesitate to volunteer for that.

this pinup trend screams darya to me so here she is

sometimes i wish i had unlimited time to draw all of my ocs

Denerim was quieter at night, though its main streets still bustled with open taverns and passersby.

The inn they had chosen for the evening was a simple one, filled with the scent of roasting meat and ale. It was a small yet crowded place, the background conversations occasionally interrupted by bursts of laughter. Zevran lounged comfortably, boots propped up on the empty chair beside him, sipping his drink as he surveyed the room.

The scene was entertaining, to say the least. A group of mercenaries, judging by their worn leathers, hovered on the verge of throwing punches over a hand of Wicked Grace. In the corner of his vision, a sly waitress flirted with an older noble, her honeyed words coaxing him into another round of drinks. On the far side of the room, a cluster of Templars sat together, their eyes sweeping the crowd as if searching for someone — or something.

And yet, Zevran’s attention kept drifting toward Darya. Her presence felt much like a magnet, pulling him towards her effortlessly. He watched as she returned to their table with something tucked behind her back.

He raised a brow. Interesting.

“My dear Warden, you look far too pleased with yourself,” Zevran smirked. “Should I be concerned?”

Darya’s lips curled into a smile of her own. “Not this time.”

Then, she set a small plate in front of him.

Of all the things Zevran might have expected, a cake was certainly not one of them. It was a simple dessert, round and brown, its chocolate topping glistening under the dim lights. At its center sat a single lit candle.

He blinked.

"Happy Nameday," she said, watching him with an amused look. "Did you truly think I’d forget?"

For a moment, Zevran just stared at his plate. Then, a quiet chuckle escaped him.

“Ah.” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, this is unexpected.”

She raised a brow. “How so?”

It was not often that Zevran found himself without words, yet Darya had a habit of surprising him in ways he never anticipated. He gestured vaguely at the cake.

“I am not sure what to say. I’m not used to this,” he admitted.

She tilted her head slightly. “You’ve never had a Nameday gift before?”

Zevran let out a thoughtful hum, leaning back in his chair. “Gifts, certainly. But not like this.” He glanced at the candle. “You see, the Crows had their own way of celebrating the passing of another year. If you were successful, you lived to see another. If you were not… well, you can imagine the rest.”

Darya didn’t look away. There was no pity in her gaze, only silent understanding.

Zevran exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “For all the luxuries I had, Namedays were not something we wasted time on. No one needed to celebrate the life of someone so easily replaced.”

The words sat heavy between them, and for a second, Zevran wondered if he had ruined the occasion.

Darya propped her elbows on the table, studying him patiently. “I see," she pondered. "Would you like to celebrate it now?”

He hesitated — but only for a breath. “I… think so, yes.”

“Good.” Her lips lifted in approval. “Now you simply need to make a wish.”

Zevran turned back to the candle, his expression softening.

What was there to wish for, really? 

As a Crow, he had spent several years believing he was nothing more than a weapon — something to be used and eventually discarded. He had expected to die nameless and forgotten, as so many of his kind did. That was what he had been taught to accept.

But now… he was part of something bigger than he had ever imagined. With someone who had remembered his Nameday when no one else ever had. Someone who cared enough to place a candle in front of him and tell him to make a wish.

He closed his eyes, allowing the thought to settle in his chest, then blew out.

When he opened them again, Darya was watching him, a small smirk playing at her lips. “There,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Zevran chuckled. “I suppose not.” He picked up his fork, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. “But I must admit, my dear Warden, you’ve set a dangerous precedent. If this is how you celebrate my Nameday, what should I expect next time? A grand feast? A statue in my honor?”

Darya huffed out a laugh. “I’m afraid you’ll have to see it for yourself, handsome.”

Her words brought a genuine smile to his lips. In that small moment between them, Zevran’s gaze softened, his chest filled with an unfamiliar warmth.

Perhaps, he thought, what he had longed for was right in front of him.

The skies were painted crimson red. In the distance, the Archon’s palace loomed, its silhouette framed by the blood moon. Minrathous had never looked more like a battlefield. The distant clash of steel and the cries of the wounded carried through the air — a constant reminder of the chaos unfolding around them.

Marel stood at the edge of a shattered wall, staring through a jagged hole. Dust and smoke clung to the wind, the scent of ashes thick in the air. His allies and companions muttered behind him, tracing plans and making preparations for the battle, but he barely registered the sound. His thoughts were elsewhere, his shoulders heavy with the weight of years leading to that moment.

“This does bring back memories, doesn’t it? Not the good kind, mind you.”

Dorian’s voice was warm, familiar. A shelter amidst the storm.

Marel turned, his lips pressing into a thin line. He let out an impatient huff, arms still crossed over his chest. “Tell me about it.”

A flicker of concern crossed Dorian’s features. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against Marel’s shoulder. “Are you alright, amatus? Because if you’re putting on a brave face…”

“I’m fine. Promise.” Despite his answer, the words came out strained. Marel uncrossed his arms, the tension easing slightly under Dorian’s touch. He exhaled, closing his eyes for half a second. “It’s just…”

They had been chasing Solas for nearly a decade. The sudden realization pressed against his ribs, coiling inside his chest. They were about to save the world again. As if once wasn’t enough already.

Marel swallowed, his gaze meeting Dorian's. He saw the exhaustion reflected back at him. Dark circles lingered under his eyes, the toll of sleepless nights and endless battles. Without a word, Marel leaned down, resting his forehead against Dorian’s. His fingers curled into the fabric of his robes, as if to anchor himself in that moment, to remind himself that he was there.

“I’m tired,” Marel admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, meant for Dorian alone. He let out a slow, shuddering breath. “I can’t remember the last time I felt safe.”

Dorian’s hands settled on his waist. “Me neither, to be frank,” he admitted, holding back a weary sigh.

They stayed like that, wrapped in peaceful silence, as if the world had paused just for them. Marel inhaled the familiar scent of sandalwood and clove, allowing himself to relax. The rhythmic rise and fall of Dorian’s breath, the steady beat of his heart, the comfort of his touch — these were the things that grounded him. Marel held onto every second, unwilling to let that feeling slip away.

Maybe this was the only place he had ever truly felt safe.

“We should take a break once this is done,” Dorian murmured softly after a moment. “Perhaps travel somewhere. Somewhere that does not involve impending doom, archdemons or ancient gods trying to kill us.”

Marel pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Bet you’ve got everything planned already.”

Dorian tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Well, I may have researched the finest Antivan hotels over the last week. Purely out of curiosity’s sake, of course. No ulterior motives whatsoever.”

Marel raised an eyebrow. “You booked us a trip, didn’t you?”

“This was meant to be a surprise, but yes. I was hoping to tell you over a fine dinner and wine.” Dorian sighed, waving a hand. “The battlefield is hardly the setting I envisioned.”

A low chuckle escaped Marel. He traced his thumb over Dorian’s cheek, amber eyes filled with amusement. “Are you trying to make me swoon, vhenan?”

Dorian’s lips curled into a smirk, his fingers closing around Marel’s hand. “ Amatus, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m clearly not doing my job properly.”

“I’m not complaining,” Marel murmured before pressing a lingering kiss on Dorian’s forehead. “But you know you don’t have to spoil me that much.”

Dorian huffed. “Nonsense. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t get to spoil you? That would be tragic.”

Marel’s smile widened. “Fine, if you insist. Dinner’s on me, though.”

“Promises, promises,” Dorian teased, the warmth in his gaze making Marel’s heart stutter. He leaned in, closing the distance between them, lips brushing together in a kiss that was both soft and aching. When they parted, his voice was quieter and laced with affection. “I shall look forward to that.”

Marel resisted the urge to chase his lips again. He wanted more — more of this, more of Dorian, more time to breathe. But before any of that could happen, there was still a battle to be fought.

And so they would fight.

One last time.

the universal artist experience tbh

you know, one thing that kinda broke my immersion in DAI was the lack of different body types.

i mean, marel is a elven warrior who's 6'4" tall and built like a fuckin wardrobe - yet he's doomed to look like a twig in the game lmaoo

there you go! from the random inquisitor asks:

10. What does your Inquisitor do with their free time? Do they have any hobbies?

I’m not sure if sparring counts as a hobby since it’s basically like going to the gym, lol. Still, Marel likes to keep himself sharp, so he trains daily. He also enjoys sparring whenever he’s angry, as it helps him release some tension.

Other than that, he’s interested in astronomy. He loves learning about the stars, constellations, and the stories behind them. Whenever he has free time at night, he finds stargazing to be relaxing.

Marel also enjoys cooking. He likes to prepare traditional Dalish recipes and comfort foods like stew, mashed potatoes, and pot roast. He prioritizes flavor over presentation, which is why his dishes usually look somewhere between unappealing and ugly as hell, lmao. They taste great, though.

23. What has your Inquisitor been up to between Trespasser and Veilguard?

Answered here!

thanks a lot for the ask! <3 from the random inquisitor asks:

8. Which advisor does your Inquisitor like best? Which do they trust the most?

Josephine, absolutely! She was one of the first people who saw him as more than just his titles. Over time, they grew close, and Marel came to trust her deeply. She reminds him of his sister in a way, which only made him more fond of her.

As for the others, Marel didn’t fully trust Leliana at first, but he respected her nonetheless. He always saw Cullen as more of a work colleague, and they never had the chance to bond much.

15. Which companion is your Inquisitor closest to? Why?

Besides Dorian, his love interest, Marel is closest to the Iron Bull. They have a lot in common; both are warriors (and Reavers at that), and both grew up in non-human cultures. While Marel often felt like an outsider in the Inquisition, he never felt that way around Bull. He could be straight up honest with him, which was a relief.

It was easy for them to become friends. You know that feeling when someone just clicks with you? That’s pretty much what happened, lol. Overall, Marel appreciates Bull’s honesty and enjoys spending time with him, whether by sharing drinks, hunting dragons or sparring together.

23. What has your Inquisitor been up to between Trespasser and Veilguard?

With the Inquisition disbanded and his clan gone, Marel needed time to recover after the events of Trespasser. He definitely wasn’t in a good place mentally and needed space to figure out his next steps.

He accepted Varric’s offer to have an apartment in Kirkwall, using the opportunity to settle in and build a new home and routine. He kept himself busy by helping Varric with various tasks, hunting down Venatori slavers and blood mages. He also hired former slaves and city elves who had lost their homes to work at his manor. In the meantime, he kept in touch with Dorian using the sending crystal.

After a few months, Marel felt ready to go to Minrathous. Thanks to his eluvian, he frequently visited Dorian, traveling back and forth between Tevinter and the Free Marches. Eventually, they adopted a child, which led Marel to spend more time in Minrathous.

Marel also helped establish the Shadow Dragons, using his former Inquisition connections to track down Solas and any Fen’Harel agents linked to him.

In short, Marel got involved in a lot, except this time he was deliberately staying out of the spotlight.

Chapter 6: First lesson

Her palms struck the target in rapid succession — one, two, three.

There was no time to think, only to act.

She had lost track of how long they had been training. Her arms ached with the effort, but she refused to slow down. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, pushing her forward. Sweat dripped down her brow, strands of hair clinging to her face as they slipped free from her ponytail.

One, two, three, four—

With the fifth strike, the training dummy’s head snapped off, tumbling to the ground. She exhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling with exertion.

“Not bad,” Marel said, stopping the severed head with his foot before bending down to retrieve it. He fitted it back onto the dummy with ease. “Just remember to strike with the heel of your palm and keep your arms aligned with your body. If you twist your wrists the wrong way, you’ll break them.”

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another day, another slay in the south

tfw you picture a drawing in your mind and you can't reproduce it the way you imagined 👌