and then read them to dragons

anonymous asked:

I'm bi and dumb, I ran into a dungeon underneath the house my boyfriend and I built and I kept dying because of spiders cause I thought I could take them all on

on my first read i thout u said u ran into a dragon under ur house i was like ????

parasaurking95  asked:

Hi! I used lingojam to translate "Brave men do not kill dragons, they ride them" into High Valyrian. It came out as "Nedenka vali gaomagon daor ossenagon zaldrizoti, ponta kipagon ziry". Is that correct?

Once I read the word “lingojam”, I knew the answer was no.

The odds of putting a sentence into lingojam—no matter the language—and having it come out correct in the target language hovers somewhere probably in the 0.0001% range. Lingojam is a thing that anyone can put together where it finds words and replaces them with the words the user defines. This is not just about High Valyrian: This is about how lingojam works. It’s not a translator. It just matches words. If the word orders for the language you’re “translating” from and the language you’re “translating” to are incompatible, then it’s a guarantee that every single sentence that comes out will be incorrect. Such is the case with High Valyrian, where the verb comes at the end of the sentence. (There’s also a bunch of inflection.)

Lingojam can be good for single words only, provided the words line up one-to-one, English to whatever language. It can also be good for language games (e.g. Pig Latin, Double Dutch, etc.). It can’t be used for anything else. It really is just a front end for a user defined database that others can call things up from. It’s free, so it’s not like anyone is going to tear their hair out over it (I mean, it might as well exist), but it shouldn’t be confused for a translator.


“This time it looks like we have a manakete from Hoshido against a Laguz of Gallia. Chrom, haven’t you read about Gallia? In all of your story books about Tellius?”

“…You mean, uh historical texts. Right, Emm? Y-You know, you wouldn’t want to give the spectators the wrong idea by calling them story books, haha… Hah.”

Kotaru Strike 1: 5 ATT / 3 DEF 
Ranulf Strike 1: 9 ATT / 5 DEF

Entering the arena, Kotaru and Ranulf both transform. One a large dragon, letting out a dull roar, and the other into a lithe, blue cat with a low, pouncing stance. Kotaru makes the first move, swinging her tail and catch Ranulf’s leg. They score a point, dropping him to the ground with their might. Ranulf recovers quickly and scores a hit of his own, striking Kotaru’s leg with a quick swipe.

Kotaru Strike 2: NAT 20 ATT / NAT 1 DEF
     Critial Opening: 16 ATT / 8 DEF
Ranulf Strike 2: 9 ATT / 14 DEF

Kotaru rears up and catches Ranulf by surprise. With one fell swoop of their wings, Kotaru knocks Ranulf to the arena ground, leaving him prone on his side. Another swing of their tail and a second point is scored while the Gallian is down. Ranulf recovers clumsily, not used to fighting dragons, and he tries to strike at Kotaru’s leg again, but misses this time.

Kotaru Strike 3: 3 ATT (ROWAN disadvantage) / 14 DEF
Ranulf Strike 3: 10 ATT / 10 DEF

Kotaru rears again, trying to take Ranulf by surprise one more, but he can see their tactic and dodges nimbly. As Ranulf leaps forward in a fierce pounce, Kotaru kicks forward and the two meet claw for claw before both stepping back to re-assess. The audience gasps in anticipation.

Kotaru Strike 4: 9 ATT / 17 DEF
Ranulf Strike 4: 4 ATT / NAT 20 DEF
     Critical Opening: 4 ATT / 13 DEF

Kotaru swings their tail around, but Ranulf jumps over it, making the crowd chuckle and cheer as it looks for a moment like the two of them are playing a game of jump rope. Ranulf leaps forward, but Kotaru catches him with a rear, then comes down, pinning Ranulf to the arena ground and scoring a point.

Kotaru Strike 5: 19 ATT / 10 DEF
Ranulf Strike 5: 12 ATT / 14 DEF

Kotaru Bonus Strike: 5 ATT / 15 DEF

The match is almost over, and both competitors are rushing to the finish. Ranulf leaps to attack, but is rebuffed when Kotaru pivots to one side quickly. They then swipe with both claws in a quick one-two fashion. Only one of the swipes hits, scoring one last point before the bell sounds.


"I must say, that was quite impressive. Sir Ranulf is very nimble, but it is Princex Kotaru who takes the match.”

“I was looking forward to seeing a laguz in action, but I can’t be too disappointed… Kotaru fought well and anyway, our next match is between two bird laguz of legend, right?”


what happened to the tiny little dragon pals that the triwizard champions drew from that bag????? harry mentions it being in the boys dorm later but never mentions it again like ??? if I had a tiny dragon companion i could carry around on my shoulder like a weird, spiky little bird i would literally never let it out of my sight

The nature of the Veil

I never post meta because I prefer to write it out, but Wikipedia has some really great animations of the harmonic series.  I saw it and thought… what if this is how the Veil works?  What if the Veil is the dissonance that disrupts the consonant, harmonic nature between the real world and the Fade?


First overtone

Second overtone

Third overtone

There are waveform animations over at Wiki, but this presents a few ideas to me regarding partial breaches of the Veil/thinning of the Veil.  I’m not going to go much farther than this conceptualization because I don’t think truly this is how magic works in Thedas, but when the Inquisitor says, “The Veil is more like a vibration,” this is what I think about.


It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.

J.R.R. Tolkien 


The Dragon Prince + the meaning behind the name

You may want to click on the images to read the text better!

[P.S. I did some research, but I’m not an expert; if you know a better meaning for any of their names, I’d be interested to hear about it!]

devotionage  asked:

I hope you're in the mood for Angst! How would the DA:O crew (romanced and non romanced versions) react to a mage warden made tranquil against their will?

Sorry this is very late! And sorry it’s vague about when/where/why this is happening, and generally just… Isn’t what I planned? I don’t know! Sorry! Hope you enjoy! I left out the other guys because I was just going to write way too much.


When he looks at them, he’s reminded of Ostagar. When he first met them, just a new recruit that seemed… Different. Duncan knew it too, he thinks. When they stood, strong and resolute among the corpses of Daveth and Jory.

When they fought, so determined.

And then Alistair himself, watching them emerge from Flemeth’s hut, injured but still stood tall. Ready to take Alistair’s grief and burden him with none of their own. They lead them all. They were the Warden.

But now they… Stand there. Impassive. Serene. That weak, unfeeling smile laying on their face. Their defences stolen.

They’re nothing, now, he knows. There’s nothing there at all.

His voice cracks, shakes when they speak to them. Afraid of their replies; afraid of the lack of them. Afraid of them, in a way. Afraid of what it means, that he’s to take their mantle, that he can’t fill the shoes they left.

He’s holding himself together frantically, but pieces still fall out.

Alistair (romanced):

He was going to be in love with her forever, he knew. Even now, he still is. He had some weird idea in his head before she- before. That love disappears when the other one is dead, since… What’s the point of love, if you’re not sharing it?

Or maybe that if she died, he would die right there with her.

But she’s as good as gone- he knows that’s what everyone thinks. He can see it in their eyes. See the pity. You should let her go, Alistair. She’s… Not there anymore. It would be a mercy.

Maybe he’s a fool because he can’t. Because he still adores her, still believes she’s there- somewhere. Somewhere. He has to.

He looks at her, sat eating the charred rabbit he cooked without complaint. Even that breaks his heart a little more, the frail thing more cracks than anything now. She’d be laughing with him, teasing him for his horrendous cooking skills.

She’d kiss him and it’d taste like the rabbit and they’d make faces at each other.

She’d love him.

She’d make the air in the room disappear every time she laughed, she’d hold him and touch him and she’d do it because she wanted to, not because- not because he asked, on one of those nights when he was weak and he doesn’t know what to do and he’d either spend another night breaking under it all or spend it holding her.

She’s gone.

It feels like one of those nights.

Zevran (romanced):

The Warden had changed Zevran’s entire life.

A hand to pull him out of the festering pit that was the Crows. A pair of gloves, a set of boots, childhood fantasies long since discarded brought back. A friend. A family, in its way.

Love. So much love.

He should have expected it would end.

He was not a man who got good things, he knew. He did not deserve the Warden. Still, this seems especially cruel, he pondered. To punish them. To make him see it. To make him end it. To give him their shell. To give him no hope.

They were the most alive person he had ever met. Constantly feeling, practically burning with it, a bonfire in a world of embers. Took him gladly when he was a moment from fading away. He looks at the ashes left of them.

He used to love when they slept, how serene, how calm they looked. Now, he would gladly slit his own throat to see anything else. To see them laugh, smile. To see them cry, scream.

His fingers brush hesitantly over their cheek. His hands were not… Good, by most people’s standards. They had held too many knives, covered in too much blood, crushed too many lives. The Warden had loved them, though, and he had learned to too.

He could learn to pride himself on anything that brought the Warden happiness, pleasure, held them at night and brushed away tears. It is fitting, then, that they do this last thing for my love.

He holds them to his chest when he buries the knife into the back of their neck. He has broken into halves, and one of them is with his amor.


He’s silent when he finds out.

He is silent for a long time after. 

Zevran admired the Warden, before. Their goodness, their understanding, their ability to keep going when most would have fallen. All of it is gone. He appreciated their skill in battle, their ability to wield magic and staff like an extension of themselves. That is gone too.

His friend is gone.

He had thought once about how cold he had been when he was a Crow. How he made himself be cold, smothered any embers of warmth, lived in a grey world. How had I… lived, like that? He had wondered, watching the Warden and the others through the fire.

Why had I lived like that?

He remembered, now, looking into those dead glassy eyes that still moved, still saw, but never felt. Because it kept him safe. Because he couldn’t be hurt. Because it made love, death, life, everything seem like a joke from behind a barrier.

Now it hurts. It is like some cruel pain, tearing him apart but not letting him die or heal. Filling him with rage but giving him nothing to release it upon. They’re all dead already, of course- the ones who broke the Warden. He could not… Stand to be around them, and revenge was a pleasant occupier of his time.

He did not go back. He will not go back. 

He will rebuild his walls and he will never hurt like that again.


She feels, absently, like her lungs and heart have been filled with the cold sludge of the Korcari swamps. It works its way around her body, beats through her veins. Even those tears that came unbidden and unwanted were stained muddy from the pigment around her eyes.

My friend.

How many times she had used those words, looked into their living eyes and said it after a friendly moment, a small joke, or simply to say it? She had marvelled at it- the concept of friendship, the concept of one belonging to her. Yet now, it felt to her she had not said it enough.

Those thoughts always broke the cold; they brought anger instead.

The rage at that Chantry mark, red and raised on their forehead. Branded like cattle. Rage that it settled down, flat and white. Rage that their magic, their basic inherent right from birth was stolen by a group of sanctimonious monsters doing the work of a god as abhorrent as them.

One day, she promises herself, she will gut the bastards that touched her friend.

One day, she does.

Morrigan (romanced):

“Are you distressed?”

Am I distressed?

She almost laughs at it. She almost cries. She almost screams.

She has done a lot of all three lately, it seems. He has always brought out the strangest of her, the parts she doesn’t understand. The ones she didn’t know were there before he touched them and brought them to life. Brought life to everything.

And now he is… a living death.

Morrigan turns back to her books, her papers. A cure for tranquillity. A cure when you don’t know the root- it’s… Difficult. Impossible, perhaps. She will not hide in pretty lies. She looks at him and-

“Does my presence upset you?”

Her hands slam down on the table. She is so angry, all the time now. Angry at injustice. Angry at him. Angry that she lets his hair grow out over the brand. Angry she asks him to hold her at night. Angry that nothing she tries is right. Angry that he’s not right. Angry, angry, angry.

Angry she hides in pretty lies.

I should kill him. It would be a mercy.

Her golden, burning eyes glance down to where her ink has spilt like some creature’s black blood around her hands.

“Do you wish me to leave?”

“No,” she whispers.


“Do you… remember before?” Leliana asks. The wound isn’t there, but she is still bleeding. Her heart has been torn from her chest and crushed and then placed back in, expected in its sickly broken form to keep beating.

She feels as though her body has given up. Her veins carry something cold.

She is cuts their hair because someone has to do it. The Warden can’t reach to the back, and she takes comfort in the pattern of the work.

“Before the rite? Yes, I recall most things, although many are confusing to me. I had an… Attachment to you,” they say, their voice analytical.”We were friends.”

She shuts her eyes, releases a shaking breath. She wants to bury her head into their shoulder, hug them tight and pretend, drag them back to their body. This isn’t you, come back. Come back. Please. I can’t, my friend, please- please.

“Does this upset you?”

Leliana opens her eyes, ignores them, combs through another strand, snips it and lets the dead clump fall to the ground. She did so love their hair. If, sometimes, she does press her nose into it and breathe and pretend, no one mentions it.

Leliana (romance):

She was supposed to wake up to them every morning. Sleep beside them. Hold them, be held, to share love and comfort and stories. To feel.

One day, she had planned to die with them at her side.

Death beyond death, she thinks, and it aches in her mind. Everything aches.

“Why…” She looks at them, clears her throat, ignores the hot tears spilling down her cheeks like a waterfall. Perhaps if enough came, she would be able to cross to them, bring them back. Like Alindra… Yet no longer does Alindra and her Soldier feel romantic. How could she have possibly thought… Enduring love? A bitter part of her mocks the naivete.

Enduring agony, perhaps.

“I should have been with you,” she says, feeling as though she is confessing some great sin. Their face is smooth, blank, serene.

“That was an impossibility,” the Warden says. Their voice is dead. Their emotions are dead. It would be kinder if they were. “You should not concern yourself. I am content.”

It would be kinder if she was dead herself, she thinks and feels a part of her stain and break.

Honestly the fact that right wing gamers were my in-road into gaming almost scared me off of D&D (and tabletop gaming in general). My first group was the most sexist, homophobic crew of people, and I only ever played a few games with them. I remember trying to focus so hard on the game instead of the people I was with. I had read everything I could on dungeons and dragons, having checked books out of the library (including a D&D for dummies book) and had studied and was SO looking forward to it, and those people made it so unpleasant as a closeted queer kid. My experience with the gaming community also taught me to expect EXACTLY this if I tried to find another group. I had hoped it would be different with in person gaming, but it wasn’t.

I am so happy that the community has widened, and that there are so many more gamers like me openly talking about our experiences.

Still there’s that crusty, disgusting, gatekeeping area of the community that think that it’s still a man’s world, and that the games that they complained no one took seriously should be immune to criticism regarding racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. They aren’t what this community should be. They don’t own the community or the games, and they don’t have a spot at my table, virtual or otherwise. 

Representation matters, The language we use matters. Inclusivity matters. The tabletop gaming community is growing and changing, mostly for the better. Keep it that way. Be a force of positive change. Do NOT bend on the requirements of diversity, inclusivity, and positive, constructive gaming! (Whatever that last one means to you!)

shout out to everyone who ever survived one of those late 90′s message board disagreements with people who never turned off their roleplaying personas like

dragon avatar with reading glasses: “Begone, little thing….you’re beginning to annoy us….*growls*”

avatar is probably a recolored minerva mink or an elf with tits: “don’t worry about them! The poor human can’t help being stupid, dear! *curls up in ur dragon lap* ~_O”


I posted them on Twitter too but I really wanted to share my work bc I’m really proud of them tbh

I finished freehand painting and assembling my Hanzo Shimada themed skis! I’m really happy with how they turned out even tho I do see a lot of smaller mistakes, but I still think they look pretty decent!

I am now ready for Battle in the snowy mountains of Sweden! 🐲🐲❄️❄️



The devs admit:

  • war table wasn’t designed the best - “flavor” missions where it didn’t matter which advisor went let the player lax and not pay attention to when it did matter which advisor went.
  • some missions would have worked better as playable scenes or cut entirely instead of being on the table. One the flip side, some originally planned playable scenes had to be cut and were still able to be included by ending up on the table instead.
  • war table missions were made after the rest of the game was done and voice over were complete, so having companions react to the missions couldn’t happen. That’s why many reactions were added into Trespasser.
  • when writing war table missions they didn’t know if any of those missions would actually be read, what the rewards would be, how much time they would take, etc. Had they known exactly how they were to be used, they might have gone about them differently.

TL:DR 2:

  • creating games is hard