Every month, my Curator patrons get a free sketched portrait of an OC of their choice (among other things)! This, uh, technically isn’t a sketch, but I was using the opportunity to play around with some of Procreate’s default painting brushes and got carried away. Thank you, @cassandra-pentughasst, for supporting me!

Song: Subwoolfer - Give That Wolf a Banana

If the Wolf Still Roams

Here’s another Solavellan oneshot. Enjoy! And reminder to read Inevitablehere!

Mythal took the scent of Fen’Harel’s magic in stride; filed away the fact that the Inquisitor reeked of him so strongly that she would not have been surprised to turn and find him standing beside her. It was not just the power of the Wolf’s orb that coated the elf so thoroughly. She carried him with her in other ways, ways that the Fade made all too plain to one of the Evanuris.

Mythal could, and would, use that information to her advantage. She knew the WoIf well – if he still roamed Thedas, he did so with some scheming intent. She would simply need to out scheme him. 

But this she-elf, the shemlen Inquisitor, was intriguing. Mythal had wondered at the elf’s climb to power when all of Thedas dismissed these Dalish as mere savages. She was pretty, but not a beauty so staggering as to bring nations to their knees. She was clever — her emerald eyes glowed with wit and intellect — but she lacked the cruelty command so often required. And she had power, a connection with the Fade to be envied by the mages of this Age, but did she wield it to her advantage? The kindness in her voice led Mythal to think not.

But if she had the Wolf behind her? His strategic mind and cloistered heart would make up for the Inquisitor’s softness. An alliance with him would catapult this elf into the annals of history, if there were to be such things. 

But if the Wolf still roamed, then Thedas’s days were dwindling. 

And what of him? While Fen’Harel’s involvement made sudden sense of the Inquisitor’s story, it only complicated his. Why join this Inquisition? Why attach himself to this shemlen with such… carnal methods? How did this Breach and this woman fit into his plans? Because the Wolf would not weave his way into her heart unless absolutely necessary.

But, thought a tremulous voice – Flemeth’s voice – What if her gentleness has tempered him?

Ridiculous, she thought. Fen’Harel has craved only vengeance since her apparent death. This mortal would have no sway over him. She knew her oldest child, for that’s what he was to her – the first to be summoned and offered the ability to walk in both worlds. He was her oldest friend, a Spirit she had known before the Elvhen had accepted the Evanuris as gods. She knew him, though and through.

Flemeth whispered, a millennium in Uthenera could have weakened him. Left him vulnerable to her charms.

Impossible. Fen’Harel did not share his power. Even their ancient alliance had been less a joining of minds and more an act of servitude. He followed her, cared for her, because he had always done so. Because he valued her more than the others. Because he owed her for the life he’d lived.

She considered the Inquisitor again, took stock of her clever eyes the color of the Fade, of the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, and of the gentle lift of pale pink lips as she watched Kieran return to Morrigan. 

No. She might be a bright Spirit, solidified by Fen’Harel’s magic fused to hers, but she was not so remarkable that she could bring The Dread Wolf to his knees. He was not known as He Who Walks Alone for nothing; the Wolf’s path had always been a solitary one. 

Mythal watched the Inquisitor leave, waited as the scent of her oldest friend faded into the Beyond. Her gut clenched when she realized she missed the smell already. But there would be time for reunions soon enough. For if the Wolf still roamed, he had a plan. And if he had a plan, she needed several of her own. With the Old God’s soul now safely housed within her, she finally had room to maneuver. 

She had learned through her long life not to underestimate the shemlen. Time and again they proved resilient and oh, so very useful. She would keep an eye on this Riallan, especially now that she seemed important to The Wolf. There were opportunities to be had there.

Careful, said Flemeth, for though he is known as He Who Walks Alone, it would be wise to remember one thing…

Mythal felt the tiniest flicker of cold fear in her belly, because she knew better than to ignore Flemeth entirely. 

Wolves mate for life.

chantry-scholar:

My Lady,

As requested, enclosed is my own small contribution towards the study of Tyrdda’s saga, drawing on the expertise of Sister Dorcas and the research you so kindly granted me.  I admit I am unsure of the relation, if any, to the ancient Elven gods, but I cannot deny the similar themes that may hint at the involvement of the spirit of Mythal, or at least a spirit like her.  I have mentioned, but personally dismiss claims of references to ravens being tied to Dirthamen, believing the reference instead to point towards the Avvar sky burials, in which birds and other carrion creatures consume the bodies of the dead.  Something, no doubt, you have witnessed.  I also dismiss the idea of the spirit’s name being given as Aval’var, as some have previously suggested, believing strongly that this is the name of Tyrdda’s daughter and successor, from which we derive the modern word ‘Avvar.’ 

I have attempted, as in all things, to remain objective where possible and to leave my analysis open for correction.  Many footnotes contain ‘probably,’ ‘possibly,’ or yet unanswered questions.  I fear unless another discovery is one day made, they will remain as such.

Kind Regards,
[An unintelligible scribble of a signature]  

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It’s Solavellan Day over on Twitter, and I made this comic to celebrate. Here’s hoping for DA4!

(poem by Nikita Gill)