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Description

Strength

EDIT: This commission was accompanied by a story based on the buyer's interpretation of Dragon Age and the game's lore. Basically, I read her fan-fiction, did the painting and wrote a fanfic of her fanfic as an add-on to the painting. It stirred a great deal of internet anger. A lot of people say its racist, and I say its the fantasies of a 15 year old girl who I made the mistake of publicly posting with her permission.

That's the problem with making accusations before you see the full picture. Context is everything

I learned my lesson as well - don't defend the anonymous fantasies of a 15-year-old from an angry mob of tumblr users. That is insanely stupid. I will never do that again.

So I will apologize if the tone offends/offended anyone and I most DEFINITELY apologize for previous apologies, but I'm not going to apologize for the story tale fantasies of a girl you and I know nothing about. I'm not her fantasy police and neither are you. And if you find her fantasy sick, I get it. There are a lot of other fantasies that make me feel sick but I'm not going to go on a witch hunt after them either.

And if I generated a stronger discussion about racism and fandom? Good. Let that discussion happen without cruelty from either side.

Anyways, the buyer called her character Fen Da'len and had this story she created with the lore she observed. And she liked to tell me all about it. So I wrote her her very own fanfic.

And if I'm to take the brunt of the blame for expounding on the buyer's fantasies, so be it. Its her fantasy and it meant for her alone.

And before you suddenly make publicly shaming accusations against total strangers, try to be human and ask 'Why did you write this?'

Fen Da'len
A short story.
Ellana’s skin was ebony, a sharp contrast to the ivory markings that framed high cheekbones and almond eyes. Black elves were rare. He had seen a few in the fade, fewer still in flesh. Among the servants and slaves of Orlais and Tevinter, dark elves were eternally fashionable and a symbol of wealth purely for cosmetic reasons. City elves envied the mutation while slaves were relieved from the torture awaiting their black cousins. The Dalish looked to legend and interpreted black clan members as pranks, tricks or blessings by Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, hence their name - Fen Da'len, or, Little Wolf Child.
The Dalish were almost right. Black elves had not existed in the time of Arlathan. They existed only after Fen'Harel weaved the veil between worlds; Just as the elves were shuttered from immortality, so too the pigment was a mutation consequential of the veil’s creation.
Black lashes outlined by the white slaver mask closed, eyes opened to steady the hedge mage’s gaze. Ellana’s eyes, he thought, as he did many times before. The color of the veil. The colors of her irises even shifted, mirrors reflecting a magical tapestry he had woven with his own two hands and was bound to until the end of worlds.
Solas tried to imagine what she looked like behind the ancient slaver’s mask. He tried to imagine what her eyes looked like before the Conclave. He tried to imagine her with pale skin. He tried to imagine who she would be before the veil.
He couldn’t.
(Nor did he want to.)

Description

Strength

EDIT: This commission was accompanied by a story based on the buyer's interpretation of Dragon Age and the game's lore. Basically, I read her fan-fiction, did the painting and wrote a fanfic of her fanfic as an add-on to the painting. It stirred a great deal of internet anger. A lot of people say its racist, and I say its the fantasies of a 15 year old girl who I made the mistake of publicly posting with her permission.

That's the problem with making accusations before you see the full picture. Context is everything

I learned my lesson as well - don't defend the anonymous fantasies of a 15-year-old from an angry mob of tumblr users. That is insanely stupid. I will never do that again.

So I will apologize if the tone offends/offended anyone and I most DEFINITELY apologize for previous apologies, but I'm not going to apologize for the story tale fantasies of a girl you and I know nothing about. I'm not her fantasy police and neither are you. And if you find her fantasy sick, I get it. There are a lot of other fantasies that make me feel sick but I'm not going to go on a witch hunt after them either.

And if I generated a stronger discussion about racism and fandom? Good. Let that discussion happen without cruelty from either side.

Anyways, the buyer called her character Fen Da'len and had this story she created with the lore she observed. And she liked to tell me all about it. So I wrote her her very own fanfic.

And if I'm to take the brunt of the blame for expounding on the buyer's fantasies, so be it. Its her fantasy and it meant for her alone.

And before you suddenly make publicly shaming accusations against total strangers, try to be human and ask 'Why did you write this?'

Fen Da'len
A short story.
Ellana’s skin was ebony, a sharp contrast to the ivory markings that framed high cheekbones and almond eyes. Black elves were rare. He had seen a few in the fade, fewer still in flesh. Among the servants and slaves of Orlais and Tevinter, dark elves were eternally fashionable and a symbol of wealth purely for cosmetic reasons. City elves envied the mutation while slaves were relieved from the torture awaiting their black cousins. The Dalish looked to legend and interpreted black clan members as pranks, tricks or blessings by Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, hence their name - Fen Da'len, or, Little Wolf Child.
The Dalish were almost right. Black elves had not existed in the time of Arlathan. They existed only after Fen'Harel weaved the veil between worlds; Just as the elves were shuttered from immortality, so too the pigment was a mutation consequential of the veil’s creation.
Black lashes outlined by the white slaver mask closed, eyes opened to steady the hedge mage’s gaze. Ellana’s eyes, he thought, as he did many times before. The color of the veil. The colors of her irises even shifted, mirrors reflecting a magical tapestry he had woven with his own two hands and was bound to until the end of worlds.
Solas tried to imagine what she looked like behind the ancient slaver’s mask. He tried to imagine what her eyes looked like before the Conclave. He tried to imagine her with pale skin. He tried to imagine who she would be before the veil.
He couldn’t.
(Nor did he want to.)