Scripturient

This is my place to hang my DA II Fandom hat, either by reblogging my love for Fenris & Anders or passing on fics or amazing art.

Logo art by Jakface and msbarrows., from my request for Fenris in a suit.

Icon art from a commission of Invictus Hawke by hawkeward

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msbarrows:

feust:

Broken Souls by 

go read it because it’s the one fic that makes me believe in Tranquil as sensitive beings and Keran and Feynriel broke my heart aaaaaand ;_;

Thank you, this is so beautiful! I love the backlighting you did, and Feynriel’s hair, and, of course, Keran’s stealth soulpatch. Really like how much the background looks like a firelit stone wall, too.

For those unfamiliar with the story, the following is the scene from chapter 14 that the above illustration is based on.


Keran woke some time before dawn as Feynriel stirred and rose from the bed, walking over to put a fresh log on the coals. The room was cold, and he could hear the sounds of a storm blowing past outside, wind-driven snow hissing against the window. The sound made him hope that the merchant and his men were somewhere with good shelter.

It was nice to be curled up in a warm bed on a day like this, he thought, and smiled as he watched Feynriel crouching down before the fire, reduced in the darkness to a firelight-edged silhouette, naked apart from his hair cascading loose around his shoulders. He’d kept most of the extra breadth there that he’d put on over the fall from chopping wood. He was, Keran found himself thinking as he ran his eyes over him from head to toe, quite beautiful.

He wondered if Feynriel was even aware of how attractive he was. The tranquil seemed to have some sense of aesthetic appreciation still – witness how he could be mesmerized by the growth of frost on the window, or the beautiful things he made with the work of his own hands. While some of that beauty might come from the rules of proportion and placement he spoke of, Keran could not believe that all of it came from such.

Feynriel shifted position, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Keran. The tattoo on his forehead stood out starkly in the firelight, and Keran stopped breathing for a moment, staring at it. He had seen it hundreds of times before, on other tranquil, on Feynriel during their months together here, and only just in that moment did it sink in for him what a dreadful lessening it represented. Not just how it meant that Feynriel had been lessened from a powerful mage to just a mundane man, but worse – how in so many ways it marked him as less than a man. Unable to feel. He couldn’t really imagine that, even having seen it, lived with it, for so many months now. To never feel fear again, or grief. Happiness, sorrow, joy, anger, hatred, lust, grief, guilt… all the things that made men human.

"Feynriel… come back to bed," he said, and was surprised to hear how tight and hoarse his own voice sounded. "Please."

The man rose and walked over. He stood by the bed a moment, looking down at Keran, face as calm as ever, then slid under the covers. “You’re crying,” he observed, reaching out to touch his hand to Keran’s cheek. “Why are you crying?”

"I don’t know," Keran said. And then realized he did. "Because you can’t," he said, and put his arms around Feynriel, holding him tightly. And knew, then, that the reason he’d said was only part of it. That the biggest reason he was crying was because he had realized that he was falling in love with someone who could never, ever love him back.

Gorgeous and heartbreaking story and art to go with it. <3

pollencount:

commissioned by the lovely anon
inspired by her equally lovely fic “Only from the heart”.
Soooo, that’s it. This has been the last commission on my list (I’m still open, btw *wink*). I immensely enjoyed doing these, had some great input to work with. Thanks to all my dear commissioners. &lt;3


All the feels for this. You captured that moment so well pollen. /nudges anon not do subtly for more of this fic.

pollencount:

commissioned by the lovely anon

inspired by her equally lovely fic “Only from the heart”.

Soooo, that’s it. This has been the last commission on my list (I’m still open, btw *wink*). I immensely enjoyed doing these, had some great input to work with. Thanks to all my dear commissioners. <3

All the feels for this. You captured that moment so well pollen. /nudges anon not do subtly for more of this fic.

cypheroftyr:

2 by *GIVEthemHORNS

*sobs* Anders… 

Anders stared up at the red hot brand inching towards him. He contemplated his life while the Templar wielding the brand sneered at him. He should have fought more, should have called upon the spirit he harbored when they came for him…instead he gave up. An army of Templar at his door, Hawke leading them was the final straw, the last thing that broke his resolve to bring the establishment crumbling around him.

He pondered his life as a Warden…what being Tranquil would mean when his Calling came. Would he even care? Would he fight the pull of the Taint in his blood or would the docility of the brand nullify his will to obey even that primal urge? Would Hawke kill him then? Once the Taint started to claim his body? When he was no more of a man than Larius, the old Warden they’d encountered in the depths so long ago?

What would the Warden Commander say when…hell if she heard of them making him Tranquil? Would she even care? Would Solona scoff and say that’s what he deserved for deserting them all? For letting them think he was dead until he ran into Nathaniel Howe again?

He blinked and swallowed, the noise audible in the room… as he wondered why the hesitation on the Templar’s part to brand him, sever him from his mind, his power, the Fade itself. He watched, as Carver pulled off his helm a savage look on his face as he crouched low and leaned into Anders face, all angles, anger, and avarice as he watched the mage finally cower.

"Hawke made sure I would be the one to brand you apostate."

Anders said nothing, he knew there were no words to save him, no words would undo the stain of blood on his hands, his soul. He closed his eyes and waited for the searing pain, the drain on his soul.

"Open your eyes, face your fate coward."

Anders opened his eyes once more, but did not give the younger Hawke the satisfaction of giving him a final plea for leniency. Instead he held Carver’s gaze as the brand came closer, the unnatural heat crackling in the cell.

"Nothing to say, no witty final remarks?"

"No"

"Pity, I’d hoped to have one last verbal match with you before you became my own pet Tranquil."

Carver gave no warning before he laid the Tranquil brand to Anders forehead, the scent of seared flesh making him gag slightly… but the scream that Anders let loose made it worth it. The way he saw the light leave the honey brown eyes was worth it, worth the blood, the sacrifice, the pain of it all.

"Open your eyes."

Anders obeyed and looked up at Carver, blank, unfeeling and unable to do anything further than what Templar Hawke allowed, after all he was one of the Tranquil now, and his will, his only known desire was to serve.