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About Digital Art / Hobbyist Member Olivia Lathrop23/Female/United States Recent Activity
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Fenris by Alyvia-Write
Otherwise known as the "Lyrium Fairy Emo Trash Baby".

Oh man, I love this brooding Elf to a fault. Dragon Age WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME???!!!!
I'm Dead 

This is just a slap together piece done for fun, and stress relief. 
Yes, that IS supposed to be Hawke's arm. (I might add a connecting continuation piece later of fem-Hawke.)


Fenris (& Hawke), Dragon Age II, belongs to BioWare & Electronic Arts
This fan-art belongs to Olivia Lathrop, 2015


Sigurd doubled the knot on Alogo's tether around the small birch tree, which stood amongst the last patch of forest before a clearing. The home of his employer sat down in the embankment, less than a mile away. The journey had taken just under two hours, the weather having cooperated pleasantly. But the remainder of the trek he would continue on foot. As it was mandatory his presence go undetected, except to the man of inquiry. He glanced up to the sky, checking the position of the sun. He should be heading back now. Unhooking his knapsack, Sigurd searched for a place to hide it, should anyone come looking for something to steal. Not that there was anything they would find of value outside of the horse. But there were things Sigurd would be at a loss without, a compass, flint, a few maps, bounty slips, payment agreements, and such. Stowing the worn out bag under large flat rock, then kicking a few surrounding leaves over it. Now to shuffle on. “Keep yourself together, old boy.” He told the jet-black steed who watching his every move. I'll be back shortly.”

Picking up a light jogging pace, Sigurd took to the woods on the opposite side of the road. Pushing through vibrant grasses and thick brush, under low limbs and over scattered rocks. Quickening his speed as the shadow of forest closed in around him. It was a lush and healthy forest, filled with vivacious wildlife, from meadow-hares to great elk. A particularly overladen berry bush brought back a fleeting memory of collecting the wild purple fruit as a child. Their tart taste returning to his tongue like a ghost. He smiled at the remembrance of how he and his brothers often frightened their mother by faking gruesome injuries using the dark red juices for blood. One of the few happy memories he knew. Breathing in a gulp of the cool, fresh air, Sigurd pressed on.

Soon, the trees began to thin out, revealing a stone wall that curved around the land at the foot of the embankment. He stood at the edge, glancing down under the overhang, then up over his shoulder, back towards the road. There was no one to be seen, but that did not mean there was no one about. He'd have to thread lightly. Stepping back into the shroud of the forest, he waited a beat. Counting seconds and the rate of his heart. Wouldn't her royal highness like to see this? Sigurd bolted, straight ahead, gaining high amounts of speed with each foot plant. Just before the tree line broke, he ripped off his right glove. Where cream-colored flesh should have been, was the smooth, gray, bark of a tree. Wood sculpted and twisted into the shape of a hand. Vines for vanes and knots for knuckles. One of two dark secrets that he'd carried for half his life. Crossing it over his left shoulder, he pulled the shoulder down, leading his body into a forward tumble. In the moment of air suspension, his entire body underwent a change not unlike turning a bag inside out. For when his feet hit the ground, he was no longer a man. Body sleek yet muscular, hair black as midnight, with four clawed paws that dug into the dirt.

Sigurd donned his touched form... a wolf.

The second of those secrets. He kept running. Making his way down the embankment side, across the open lawn before the wall. At the back of the estate, there was a section of wall that he had dug a tunnel under many years before, which led into the courtyard. A tunnel that the groundskeeper had been paid to keep open and quiet about. The entrance on the outside of the wall, was hidden behind a shrub. Slinking past the prickly leaves, he crawled through the dirt about four feet, before his nose popped up over the muddy brim on the other-side. Pulling his ears back, he scoped the area for people. This tunnel opening was shielded from sight by the small garden shack which sat near the wall. There was no inclination of servants or family members milling about. The main house sat quietly, at peace with it's natural surroundings. The dusty brown stone glowed warmly in the orange afternoon sunlight. The estate was not expansive, but was large enough to uphold the families political status. It was made with a simple elegance. The main house stood only two stories high, not including the small attic space under the high pitched roof of slate blue shingles. Out in front, there was a circular tower whose roof peaked into a cone, where the flag bearing the royal guard crest, flew when the master was home. And it was flying high now. The area looked safe enough, so Sigurd scampered quickly into the open. The window to his employers office was in sight, about thirty feet away, on the ground level floor. Krctunch! He froze.

    “Holy Divines--!”
Someone had spotted him. Slowly, sinking closer to the earth, he turned his gaze to the left, where a young man stood with a pile of firewood at his feet. He recognized the boy as the employers youngest son. A tall gangly lad, named Lucas, just under his own age. His chestnut blonde hair tussled over his fair featured face, which held an animated expression of surprise. A bemused smile crept onto his lips, as he bent slightly at the waste, extending his hand out towards him.
    “Hey there boy, how'd you get in here again?”
Sigurd stifled a snort. He never had gotten used to this kind of reaction. Most people were alarmed by an intimidating creature such as a large, black wolf stalking about in broad daylight. But not this boy. He'd always had this merciless vindication to pet him. Sigurd shifted his gaze up towards the targeted window. He could not make it through, without the boy blocking him. Internally he cursed the innocence of youth, and decided to elude further entanglement by trotting away towards the front of the house.

Tch. I do not envy anyone whose form is of the domestic breeds. The shade off the side of the house felt cool against his heavy coat, leveling his temper down to a sensible degree. Sigurd continued on his path around the house, the boy following close behind. When he reached the front, he dodged behind the tower, sitting up against the corner between it and the house, disappearing into the shadow. Lucas appeared before him, but was looking out to the front yard, clearly having lost sight of him. “Aww...” He shuffled his hair with a defeated sigh, then turned to enter the house through the front doors. Taking the opportunity, Sigurd ran back around, to the study window. Reaching it, he stood up placing his front paws on the sill. Through the glass panes, he could see the elder man at his desk, hunched over a paper, quill scribbling quickly about. Captain Rickard Grimhilt, hard at work even at home. Just as he was about to tap on the glass, the interior door swung open, revealing Lucas.
    “Father, that black wolf with the wooden leg was just outside, again!”
Rickard turned his gaze up slowly up to his son. “What was that, now?”
Lucas drew a breath, exaggerated enough for Sigurd to see the exasperation from outdoors. “The black wolf! He was just back.”
     “Oh!” He sat up straighter. “Did he leave?”
    “I think so. He disappeared. Father, why haven't we taken the poor thing in? He keeps coming back, like he's looking for a home!”
The irony of the statement caused Sigurd to choke on air. Lucas's father seemed to catch the same cough. “Son, for the last time, we will not be adopting a dangerous, wild animal into our household!”

I heard that.

Lucas's expression faltered, but suddenly brightened, as he made eye-contact with him. “Look he's still here!” Sigurd had been caught literally with his nose pressed against the window pane. Holy divines and boundary divided! Sigurd cursed.
    “Yes, indeed he is...” Rickard's gentle face, alighted in amusement. “Lucas, I'm sure he's just wandering around looking for food. Why don't you throw something out into the woods for him?”
Lucas grew a smile from ear to ear. “Can I? Alright—I will!” The boy excused himself quickly, shutting the door behind him. The elder man stood up from his chair, walking briskly towards the window. It pulled up in the grinding groan of wrought iron grinding against itself.
    “You really ought to be more careful to avoid your brother, next time.”
    “Well, Father, you ought to be more careful about the whereabouts of your son, the next time you hire a wolf to do your dirty work.”

Sigurd jumped up and through the window, landing softly on the warm wood floor. Behind him Rickard shut the window and closed the drapes. “How
did your little venture go last night?”
Sigurd eyed the man, catching the hint of humor in his tone. “Not as planned.”
That's what I gathered,” The captain returned to his chair, shooting him a knowing look. “when the Princess ambushed me, earlier. Going on about a thief who stole her diary.”
    “Hmph! Is that what she told you?”
    “What happened?”
Well, I can assure you, she doesn't need a bodyguard...”
Sigurd shook his coat, reversing him back into his human form. His cloak swinging along his shoulders and around to his back. Stranding straight, he pointed his left hand towards the garish purple and blue bruise over the bridge of his nose. “She's rather skilled at defending herself.”
Rickard's mouth dropped open and then closed, as if he couldn't decide whether to cry-out or laugh. “Gods, son, are you alright?!”
    “I'll live, however, you might want to consider having her teach your guards a thing or two.”
Rickard chuckled. “So, did you learn anything about the dragon?”
Sigurd's stomach lurched. He still didn't know what to say. But he opened his mouth regardless, hoping the right thing would come out.     “...She's in as much in the dark as we are, Father.” He clasped his hands behind his back, to keep them from fidgeting. “The dragon is real, yet she doesn't know where the dragon comes from, or why it's attacking her suitors. But!” He held up his left hand, index finger extended towards the ceiling. “She believes, that it is protecting her.”
    “From what?” Rickard exclaimed. “Twelve gentlemen suitors, and her loving mother?!”
Sigurd opened his palm, to gain silence. “That is what the Princess said. There was honesty in her eyes father, and fear! She believes this dragon is keeping her safe.”
    “But the dragon is the danger here!”

The remark irked Sigurd deeply. Do you not even hear yourself?! “She does not see it that way... and did not give any further detail on the danger.”
Rickard rubbed a strong hand over his face with sigh. Dropping his hand to clutch the arm of the chair he returned eye contact. “There is talk, amongst the council...of annulling the Princess's claim to the throne, and instead naming her relative of the Siegfried house, as the next King.”
Sigurd's heart dropped into his stomach. “They cannot do such a thing!”
Rickard raised his hands up, palms open. “They can, and they are trying. She is too much of a risk to entrust the future of the kingdom too.”
A rage instantly set into Sigurd's bones. “Denying her a divine birthright sounds a lot more risky! She is a frightened VICTIM not some MONSTER!!”

As his voice echoed off the walls of the study, his father's face fell dark. A beat of silence passed, in which Sigurd could feel a strong magnetic pull of magic. That electrostatic that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. That cold lonesome awe you feel after the first snowfall. His rage had brought a heavy layer of magic into the realm of the untouched. It was hiding inside the flecks of dust as it passed in front of him, in the small beam of light from the window. He drew a deep breath, dropping his gaze to his boots, trying to steady himself.

  “Sigurd,” His father's voice pleaded.
Don't ask me... do not ask me to betray not do this to her!
    “What we first feared... is it true?”
He did not answer. He could not. Would not. It should not be this way. He heard his father stand, and place his fists on the desk.
    “Is she
touched?” The man's voice grew heavier with strain.
A cold, bile rose in Sigurd's throat, yet a fiery heat of anger riled in his gut. The memory of her eyes, blazing in a wild determination that could shatter a steel wall. 'I will be Queen.' She had said. There had been such a sincere, doubtless certainty in her voice, that he could not comprehend the possibility of her not being crowned so. It was impossible. She will be fate wants her or not.
 Sigurd! Is she touched?!”
Sigurd raised his eyes to meet those of the man before him. Resolve striking through his core like lightening.


ione 10th installment
~Click to start at the beginning ~

Edited for new character developments 02/21  I cannot believe I mixed up my own characters name. Luke instead of Lucas. *shot* Way to go me. oh well fixed now.

Any thoughts or critiques are very welcome.

Check out the cover art here 
Watch the trailer I made here!

Follow Ione on tumblr: topazsetonfire
for art, news and sketches that won't be posted on DA!

<-NinthI am a dummy! Eleventh->

Laced taught in a lapis-blue velvet gown, Ione flew down the one-hundred and twenty-five steps from her tower chamber, to the third level of the palace. Black silk trim, skimming the lacquered wood floor, as she traveled through the long, narrow, back hallways. Past personal chambers, lavatories and private studies, tall bright windows, and countless gilded sconces. The upcoming door to Sir Aquis's chamber, one of her Father's advisers, swung open. But she did not wane in her brisk pace, raising her arm so that when her palm met the door, she pushed it back, out of her way.

    “Your Highness!!” Squeaked a maid, as she jumped back from the doorway.
    “Sorry!” She heard Pane breathlessly offer. The poor girl no doubt running to keep up with her long strides. One more flight of stairs, and she reached the second level. Following the paths of two back hallways before she pushed through a “servant door” into the main hall of the second story. Which turned the heads of several loitering dignitaries, all caught in the act of various forms of conversation. However, she paid them no further heed, continuing her storming pace across the persimmon carpets. Under the eaves of a rounded arc, the double doors of her father's private hall
were closed. Two of the King's personal guardsmen stood at each side, and a lonely attendant shuffled back and forth between them. Good, He is here.
    “Open the doors, I will speak with my Father!”
All three jumped to attention at the sound of her voice.
    “My lady!” The attendant all but fumbled over himself, attempting a bow. “His Majesty is in a meeting with--”
Ione took two steps to her right so she stood toe-to-toe with the man. She didn't know what irked her more, his ostentatious haircut or that she had to bend down to meet his eye-level.
Did you not hear? I.Will.Speak-with my Father!”
The man shriveled beneath her gaze, the wart on his nose falling into a crevice of cheek as he forced a submitting smile. He bowed at the waist, gesturing his arm out towards the hall. The guardsmen, obeying the signal, pulled open the doors. Ione repositioned her chin in the appropriate air space of her station, and brushed her skirts past the ugly little man as she headed into the doorway.
    “Pane, wait outside.”
    “Yes, M'lady!” The girl squeaked, still sounding out-of-breath.

Before her, the smaller of the two great-halls expanded in lacquered mahogany, cream plaster and large tapestries. Land-locked by surrounding rooms, there were no windows, but the two enormous chandeliers cast a dim, but light-enough glow. At the head of the room, there was rise in the floor upon which, sat a long, sturdy table and chairs, positioned horizontally. Book-ended by two desks, of which, during council meetings, sat two scribes. In the middle of the table, stood her father's chair, gilded in gold leaflet motifs and considerably taller than it's neighbors. Seated in the chair, was her Father, looking rather grieved at whatever it was the council member in the chair beside him was speaking about. At the sound of the doors closing behind her, both men turned. Her father's brow darkening, left eyebrow raising, as it always did upon interruption. But his features softened when their eyes connected. She stopped before the rise and dropped the folds of her skirts, clasping her hands together gently. The political woman's strategy pose of immovability.
    “Father, I must discuss something with you.”

His eyes left hers for a moment, dropping his hand from it's resting place made a gesture to his right towards the council member.
    “Ione, my dear,” his voice was dry, lacking it's usual casual depth. Must have been topic of repeated discussion, she mused.
 “I am in the midst of speaking with Sir Aquis. It's very important, perhaps we can speak in a few moments?”
The elder man nodded, smiling in her direction. His white, short and thinning hair, swirled over in typical perfection, and lavender hued robes made her nauseous.
    “Might I say, how good it is to see you this morning, Princess.” His finely-tuned voice reeked of pleasantries. “I do believe the fall leaves are attempting to match the color of your hair again this year!”
Ione cast her eyes down, but kept her head up and tone sweet. “My dear lord Aquis, I passed a maid cleaning your chamber as I came down. Perhaps you should check to see if she's found any remnants of your latest affair?” She lifted her gaze to meet Aquis's directly. The elder man's face dropped to reveal the true regard he carried for her, which was annoyance and no small bit of disdain. Underneath his charming-old-man facade, Aquis was surly cunning. However, knew full well she could out-wit him off the edge of the world, especially when it came to fighting for her Father's attention. He stood, smiling, gave a delicate nod to the King and made his way around the table and down the rise. Despite the swinging grace of his bow before her, she could smell the anger radiating off his shoulders as he passed behind. Silence filled the hall until the thud of the doors closing echoed off the rafters. She brought her gaze up to meet her father's. His face held in a knowing anticipation. Caramel-brown brows level, lips upturned to the left. Hazy ocean-blue eyes locked forward.

Rolling her own eyes she replied to his unvoiced reprimand. “There isn't a horse-hoofing peasant in this kingdom, who doesn't know about his escapades!” She emphasized the latter by sweeping her hands above her shoulders dramatically. He clenched his features together, bringing his hand up to massage them back out. “Yes, yes...” there was a deep sigh. “Now, what is it my dear, that you so adamantly needed to speak of?”
Ione stepped up onto the rise and spreading out both arms, placed her hands on the table. The political man's strategy pose of immovability.
    “Last night, there was--” Suddenly she realized.... she had not come up with a cover story. What in high heaven can I even say?! She fumbled on, hoping to create something convincing along the way. “there was -an intruder!”
    “An intruder?” His brow raised.
Yes, in my chamber! He stole something of mine!” She pounded a fist into the table. “Father, there were no guards to stop him!”
    “By the Heavens, did he try to harm you?!”
Her breath hitched. “..No...”
    “Well, I am grateful.” His brow resumed it's patient placement. She silently cursed at the missed opportunity.
  “What did he steal? Was it important?”
    “Yes, it's extremely important! Father, if it wasn't I wouldn't bother you with it!”
 “Then my dear, tell me what it is and I will send someone after the thief.”
Her mind raced. A dire secret. Secrets. Kept secrets. A place to keep secrets. “My diary!” She blurted. “It-it contains very sensitive matters, Father, I believe it would be unwise to allow it to get into the wrong hands!”
The king closed his eyes and covered his grin with two hovering fingers. She coined this his “your a child being a child” face.
    “My dear Ione, have you jotted down any military or financial statements in your diary?”
Her gut lurched. She had not been severe enough, but could not spin it any more severe for fear that he would send an army out for a diary that didn't actually exist. Well at least the army could still kill Goodthief, I could make up something about him discarding the book...No, that would not pan out successfully. She'd lost. He is going to get away with it.
  Well...No, not exactly...”
 “Then I believe the exposure of a few girlish fantasies will do the kingdom little harm.”
    “But father! There was a man -a thief! In my chambers!!” She pounded the other fist. “Where were my guards?! What if this man had come to harm me father! Is Rickard not responsible for my protection!? I have been exposed to danger!!”
He sighed wearily. “Ione dear, I will speak to Rickard about this matter.” He leaned across the table and laid large hand over hers, patting it softly. “You will not be left unguarded ever again.”
    “And what of this thief? Shall he go unpunished?!”
    “I will speak to Captain Rickard about that as well. Now, return to your studies, my dear. I have much to discuss with the council this afternoon.”
A thousand enraged excuses leapt to her tongue, but she bit them back. Nothing would persuade her father to declare physical action against something so petty in his eyes. He got away with it.

    “Please tell Aquis to return, as you leave.”
Taking the leave, she dipped a short curtsey and turned to exit the hall. The guardsmen on the interior side, quickly opened the doors wide. Revealing a bored Attendant, dozing Pane and smug Aquis. She made brief eye-contact with the council member, and threw a thumb over her shoulder in direction of the hall.
    “Enjoy your day, M'lady.” 
She heard the weasel proclaim, no doubt rejoicing in her failure to win her argument. One day, I am going to do something horrible to that man. Now it was back up one-hundred and seventy-five steps to her chambers. To wallow in an insatiable fear of oncoming doom. 

ione 7th installment
~Click to start at the beginning ~

Edited for new character developments 02/21

Any thoughts or critiques are very welcome.
Check out the cover art here 

Follow Ione on tumblr: topazsetonfire
for art, news and sketches that won't be posted on DA!

<-SixthI am a dummy! Eighth->


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Olivia Lathrop
Artist | Hobbyist | Digital Art
United States
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  • Mood: Llama
  • Listening to: FEMM
  • Reading: the backs of my eyelids
  • Watching: my life pass by
  • Playing: Adulthood
  • Eating: I'm too lazy to make dinner
  • Drinking: probably the blood of my enemies

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AceOfStCanardKLy Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2015   Artist
Happy b-day! :iconchampagneplz:
Alyvia-Write Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you so much!! I am a dummy! 

tsukiko-kiyomidzu Featured By Owner Feb 1, 2015  Professional Traditional Artist
thank you for the fav! ^^ 
Alyvia-Write Featured By Owner Feb 1, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
you're very welcome! XD
Mock1ngb1rd Featured By Owner Jan 20, 2015
Hello and welcome!Harley Blink Avitar
Alyvia-Write Featured By Owner Jan 20, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hello and thank you! :D
DamaiMikaz Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Alyvia-Write Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
You're very welcome! Judge 
AceOfStCanardKLy Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2014   Artist
Happy birthday! :iconwineplz:
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