Crabs-with-sticks - I Am A Stick

Came across some really interesting Solas banter while exploring the Emerald Graves. Its environmental banter (I got it at Elgarnan's Bastion but not sure if its specific to that region).

"My people built a life here...it must have been something to see."

Because the Emerald Graves are from the period when the Dales were an independent elven state. Very much post-Elvhenan. And granted, this is still a long time in the past. But it is still closer to modern times than it is to the fall of Elvhenan.

Solas is very particular about when he calls modern elves 'his people', and he doesn't associate 'his people' with the Dalish. But he does here. And I wonder if this is part of his realisation that modern people are real...

The way he phrases it, there almost seems to be a hint of pride there, proud of what the people of the Dales were able to do. I wonder if it reminds him of the fight he led for freedom and autonomy of all. And maybe he can see some of his past in their struggle for an autonomous nation, in their bitter fight for what they believed in, even if it ended in ruin...

Happy Friday! If this inspires you how about - [ knowing ] sender has been holding receiver's hand all this time without realizing it and hurries to let go - for Ghilara Lavellan and Solas?

Hope you enjoy angst hehe :P The context is that Solas was injured from the ritual before Ghilara stopped it and faked both their deaths. @dadrunkwriting

536 words

He was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. There were no creators who cared to listen, no last trick she could pull. It was up to chance and all she could do was sit, watch, cool his fever with damp cloth, try to feed him watery soup and sugared water inbetween his fevered tossing. The stream- where she was now- was as far out as she dared to venture. When- no. If he died, she wanted to be close. She wanted to be there to see the person she had thrown away everything for passed over.

The icy cold of the water shocked the thoughts out of her head as she waded in barefoot, one of the clay pots in her hand. She dipped it in, listening to the gurgle and glug as the water flowed in, fingers going numb from the snow melt waters. She hauled it back onto the river bank next to the second one- already filled. It was hard work, and she probably spilled a good quarter of the contents trying to get it back into place on the carrying pole. Checking the rope attachments were secure she hoisted the pole up onto her shoulders, let the hanging pots stabilise from the initial swing and then began trudging back to the cottage. It was only a few minutes walk, even laden as she was, and she set about the mundane activities of bringing the water inside, pouring it into bowls, some which would go onto the small stove to warm, others which would be used to try fight the fever. She didn’t look at the man lying in the bed as she did it. He was still right now, and without the tossing and the turning, and the crying out in spiels of elven, she could pretend he wasn’t who he was. She could pretend he was just some poor anonymous soul she had given charity to. “Sathan! Sathan ar halani! Sathan ar halani sa’lin! Letha’len!” She rushed over and was by his side in three quick steps. Her eyes swept over him, checking, checking to see if anything had changed, if anything was wrong. “Halani letha’len! Ane ar rya’halani!” She sat next to him on the bed, feeling it sink underneath her. “Ir abelas Solas,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, “I am doing all I can. You have to fight. You must. Please Solas. Endure Solas. You must endure this. Please.” It was only when she stood, only when she went to make some desperate attempt at being useful, to weigh the dice in their favour however she could, that she noticed. She noticed her hand clasping his, gripping it so tight she must have been afraid that he was going to float away. Her eyes stared down at it. The pallour of his skin against hers, the faint sheen of sweat and the heat radiating into her skin. Her hand released his as if she had been burned, letting it fall back down onto the bed. She couldn’t afford to let her grief get in the way. She had to be useful. He was just another patient. He had to be. She couldn't afford to break. Even if it wouldn't change anything.

Cassandra: I feel like I don't really know you, so where are you from? Ghilara Lavellan: Why do you want to know hmm??? 🤨😒🤔 Cassandra: I mean, I just think we should start trying to get along more...? *later in that same conversation* Ghilara: I feel like I don't really know you, so where are you from? Cassandra: Why do you want to know hmm??? 🤨😒🤔 Ghilara: I mean, I just think we should start trying to get along more...?

The cool thing about Baldur’s Gate 3 is that if you wait for enough patches to go by, you can play an entirely different game than the one that came out at launch

Zevran doodle cause of this tweet