the lay of Laemira, and adventures in baking
I have a peach cobbler in the oven! We shall...see how this goes. The batter for the topping was kind of thin and I have no idea if it was supposed to be. WE SHALL SEE HOW THIS GOES.
so this is not my best work, maybe, but here it is anyway: a brief and somewhat poetical description of my DA playthrough. Commentary on actual game stuff and potential picspam to come later. I shall say, though, that I am 100% at peace with my decisions, and that actually, I really loved the outcome.
eta: COBBLER IS OUT OF THE OVEN, AND COBBLER-Y LOOKING-AND-SMELLING. still too hot to taste. sudden important thought: do we have vanilla ice cream?
I sing the lay of Laemira, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden (Anora's insistence), who rose from humble and near-silent origins to defeat an archdemon and stop a Blight in its tracks. Granted, its tracks went from the Korcari Wilds to Denerim before said stopping, but no one said stopping the Blight would be easy.
(Well, Cailan did. And we all know how that turned out.)
I sing of the child born to parents whose faces are dim with memory, who gladly sent their mage daughter to the Circle, where the First Enchanter took her under his wing, for no child ought to have a face so serious as hers. Quiet and shy, she excelled at shaping the elements to her will, but it was in studying with Enchanter Wynne that her talents showed themselves, for nothing brought a smile to her eyes like healing the hurts of others, watching mages work miracles in the face of those who called their abilities a curse. She loved the Circle, the comfort of her fellow mages, the joy of her studies, the walls curving around her, despite the templars' watching eyes. Yet she saw in her gifts opportunity, to show to others that magic is not something of innate terror, but wonder.
I sing of the betrayed, who helped her friend Jowan and his love Lily for the sake of their love, who defied Chantry law because she believed their restrictions unjust, because she believed in her friend's story. When Jowan turned to blood magic, Laemira saw her future disappear on the edge of Greagoir's blade; yet, impossibly, the Grey Warden Duncan intervened on her behalf, for the sake of the First Enchanter and perhaps even that of the Knight Commander. She was yet a young mage, and her burning belief sincere, and her powers would be of use against the coming Blight, though how much and to what ends, none could guess.
I sing of a girl at Ostagar, confronted with an ex-templar with a genuine laugh, with battle and the blood of darkspawn and men alike, forced to use her abilities to violent ends. Bloodied and bruised, uncertain as to her uses on the battlefield, she nevertheless found herself the leader of the soldiers guarding the watch tower, herself illuminating Loghain's betrayal even as the other Wardens--her fellows, though she never knew them as such--died slaughtered on the battlefield, and she and Alistair saved by Flemeth's magic.
I sing of the leader, who gathered armies and companions alike--who stopped the walking dead at Redcliffe without further loss of life, who marveled at Andraste's ashes, who saved her Circle from the very blood mages who caused her exile. She walked the Fade without fear of abomination; she walked the Deep Roads with disgust in her heart, at the monstrosities the dwarves brought upon themselves, at their unwillingness to decide their own fate. She befriended the Dalish and broke the curse of the werewolves with gentle words, the same words that earned her the friendship of an Orlesian bard and an Antivan Crow. She taught friendship to a Witch of the Wilds and love to a bastard prince, and she treasured these things in her heart, for she had learned that such delicate things do not last long when war is afoot.
I sing of the Grey Warden who won the Landsmeet, who spoke to the nobles of Ferelden and earned their support, who faced the traitor-hero Loghain in single combat and won, who yet showed him mercy. I sing of the woman who watched her love walk away while duty kept her word to her queen, kept her silent, kept her alone. I sing of the new Warden, and his love for his daughter and his country; I sing of the old Warden, who offered himself as a sacrfice to end the Blight. I sing of the Witch, who asked for a child, and the Wardens who agreed for the sake of their salvation.
I sing of the Hero of Ferelden, who stood before Ferelden and promised to stay to aide her chosen queen, lauded as a singular hero yet seeing the causes of her salvation scattered amidst the crowd. She begged a boon from her queen, and gained the only prize she had ever sought: freedom, from systemic suspicion, from distrusting and prying eyes, for her Circle. She set her friends free, to stay or go as they wished, and stepped into the world a woman, Warden and mage, with endless possibilities before her.
I sing the lay of Laemira; and now, dear friends, I ask for tales of your own.
so this is not my best work, maybe, but here it is anyway: a brief and somewhat poetical description of my DA playthrough. Commentary on actual game stuff and potential picspam to come later. I shall say, though, that I am 100% at peace with my decisions, and that actually, I really loved the outcome.
eta: COBBLER IS OUT OF THE OVEN, AND COBBLER-Y LOOKING-AND-SMELLING. still too hot to taste. sudden important thought: do we have vanilla ice cream?
I sing the lay of Laemira, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden (Anora's insistence), who rose from humble and near-silent origins to defeat an archdemon and stop a Blight in its tracks. Granted, its tracks went from the Korcari Wilds to Denerim before said stopping, but no one said stopping the Blight would be easy.
(Well, Cailan did. And we all know how that turned out.)
I sing of the child born to parents whose faces are dim with memory, who gladly sent their mage daughter to the Circle, where the First Enchanter took her under his wing, for no child ought to have a face so serious as hers. Quiet and shy, she excelled at shaping the elements to her will, but it was in studying with Enchanter Wynne that her talents showed themselves, for nothing brought a smile to her eyes like healing the hurts of others, watching mages work miracles in the face of those who called their abilities a curse. She loved the Circle, the comfort of her fellow mages, the joy of her studies, the walls curving around her, despite the templars' watching eyes. Yet she saw in her gifts opportunity, to show to others that magic is not something of innate terror, but wonder.
I sing of the betrayed, who helped her friend Jowan and his love Lily for the sake of their love, who defied Chantry law because she believed their restrictions unjust, because she believed in her friend's story. When Jowan turned to blood magic, Laemira saw her future disappear on the edge of Greagoir's blade; yet, impossibly, the Grey Warden Duncan intervened on her behalf, for the sake of the First Enchanter and perhaps even that of the Knight Commander. She was yet a young mage, and her burning belief sincere, and her powers would be of use against the coming Blight, though how much and to what ends, none could guess.
I sing of a girl at Ostagar, confronted with an ex-templar with a genuine laugh, with battle and the blood of darkspawn and men alike, forced to use her abilities to violent ends. Bloodied and bruised, uncertain as to her uses on the battlefield, she nevertheless found herself the leader of the soldiers guarding the watch tower, herself illuminating Loghain's betrayal even as the other Wardens--her fellows, though she never knew them as such--died slaughtered on the battlefield, and she and Alistair saved by Flemeth's magic.
I sing of the leader, who gathered armies and companions alike--who stopped the walking dead at Redcliffe without further loss of life, who marveled at Andraste's ashes, who saved her Circle from the very blood mages who caused her exile. She walked the Fade without fear of abomination; she walked the Deep Roads with disgust in her heart, at the monstrosities the dwarves brought upon themselves, at their unwillingness to decide their own fate. She befriended the Dalish and broke the curse of the werewolves with gentle words, the same words that earned her the friendship of an Orlesian bard and an Antivan Crow. She taught friendship to a Witch of the Wilds and love to a bastard prince, and she treasured these things in her heart, for she had learned that such delicate things do not last long when war is afoot.
I sing of the Grey Warden who won the Landsmeet, who spoke to the nobles of Ferelden and earned their support, who faced the traitor-hero Loghain in single combat and won, who yet showed him mercy. I sing of the woman who watched her love walk away while duty kept her word to her queen, kept her silent, kept her alone. I sing of the new Warden, and his love for his daughter and his country; I sing of the old Warden, who offered himself as a sacrfice to end the Blight. I sing of the Witch, who asked for a child, and the Wardens who agreed for the sake of their salvation.
I sing of the Hero of Ferelden, who stood before Ferelden and promised to stay to aide her chosen queen, lauded as a singular hero yet seeing the causes of her salvation scattered amidst the crowd. She begged a boon from her queen, and gained the only prize she had ever sought: freedom, from systemic suspicion, from distrusting and prying eyes, for her Circle. She set her friends free, to stay or go as they wished, and stepped into the world a woman, Warden and mage, with endless possibilities before her.
I sing the lay of Laemira; and now, dear friends, I ask for tales of your own.