Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Without those lessons I would not be here today, as difficult as they might have been.
“I find myself at times wondering what might have become of the girl with the beautiful, golden mirror… but such fantasies have no place amidst reality.”
morrigan the mallgoth learned the hard way to always bring an umbrella. luckily twee hipster leliana was there to bail her out.
(i miss my da:o girls)
Morrigan -Mass Age
just a quick sketch after watching the trailer (: might touch it up a bit later. probably not though.
also, i’m back! i finished my final a week ago and will get my results this thursday :D
Odd days are mine in “minorearth & cherith’s big fic adventure”. Remember to track #m&c’s big fic adventure if you want to keep up. Either on minorearth’s tumblr or mine.
May 3rd - Morrigan / Leliana - shelter from a storm (867 words)
good girl morrigan, a proud member of the circle of magi
I had a sudden gush of Morrigan feels while I was sketching this.
why have i waited all my life to draw her, i wonder<3
There were some characters Varric only wished he had the chance to write first—although he wasn’t so sure about Morrigan in the tales he heard, if even his unflagging good nature would be enough to gain her friendship.
Or whatever dark, rusty treasure she called friendship, anyway—tucked into the sharp line of her jaw and the twist of her mouth, an ancient joke burning like gold and dragon-fire in her eyes.
It was a look. It was definitely iconic. ‘You know,’ he’d even told Hawke once, ‘I think the two of you would’ve gotten along just fine. She had the one-arm pauldron thing going for her, the gold eyes, everything.’
‘Do you think she would’ve taught me to be a dragon?’ Hawke asked.
‘Maybe,’ Varric replied. ‘If you played your cards right.’
Hawke never did.
Some weren’t meant to; others weren’t meant to meet. So Varric had to settle for the truths his imagination could provide, instead of living the lie. The arch of her brow was a spell all its own. She was a spider in wait, a witch in the wilds, a poison that didn’t bother pretending to be sweet. She was the real story, which meant she was mist and a mystery, and like all legends, she knew when to disappear before she faded away.
If Varric ever did write about her, he’d know exactly what to say.
To the Hero of Ferelden, he’d begun a hundred times before, then scrapped the idea entirely, she was always the woman.