What the Inquisitor wants to do with Leliana.

Some background and aspects of her personality:

Esaira Lavellan was a mere child when she witnessed the butchering of her mother and father by a wayward band of nobility near the city-state of Kirkwall in 9:22. What was founded by Clan Lavellan when they came searching for them was left unsaid, but rumors among the children whispered of a great ring of blacken ash, and scarlet embers speckling the piles like bleeding stars. The adults spurred away such rumors, but still spoke silently amongst one another, of the dangerous glint in a child's eyes, and beyond that the instability of this new orphan daughter.

Never a laughing child, what was left with the burnt corpses of her mother and father seemed to have taken what little petals of joy she held. Ever since that night, gloom and rage followed her, became the parents she had lost. Words did not come easily to Esaira Lavellan, even before her sorrowing, but now the words that did come were short, curt, heated with anger that never left her, that burned as fiercely as any pyre in purple eyes dark as coming twilight. She ate but a little, yet Keeper Deshanna was well aware that it was not foodstuff she craved, but vengeance.

Indeed, as the time came and her magic grew, it was Esaira who led the expeditions, the raids, against the shemlen, capturing one or two, and forcing them to flee in the forest, playing them as if they were sport. Esaira's actions received praised amongst many, especially those who despised the shemlen, but it won her no friends. Indeed, Esaira seemed only ever close to Keeper Deshanna, who took her as her own after the death of her parents, loving her as much as she can, and hoping to ease the melancholy that shrouded her like a heavy cloak. Yet it did little, even as Esaira excelled in great feats of magic, though they often came raw, untamed, as heavy and lumbering as a storm cloud swallowing the sun, and swift-footed among the scouts that she was.

Despite Esaira's arrogance and rage, Esaira's magical abilities and her adoration of all things Elven lent her the favorability of becoming the Keeper's First, despite outrage from Esaira's rival Varathen, who saw Esaira's anger as a detraminite and danger. Keeper Deshanna seemed well aware of those problems, however, and urged in private among the older Lavellans to take be a powerful bloc against Esaira, in case of Deshanna's early death. "Ease her anger and be a calming hand upon her shoulder, and in time the child will heal surely."

But Deshanna's love never wavered for this quiet, willful child, for though Esaira was fierce in anger and wild in speech, her loyalty for Deshanna and the Dalish was unquestionable. Perhaps it was that loyalty in which led to Deshanna to allow Esaira to attend the Conclave of Justinia V as a spy, despite the protests of many within Clan Lavellan. According to later sources, the Keeper of Clan Lavellan was reported to have said, "She will act righteously among the Shem if demanded, and we have no fears of her [acting against] our commands. Truly, she is among the best of our scouts, and hears deeper than many."

Esaira is...probably my most problematic oc. So it's hard to figure out who she would romance in Dragon Age?

Playing the angry lesbain elf. Let's go gamers.

Some Aeralith screenshots.

I made a new elf, named Aeralith Minuavla Lavellan. She’s a rogue. Pretty sure she’s pan, leaning toward women.

Esaira: What are you doing?

Bethany: Holding your hand?

Esaira: Disgusting...do it again.

They would do all of that and more, anon. Honestly, almost all of my ocs would tease you, almost on the verge of edging, even. (Alexandra and Amayia definitely have experience in that regard with Leliana.) And besides Esaira, most enjoy a good dancing of teasing, from slow and soft to hard and rough.

How Their Voice’s Sound Like:

Alexandra: Hers is an alluring dream, whirling your mind with sweet desire and affections that leave one enraptured. The rolling sea lapping gentle against the sandy shores, unrelenting when angered, crashing like lances of lightning. But with you, it is soft, calm, clear, and gently coated with a sultry husk. The voice of the colors of flame, lively, captivating, light. It is a voice that shards empires, consumes lies, and flourishes like the rising sun for a new day; and it takes, and twirls the mind about, crafting towers of glass and marble; of lands green and azure; of seas swift and clear.

Amayian: Rich, like the fertile soils of the Marchers. Deep, powerful, smooth, like the eastern winds bringing the splendor of spring, or the shadows of mountains immobile, grand, and imposing. A voice to listen to, when all doubts are gone and happiness dwindles away like a flame, that is like the gentle pattering of soft rain clouds, touch with streaming sunlight. Words are softly spoken, but clear and heavy. A power held back by restraint and divisiveness. But in the shades of night, when all the world is tucked away behind curtains, that voice is filled with affection warranted to the one who capture his heart, and cherish it, like how he does the same to thou. A yearning, a trust, only dare given to those who had strung the very stars into the mantle of night, and lifted the unending darkness from his world.

Esaira: Crackly, hard, and pitched. Her words are fire tainted with an icy snap, angry and filled of seething rage. But yearning, as well, for a time that could never be mended nor restored, and for a love that was tethered to broken glassy shards.

Mahazan: Deep, booming, like the rolling of thunder from a stormy sky, but as warm as the blazing of a tavern hearth, comfortable and kindhearted. A gently whisper carried by heavy rolls of the tongue, and words which stroke the fire of gladness in the hearts of all to hear. A promise of a day of peace from the long eternal shades of night.

I remade Esaira.

The other half of my gift for the amazing @rachelleofalltrades‘ birthday! I do hope you enjoy this little work with Kyrrha and Alexandra! Happy Birthday!

The wind came from the west low and warming. The green grass fluttered and swayed beneath the breezes, flattening in a sort of bow toward the gentle air. About the garden, pink petunia, white hemlocks, and golden yarrow blossomed like stars of colors waving in the earthy landscape. Sprawling leaves of crimson, rosy-pink, and gold swirled about the air, fallen from thin, black-spotted white branches, or branches as dark as the scurrying shadows. Alexandra watched them thrift on the weaving wind, bouncing up and down like upon seawaves.

“They’re so pretty,” gasped Kyrrha, the orange within her green eyes thickening with the spray of the pale gold of sunlight as she stared at the whirling leaves. Spun locks of orange was held up by a top knot, though a few strands fell down to curve at the side of her pale, heart-shaped face. Alexandra’s fingers itched to tuck them behind the elf’s pointed ear. A flush nestled her cheeks, like roses blooming in a field of snow. Freckles splattered across her features, and Alexandra’s lips recalled each and every one of them. 

Alexandra smiled as she leaned against her elbow, tilting her head a little as she watched the elf. “Not as beautiful as you,” said the Inquisitor, a smile forming at her lips. Alexandra longed to pull that elf into her arms and capture those full, sweet lips with her own. They were so beautiful when a smile was pulled at the corners and her eyes got like that, so shining, so amazed. 

Kyrrha turned her head, blush thickening and spread slowly down to her neck. “Oh, stopped.” She laughed, like bells chiming and carried by the spring wind. “Not as beautiful as you are!” Though she said it light and sweet, there was still a tremor in her voice, a shyness that Alexandra adored. 

Scoffing, the smile on Alexandra’s lips grew. “Nonsense. You are like the first shine of dawn as it creeps passed the shadow-clad mountains, ma cherie, so beautiful and captivating that that, at times, it hurts.”

Kyrrha’s eyes widened, almost terrified and filled with worry. “You’re hurt? Where?”

Alexandra notched an eyebrow at her, a chuckle passing her lips. “Nowhere. Your beauty hurts, but heals, ma cherie.” Leaning her head back, she whipped her hair to the side. “But I wouldn’t mind a good healing kiss.” 

Eyes filled with determination, though her smile never wavered, Kyrrha bent down and grazed Alexandra’s cheeks with her lips. “There we go!” proclaimed the little elf, a giggle bubbling from her throat. 

“I meant a true kiss, Kyrrha,” laughed Alexandra, shaking her head once more at the adorableness of the little elf. She pushed herself off her arm, and cupped the elf’s full cheeks. Her thumb grazed over the skin, counting each freckles until she lost count after one hundred. “So beautiful. Maker, how did I get lucky with you?” 

Alexandra did not give the elf time to answer. Instead, she swept down and captured Kyrhha’s lips with her own. The elf’s lips were soft, like linden leaves. It was almost as good as the gasp that fell from Kyrhha’s lips, too. Maker, she could do this forever. 

A hand fell to the small of Kyrhha’s back, pushing her close against Alexandra, ontop her lap. The smaller woman’s fingers tangled into Alexandra’s thick locks, and the Inquisitor herself sprayed her fingers over Kyrrha’s cheek. She took in her warmth, the softness of her body, everything. Everything that made up Kyrrha. The strands of sticks within Kyrrha’s hair, the smudge of dirt that sometimes decorate her cheeks, the always curl of her lips when she saw Alexandra. Everything, because she was hers, and Alexandra was hers as well.

And Maker, she could do this for eternity. Even when they parted for breath, Alexandra could not keep herself from peppering this lovely elf with kisses. Her head dipped down, to the gentle curve of her jaw. More and more kisses. 

Soft gasps fell from Kyrrha’s mouth, so lovely, so sweet, and so quiet. Alexandra wanted to hear more. She needed to hear more. “I love you, ma belle.” 

And as she dipped down to leave kisses where marks would be laid, she took pleasure in hearing those soft, breathless cries turn to words: “I love you, too.” 

Tall elf that can curb-stomp a giant, or crush a tree trunk with her thighs. 

More screenshots of Alieshah. 

Ms. “Still Your Girl” Alieshah Anthalin.