Rakshasa in a Top Hat

Sebastian has been bugging me about this song for as long as he's been Awakened in my mind. Back when I thought he'd play the flute, I agreed to allow him to sing a variation of this song in the Hanged Man. That instrumental bridge would be utterly beautiful played on a flute. If you ignore the drum, half of it is a capella already, the instruments doing very little to cover Tarja's voice.

Instead he learned the violin. But I am a rakshasa of my word. Below the cut are the words Sebastian wrote to usurp this song for worldbuilding purposes.

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Or, on how magic has changed over the Dragon Age games.

His own element. That was how it was described when Anders dust-bathed in a blighted fire and did not burn. Rather, he chirped and fluffed and luxuriated in the flames that licked over his skin and did not harm him. But Vengeance was a demon, surely that made it work, right?

The same as the image of Trevelyan engulfed in the Storm. Or Connor pulling the Blizzard around himself. 

Dorian was different, sitting on the ledge of the Thane's fire reaching in for handfuls of flame to sculpt into flowers in an attempt to either amuse or unnerve Sera. There's no demon in Dorian.

What there is... is a self-imposed specialization.

Inquisition has an extremely strict spell list. You'll learn a few scant spells. On PC you can keep up to 8 on your HUD, on console it's more like 4. You get enough points to max out one spell tree with maybe 3-5 spells on it, max out your Specialization with maybe 3-5 spells on it and one Ultimate, and you can start in on a second spell tree. You might even finish it.

Veilguard has an even more limited spell list. You'll learn the barest smattering of spells. I've only ever played PC but the NPCs get 5 skills, each one a spell. Maybe 1 is spent as a healing spell to throw at you, maybe not. That's it.

Compare to Origins. There are four schools of magic, each one with 16 separate spells. The Primal school contains three different elements. All at once. 

What happened? Over 20 years of magical research what happened?

Unless... Unless the limited spells are self-imposed. So what exactly does one give up when one specializes? Or might a better question be...

What does the mage GAIN?

Origins, even on its lowers difficulties, still has various enemies being fully immune to various elements. Abominations are immune to nature damage, rage demons are immune to fire, revenants are immune to cold damage. Resistances abound. Such things aren't seen in Inquisition or even DA2 unless you crank the difficulty up past sanity to the far edge of Nightmare. It's easier to manage in Origins, you're expected to swap weapon spots when there's an Issue and you can just cast a different spell. Anyone who specializes their spell loadouts to be so limited is a fool. In return, you are just a man. The closest to fire immunity in the game comes from Wade's work, the closest to electricity immunity comes from Stormchaser in Awakening. As far as I know there is no massive cold immunity, there's just a solid Suck It Up.

That's what the mage gains.

As part of their training, one who specializes their magic into only a single element learns to revel in it. They learn how to endure their own element. They learn the immunity that demons still maintain because when I wrote my AU I maintained that same set of immunities throughout the series. A fire dragon is unharmed by fire. A pride demon is unharmed by the storm. Undead are unharmed by cold. It makes a mage monstrously powerful with their chosen element. Dorian's fires burn hotter than Amell's. In return, Dorian can never cast a cold spell. Ever.

There is precedent in fantasy. The highest precedent. Tolkien started it. Or, rather, Lord Elrond started it. At the end of the Second Age Elrond was a warrior, riding along with Gil Galadh against Sauron upon the slopes of Mount Doom. He was a warrior, a general, a terror upon the battlefield. Yet at the end of the Third Age Elrond was a quiet pacifist, a healer who dared not even raise his voice less his sword. It was not age or wisdom or even grief that did this to him. It was by choice. Tolkien's magical healing is unique in that it requires total pacifism from the healer in order for it to work. Elrond had had to lay down his sword for thousands of years to be worthy of the healing skills he has at the end of the Third Age. If he dares pick up that sword again, he will lose all that he's worked for. He will lose his magical healing.

The same thing applies to an overly specialized mage. They have purged their mind of all spells antithetical to their chosen element. They have specialized and overspecialized to the point where their body becomes an extension of their magic, where it becomes a perfect conduit for their power. I wonder if such specializations also causes weaknesses, a weakness to ice spells, or even in later stages the weakness of seeming more like a demon than just a mage. Certainly it begins to provide immunity to demons that are antithetical to the mage's chosen element. In later stages it might become harder and harder to tell a mage and an abomination apart.

It explains why no mages of the Southern Circles ever specialized to this degree. The Templars would kill them for it.

But the North...

Veilguard has its secrets, this essay contains spoilers for Harding's canon loyalty quest line and the a side quest into the Dread Wolf's motivations. I incorporate those secrets into this writeup but I do not take them exactly as written. Solas is an unreliable narrator and I walked away from sections of Harding's loyalty mission in disgust. Thus if you played Veilguard you might recognize some of what you find here but it won't be exact.

Because I am an Eldritch Horror writer and I would like to thank Issac Arthur's Cosmic Megafauna: Could Giant Alien Lifeforms Exist? video for the delightful inspiration as a mountain walks or stumbles.

Entire essay under the cut for spoiler purposes

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Every Circle mage has their own verse.

Every mage who's spent time in a Circle has crafted a Verse. Even Ostwick, though the practice began to fall out during the height of the Ostwick Solution, the practice of drugging mages into obedience with daily doses of magebane.

Which means I need to have written Verses for every mage, correct? Of course. What kind of obsessive rakshasa do you take me for?

Dragon Age Veilguard earned a verse despite taking place ten years after the Circle of Magi was dissolved. This worldstate's canon Rook is a feathered mage, a mage of the Southern Circles who directly credits Anders and Vengeance with their freedom. After the Inquisition, there were those feathered mages who took on plural pronouns as a sign of respect for the abomination who freed them all.

These are Rook's verses

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Underwear is an Orlesian Invention.

Of course the real reason why underwear in the Dragon Age games is because the inventory screen and sex scenes. We can't have utter naked in a game no matter how rated M for Mature those games happen to be. The closest to actual naked was the mythical Iron Bull cock lovingly rendered as a haze the animators went through for shits and giggles. The images were posted and then lost a decade ago but that was the closest we ever got to full frontal anything in Dragon Age.

Respect to Inquisition for its butts, though.

So why do I say underwear is an Orlesian Invention...

Ferelden had just gotten over being conquered by the time DAO is played. They're still shaking off the lingering issues of Orlesian occupation, including this introduction of smallclothes. It's more prevalent in Circles and the Chantry, both of those being heavily Orlesian-influenced institutions.

We never see anyone nude or close to it in Dragon Age 2, though the implication of Isabela is a complete lack of panties. While this could be an argument in favor of her being a whore, I instead look to an alternate solution. The only two individuals I've written in their underwear in my DA2 fics were a Fereldan and a Chantry Brother. Both wore smallclothes, though Sebastian also kept his shift on for modesty. The shift, which I've written around everywhere by now, is an undershirt meant to protect the clothes from the skin beneath and vice versa. Part of the shift's job is to be folded beneath the trousers to act as underwear, to protect the bits and butt from chafing against the inside of the trousers.

The only people I've written wearing their trousers against the skin have been those who would have been used to the concept of smallclothes.

Thus I can safely say... Outside of Orlais' influence, nobody wears underwear. Just a shift.

How often doth'ou dine upon death?

It was an accusation of gluttony spat in the face of Goran Vael as he fell upon the steps of the Royal Palace of Starkhaven. They were the last words whispered to him by Sebastian Vael as Sebastian held the knife to slit Goran's throat. Blood spilled upon the steps of the Royal Palace, blood eagerly drank by the Birds of Starkhaven while the people cheered and accepted the Birds' endorsement.

It was an accusation of tyranny spat in the face of King Ironfist as he fought for the throne of Starkhaven. They were the last words whispered to him by the eponymous Lord Vael as Vael held the knife to slit the king's throat. Blood spilled upon the steps of the Royal Palace, blood eagerly drank by the Birds of Starkhaven while the people watched in utter horror before acquiescing to the power of Vael and his three favored Royal Cockatrices.

How oft doth'ou dine upon Death?

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Because multiple series of mine, past and present, include or involve immortality.

In the Shadow Over Atlantis, immortality was hinted at but never actually approached. Rodney McKay as the Mother Hydra of the Heretic Nest of Deep Ones would be immortal. Visions of the future were invoked, surrounded by the Deep One children and grandchildren of his friends. Their deaths were both harder and easier, harder because those around him would remind him forever, easier because those descendants would be there to remind him forever.

In Lady of the Void, Lady Iaso was a nigh-immortal goa'uld who imprinted her memories upon Caldwell's brain before she was forcibly extracted. That series explored and would have continued to explore how a personality is little more than applied memories and how Caldwell slowly lost himself to the weight of five thousand years of memories. He would be alive but how much of that brain and its memories were truly him anymore? This became a blessing for him as he's not a... stable man. He didn't have much left to live for. Immortality wasn't worse than death, it was so much better than living.

In the Dragon Age Worldstate, spirits don't die. Nor do abominations, if they're allowed to live. There's little bits and bobs of immortality all over that worldstate. Justice is only the start.

And in the Eldritch Stardew series? Immortality is... It can be perfect, honestly. The series is those involved coming to realize that.

Chicken Soup

Previously I've mentioned Starkhaven's favorite heresy, On the Birds of Starkhaven. Such a heresy leads to certain cultural demands surrounding their sacred animals. Especially as it comes to a food animal.

It is fair to say that most people in Thedas have never eaten a modern chicken. Eating a chicken is a waste of resources, a waste of all the eggs that such a bird would lay over her lifetime. Capons, neutered roosters, make up the bulk of your meat birds. Capons are by their nature larger, meatier, stronger tasting than a modern broiler hen. They're also expensive. A chicken soup or stock or a roasted or boiled bird wouldn't be seen outside of a wealthy household. Whether that's a rich merchant's family or a noble household, does not matter. The only exception would be a hen too old to lay, but also too tough and gamey to be eaten whole. Such a bird would be boiled in strong wine, which is the origination of the very real dish Coq au Vin, and a lavish dish for any farmer's wife to serve on a feastday.

So what about Starkhaven? How does declaring one's chickens to be sacred animals change how they're eaten? Does it change anything?

Actually yes.

Old hens are still culled, as are injured or sick birds. Such a chicken killer would be appointed by the Crown, a professional murderer marked with uniform and cloak and hood and badge. Respected and shunned by society, this is a man who's job is to take lives on the order of the Crown. A professional assassin. Possibly an actual assassin kept in the Crown's employ since a man's life is worth no more than a chicken's.

But what happens to the bodies?

The birds are owned by the Crown but it is a mandate that all products derived from these chickens are free for use by the people of Starkhaven. This means if you pick up an egg it's yours. Chicken dung is gathered by a whole guild of gong farmers who then sell the dung to actual farmers on the banks of the river to fertilize Starkhaven's bountiful fields. Shed feathers are collected by milliners and hatters for incorporation into the beautiful hats that Starkhaven is most known for in the fashion sphere. And the bodies of the slain are rendered into the richest, thickest chicken broth.

Most natives of Starkhaven, elves and the poor and middling sorts, will only ever taste this broth while ill. It's prescribed as a restorative, as a cure for small ailments, to rebuild after injury. As one climbs the social ladder, though, one can acquire this broth more frequently. It becomes a broth for special occasions, a dirty secret of the noble dowager who drinks it to stave off age, a ration for the upper echelons of the army.

Until you reach the pinnacle of society. The Birds of Starkhaven are owned by the Crown. Thus only the Crown has the right to keep a flock of capons. A roasted or boiled capon on the table is a sign of immense favor, a flaunting of wealth as strong as a pineapple or a portrait or a display of gems. A flaunting of wealth that is both ephemeral and conspicuous, quickly eaten. The centerpiece of a banquet display, proof of wealth and power.

An everyday meal for the cruelest Princes of Starkhaven. "How often doth'ou dine upon death" is an accusation of gluttony, of over-indulgence, proof of an unfit ruler. It is a challenge to a duel. Those were the last words Goran Vael heard upon the steps of his own royal palace before Sebastian slit his throat.

Fairy eggs. Rooster eggs. Demon eggs. Witch eggs.

War eggs. Famine eggs.

The eggs laid by a rooster of Starkhaven are usually yolk-less things. Any egg without a yolk is considered a sign of famine or war, a portent of hard times to come. The fact that it has been almost two hundred years since War Eggs were last seen with any real frequency, not since the Qunari last tried to invade, has not stopped the habit of cracking every egg into a separate bowl before adding it to the recipe or the pan or drinking it raw. An egg without a yolk is reason for the entire kitchen to stop and stare and send a messenger before changing meal plans. One egg without a yolk is reason to make note, and meringue, but nothing more.

Several eggs without a yolk? Something is wrong.

When the city goes to war, these yolk-less eggs become so very common. There are records of diets switched entirely to account for the preponderance of egg whites available with no yolks to bake with. Pie crusts replaced with sugar-less meringues. Entire diets made from whipped egg whites stabilized with a weak acid, dolloped onto the slab of hot iron and dried to a puff of powder.

It gets worse when those same rooster eggs start coming to the kitchen with blood red yolks.

They taste like rich fatty eggs, one blood red egg giving a man enough energy to keep him on his feet for a full day's fighting, drunk raw from the bowl or whisked into a glass of wine for extra fortification. The armies of Starkhaven never march without their flock of roosters, fat shimmering birds with knives strapped to their spurs. Blood drawn is their due, blood they drink from the soldiers they consider unworthy to collect their blood filled eggs.

These are the eggs that hatch into the Royal Cockatrices that most of Thedas dismisses as myth.

The rooster that lays a dozen or more blood red eggs will brood them all, sitting on the nest until they hatch. Longer. He will refuse to leave his nest and will refuse to let his children out from under him even as they begin to get hungry and they begin to eat each other. At least, this is what legend says. Most of Thedas will repeat this legend in fear, in the same breath that they spit at 'Starkhaven's favorite heresy'. Yet any Starkhavener will repeat the same legend with solemn acceptance, the knowledge that all things are the work of the Maker, even creatures of horror such as this. For as one chick grows more than the others, fat on its sibling's flesh, it will grow longer and longer, adding the legs of its fellows to its lengthening body until the cockatrice is finally too big to fit beneath it's father's bulk and crawls out from under him in a many-legged scuttle.

While this explains the long-bodied many legged form of the Royal Cockatrice, it does not explain the many eyes of the creature. Nor does it account for other animals that eat their siblings - they do not add the legs of their kin as they grow longer and longer.

Maybe the Southern Chantry is right, maybe it is demons. There are certainly demons in the Fade and in this Realm that are twisted like this, with too many limbs and too many eyes.

But if Starkhaven's heresies are at all correct, if these are the Maker's Own Birds...

What does it say about the Vael Dynasty that members of their bloodline are the only people in Thedas capable of looking into the many eyes of a Royal Cockatrice without falling to madness?

What does it say of the 'benevolent' Maker that He keep these birds as His Own?

Or, the sexual practices of Thedas.

One thing to accept out of all of this: people are going to do people things. If it feels good people will do it. That doesn't prevent cultural morays from putting limits on what they will allow themselves to decide feels good.

Like blowjobs.

I recently listened to a podcast on the history of Molly Houses in 18th century London and an interesting tangent came up. Blowjobs just weren't done. They were not done! Not because they were gross but because they were French (ew). Tangent then went onward, that it was a with blowjob that Anne Boleyn seduced King Henry the VIII for she'd spent time in the French court and would have learned about this 'oral sex'. Now, I'm not saying she was good at it. She wouldn't have to be, the novelty of such a filthy French thing would have been enough. It would have been as filthy as tying him up and fisting him, but with more perceived degradation.

So I'm thinking back on what oral sex I've put into the Dragon Age Worldstate and it's... I can think of one scene, only one. Inquisitor Trevelyan and Lady Cassandra were in the middle of a lazy competition to undress each other. Trevelyan is trying to seduce a favor from her, her permission to wear a peacock feathered cloak and resplendent robes to the Orlesian ball instead of the red velvet in-game costume with (shudder) pants. She demands her own concessions, formal armor, and then wins their competition and takes her winnings by sitting on his face.

This fits into the realization I had, that oral sex is generally not done. Because it's Orlesian (ew).

Especially if one happens to be Fereldan.

Which means any story with Hawke sucking off Anders or Justice or both is going to be... interesting. The tone shifts entirely, turning deeply kinky. There's a real note of disgust to contend with, perhaps turning the act into one of penance or one of being utterly used. The power dynamics shift, especially with the addition of bondage. It takes a sex act considered so utterly common in the modern era and turns it into something so filthy, kinky, revolting...

I've already begun to explore the cultural relationship between Orlais and the rest of the world. The nobility of the Free Marches still learn Orlesian as a language, they write and speak a language called Low Orlesian for various reasons. It was considered Strange that Hawke hasn't put in the effort to learn Orlesian, he explained it by saying he's Fereldan and Orlais can go fuck themselves. Marcher nobility has at least heard of oral sex, even if it's weird. Mages probably practice it, it's easy to get away with and Orlesian mages and Templars get shuffled around Circles all the time. An Orlesian Inquisitor would absolutely know about it, and convince Cassandra to sit on his face to get it.

Hawke would absolutely need to be tied down and forced to try it.

So I've had this scene in my head for a year and a half... I'd thought it was kinky before but NOW...

The kinkiest bastards in Thedas are spirits. Nobody will ever convince me otherwise.