I don’t like how this one came out, so I won’t be posting it on DA ^__^
It’s wonderful~ * u *
My favourite character from Dragon Age is probably Wynne. She is adorable!
“Planning has never been my strong suit. Now, killing…killing and love-making. Killing and love-making and witty retorts. Those I am better at.” — Zevran Arainai.
Commission for Genginger
“Nessa looked at the bodies scattered around the clearing. They’d got the last of them. She leaned down to wipe her sword clean on shirt of the dead man at her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zevran stumble.
“Zev?” she called. “What is it?”
The elf had a hand clasped tightly to his side, not quite successfully covering a growing red stain on his shirt.
“My vanity,” he answered. “I do believe it has been struck a fatal blow.”
“I don’t think vanity bleeds, Zevran,” said Nessa, scooping up her pack as she headed towards him. She dropped it at his feet, yanked open the ties, and pulled out the first aid kit before kneeling beside him and tugging gently at his shirt. “Let me see.”
He carefully eased his hand away and pulled up his reddened shirt. A long shallow slice curved from his lower back up to his side.
“Dagger?” she asked, reaching for a clean cloth. “You really need to do a better job watching your back, assassin.”
“Well,” he countered, sounding a bit breathless, “on occasion it is difficult to keep track of both our backs at the same time.”
She shot him a dirty look and began wiping away some of the blood.”
Read the complete fic here.
Want to commission me? Go here.
needed to draw zevran, don’t know how successful i was
but man i love this crazy booger
Why is it, do you ever wonder, that there is such an ideal as a murder of crows? Zevran has observed them in flight and on the cobblestones. They are keen, quick-witted and greedy creatures. They are opportunists blessed with the scope and span of their own wings. They have sharp beaks and talons and dark, beaded eyes that, perhaps—though he is very young when he makes this supposition—reflect only the mood of the beholder.
Only what is seen. Only what one wishes to see.
Beauty, or cruelty, or wickedness in their eyes. And so written into poems as the black bird; the black heart. The murder of crows.
They have their little nests, their little eggs. All break the shells, a fragile house for unready creatures. Some are found beneath the branches or bowers, having attempted first flight too soon, too soon. (Though he is still very young when he mourns their small bodies flattened by their dreams, as though they have been crushed by the very ability to see the sky.)
A murder of crows.
They sharpen their blades, and call them their talons. They bare their teeth, and call them beaks. They take out their poisons and say that a bird’s dark, beaded eye is poison itself. See how they watch you from the rooftops, their shadowed eaves in the shadowed evening; see how their shadows pass with portent overhead?
And if you shiver, know this: that a crow is walking over your grave. That a Crow, even now, may be plotting it.
Zevran takes these tattoos. Black, sleek, wing-like shapes at the contours of his cheeks and ribs. Soon, there are also scars like crow’s feet, thin and spider-webbed, across his skin and ink. He murders. He is a Crow. The poets and the bards compose and sing, respectively, but never quite respectfully. They compare the assassins to the birds and seek reason in their dark and beaded eyes.
As though some are born to take flight.
As though others, inside the hard shell of the egg, wake only to be crushed by the sky.
Blame the crows—for the Crows send their regards.
Still trying to draw in colour more often. Kinda starting to enjoy it.
Don’t lie Andy you just really like his hair
I’m putting this here too
The full set of DA:O LI Valentines.
without reservation, this i swear
Request from the ever enchanting respondinpoetry
I-I JUST NEEDED THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM.
I did this so fast don’t even look at it omg, too sketchy