[ abstract ]
heya! i'm quasar (she/her). most of my current roleplays are on hiatus, so i'm on the hunt for something new.
i'm primarily looking for a dragon age game, because i am a simple creature and veilguard looks like it might actually rule. (is bioware...back?) was a lot of fun, even with the scars of development hell. capitalism ruins the party once again
if you want to carve out a little pocket in thedas (or the milky way or faerun or whatever) and try to fix problems by causing even more exciting problems, then you're in the right place.
[ introduction ]
i'm a 30-something woman living in the pacific northwest. by day, i'm an analyst and artist. by night, i am sleepy. somewhere in between, i carve out time for play by post and ttrpgs. i've been roleplaying on the mean streets of the internet since the days of msn groups.
i'm pretty chatty, and i tend to wax on poetic and wax off goofs. you should expect the occasional, slightly deranged, tangent about my current hyperfixation.
in turn, i want to know about the things that make your brain tick! my favorite thing is to learn about niche fascinations and hobbies from other people, especially if it's completely out of my wheelhouse.
lastly, lets address the heffalump in the room; i have a grudge against using capital letters out of character. let me reassure you, i do submit to the mortifying ordeal of Proper Capitalization in posts and plotting.
is lower case everything a pointless affect? yes!
[ methods ]
- as you romans would call it, i consider myself a high-casual to advanced roleplayer. on the whole, i tend to write 500-700 words per posts. (much) more for intros and big scene shifts, less when we're in the action. sample posts available upon request
- my goal is 1-2 posts a week.
- if you aren't vibing with the game, lets talk. it usually means the scene is dragging on and we need to move the plot. 9 times out of 10 that gets the spark back.
- i do like getting to know my writing partners! but at the very least, we need to be able to talk shop about the game. planned character arcs, twists, ideas about how to move things forward, the works.
- i'm comfortable with both freeform and dice rolling in roleplay. i prefer more rules-light systems for play-by-post, but i'm comfortable playing more rules heavy systems
- i like to run 1 or 2 primary characters, and a healthy scoop of shared npc's. i prefer my partners to do the same. having a decent sized cast helps keep the plot engaging and makes the world feel more alive.
- i'm fine with using character sheets or keeping it descriptive. i like using non-anime art or faceclaims for characters, but you're free to do as you wish. i'm not your real dad.
- i'm fine with playing in pm's or threads (moving scenes to pm's as required), but i'm not interested in roleplaying in discord/google docs/what have you.
- i love third person present tense. i encourage you to give it a shot, but i can write third person past tense if you have strong feelings about the matter.
- romance and smut are great, and i prefer to have both in my games, but they're usually slow burns and no more than 20%ish of the game. i tend towards mxf pairings but fxf is welcome.
- i'm not down to game with minors. 18+ only. we'll hammer out squicks, hard no's, and preferences before launching the game properly.
[ data ]
while i'm primarily looking for dragon age, i'm open to other fandoms!
- mass effect
- forgotten realms, particularly baldurs gates 2 and 3
- kingmaker adventure path
i have a couple plot ideas for dragon age (see below), but feel free to pitch me a plot for any of these fandoms
[ results ]
behold, my plot pitches:[Saarebas Unchained] - New Plot
Arvaarad dies, and the world ends for Saarebas.
It is the height of summer in Arlathan Forest. Birdsong hums through the sea of verdant boughs, harmonizing with a choir of crickets. Fish shimmer beneath the gentle waves rolling across the shallow lake, bubbling across the shoreline. The forest is humid, baking under the sun's relentless gaze.
Arvaarad brought her to Arlathan with little explanation nearly a month ago. They had come to meet someone, a friend, deep within the heart of the woods. He’d lead her through the wilds, promising each night that he would explain everything soon, once there were enough miles between them and the Antaam.
Saarebas hadn’t asked how many miles was enough. She hadn’t asked any questions.
Now there are maggots swarming within Arvaarad, working through ropes of his intestines strewn across the dirt. A fly sits on his milky eyeball, grooming its tiny feet. The gentle waves of the lake lap against his swollen ankles, jarringly clean against the gore that paints his corpse. The air is choked with the sickly sweet burn of rot.
Arvaarad has been dead for nearly two days by her count, and every minute has crawled like a year.
Time is strange here in Arlathan. Sometimes dawn takes two or three attempts before it gives way to day. Once it took nearly twelve tries, before giving way to a back and forth of noons and midnights cycling for what felt like an eternity.
Saarebas isn't entirely sure what happened.
It happened at dawn, she knows, because Arvaarad always rises before the sun, and so does she. Except she can't remember which dawn.
But this dawn, whichever one, had been quiet. Calm. The stars had still clung to the heavens when they woke, twinkling over the lake where they had made camp. There had been nothing strange in their routine.
Saarebas had waited beside the water’s edge as Arvaarad gathered water, her chains coiled neatly in her lap. He’d commented on the shapes and colours of the fish; gold and silver and pink and green, shimmering like a brilliant Seheron sunrise. He chuckled fondly as the fish fought over food and sliced through water like perfect blades, regaling her about the time he nearly drowned while fishing in Par Vollen while trying to impress his peers.
Saarebas closed her eyes and tilted her face ever so slightly to the sun. Sunlight filtered through the slits of her mask, shadows dancing across her eyelids like Arvaarad's wiggling fish.
And then, pain.
The pain erupts along her spine, burns hotter than molten metal, a rush of agony that drowns out the world. She whites out for a moment, knocked to hands and knees.
Arvaarad starts shouting. The air warps around the swing of his greatsword, cutting into metal? Magic? Monsters? Saarebas blinks, staggers to her feet, chains dragging, burning, tries to make sense of the blood and fire that swallows their small camp.
Saarebas tries to focus, raises her hands, but Arvaarad doesn’t command her. He doesn’t compel her magic. She cannot cast without him. There are blades–claws? teeth?--bearing down upon them, guttural roars, sharp screams. She can’t see and Arvaarad isn’t explaining, and the stitches through her lips pull taut around her desperate words.
There’s an explosion. Something slams into her temple and the world goes dark.
Now Saarebas sits beside Arvaarad in mud and smoldering stones, grey hands folded in her lap. Her chains rub against chafed wrists, a long crack running through a manacle. Her mask is splintered, held fast by red rope. There’s blood and dirt caked into her silver hair, staining it nearly as dark as her robes. Pink eyes stare through the broken mask as she watches her guardian decompose.
Saarebas can do nothing except rot beside him.
The Qun is clear; Arvaarad has dropped her leash, and so Saarebas must die. Saarebas can only hope that the Qun will forgive her choice to starve instead of immolate.
All she wants is a few more days so she can think about wiggling fish as she watches over the corpse of the only Arvaarad who looked her in the eye.
the quick and dirty; Arvaarad became disillusioned with the qun and defected with one of the Saarebas in the karataam he managed. he made a deal with an external contact to meet them in Arlathan Forest and help the pair escape.
Arvaarad didn't quite properly explain to Saarebas that they've full on left the qun, and that they had been tal-vashoth for well over a month before he absolutely beefed it.
how did Arvaarad die? Saarebas has no clue. why didn't Saarebas die? excellent question!
that's all plot relevant stuff for us to figure out!
i'm looking for someone to play Araavad's contact, who now finds themself responsible for Saarebas. what that person looks like is up to you.
this person could be an immediate rescuer, or the final stop after a long journey to safety.
maybe they're...
they can absolutely have a rocky start--a rogue Saarebas is a very real danger to others--but ultimately i'd like for your character to have her best interest at heart. that shift might take time, but i don't want to play the perpetuation of abuse, even though this story is rooted in the aftermath.
this isn't a high stakes, high octane action story. this is a story of what happens after the chaos; this is how people who have changed the world learn to live within it.
there's always danger that can befall a slice of life in Thedas, but that's not the focus of this plot. combat and violence may happen, but playing through the fifth blight or the mage templar war this is not.
Saarebas knows how to be a dangerous thing. she doesn't know yet how to be a person. my goal is for her to find a name and an identity outside the Qun and experience a world beyond the mask and sewn lips.
i am a sucker for a slow burn romance, and would love to explore that dynamic. that slow burn would be heavy on the slow, for obvious reasons.
Arvaarad didn't quite properly explain to Saarebas that they've full on left the qun, and that they had been tal-vashoth for well over a month before he absolutely beefed it.
how did Arvaarad die? Saarebas has no clue. why didn't Saarebas die? excellent question!
that's all plot relevant stuff for us to figure out!
i'm looking for someone to play Araavad's contact, who now finds themself responsible for Saarebas. what that person looks like is up to you.
this person could be an immediate rescuer, or the final stop after a long journey to safety.
maybe they're...
- a member of the carta, paid to smuggle the pair to Tevinter
- a former comrade turned Tal-Vashoth farming in the countryside of the Marches.
- a retired templar grappling with lyrium withdrawals in Denerim.
- a chevalier newly returned from the Orlesian civil war to their chauteau and the trappings of nobility
- a mercenary turned baker in a backwater
- something else entirely. go nuts
they can absolutely have a rocky start--a rogue Saarebas is a very real danger to others--but ultimately i'd like for your character to have her best interest at heart. that shift might take time, but i don't want to play the perpetuation of abuse, even though this story is rooted in the aftermath.
this isn't a high stakes, high octane action story. this is a story of what happens after the chaos; this is how people who have changed the world learn to live within it.
there's always danger that can befall a slice of life in Thedas, but that's not the focus of this plot. combat and violence may happen, but playing through the fifth blight or the mage templar war this is not.
Saarebas knows how to be a dangerous thing. she doesn't know yet how to be a person. my goal is for her to find a name and an identity outside the Qun and experience a world beyond the mask and sewn lips.
i am a sucker for a slow burn romance, and would love to explore that dynamic. that slow burn would be heavy on the slow, for obvious reasons.
Name:
Age:
Ancestry:
Birthplace:
Gender:
Class/Subclass:
Appearance:
Background:
Saarebas
Age:
Late twenties
Ancestry:
Qunari
Birthplace:
Qunandar, Par Vollen
Gender:
Cis woman
Class/Subclass:
Mage - Primal
Appearance:
As a fish stranded by the tide knows the air or a drowning man knows the sea, so does a mage know magic.
At 6'3", Saarebas is significantly smaller than most other Qunari; especially among the Antaam, where she would disappear if she were anything else.
But as saarebas, there is no melting into the background. The chains that bind her wrists and throat are massive, sturdy enough to survive all manner of magic and might. Her golden mask completely conceals her face and throat, a stylised rendition of a bulls face. Red ropes hold her mask in place, dangling from the stumps of her black horns, sawed off and filed down. Her silver hair is pulled back into a simple knot.
Beneath the mask, Saarebas has surprisingly refined features, with a sharp nose and full lips. The stitches closing her mouth pierce through the natural dimples at her mouth, turning a passive smile into a hard line. Her large eyes are a pale, rose quartz pink, with a light grey sclera, stark against the cool, slate colour of her skin.
But as saarebas, there is no melting into the background. The chains that bind her wrists and throat are massive, sturdy enough to survive all manner of magic and might. Her golden mask completely conceals her face and throat, a stylised rendition of a bulls face. Red ropes hold her mask in place, dangling from the stumps of her black horns, sawed off and filed down. Her silver hair is pulled back into a simple knot.
Beneath the mask, Saarebas has surprisingly refined features, with a sharp nose and full lips. The stitches closing her mouth pierce through the natural dimples at her mouth, turning a passive smile into a hard line. Her large eyes are a pale, rose quartz pink, with a light grey sclera, stark against the cool, slate colour of her skin.
Background:
Before she was Saarebas, she was Hasska.
Little heart.
The runt of her peers, Hasska was a nervous child. She always preferred to stay close to her Tamassran. It seemed inevitable that she would find a place within the priesthood, or as a crafter.
No one would have expected Hasska to belong to the Antaam; but that was before her magic manifested.
She was barely eight when the dreams began. Whispers playing on her fears, her shame, her yearning for beauty and stories. Terrified to fail the Qun, Hasska kept her dreams a secret. It was always destined to fail, of course. And at eleven years old, Hasska lost her temper after being teased and nearly burned down the neighborhood.
It took less than an hour for the arvaarad to take her into the underbelly of Qunandar for reeducation.
Hasska was molded under the minds of the Ben-Hassrath, the hands of arvaarad, the will of the Qun.
The next time she saw the sun, Hasska was long dead. Saarebas followed her chains into the Antaam.
For years, decades, Saarebas was puppeted by whichever Arvaarad the Qun gave her leash at a given moment. She walked into battle after battle in Seheron, ravaging the field with fire and ice and lightning, over and over and over and over
And then, like a gentle nudge in a dream, a new Arvaarad looked through her mask to meet her eyes.
He held her chain. He took her to war. He directed her magic.
He whistled. He talked to himself about fond memories and stories and gossip. He loosened her stitches a hair more than he should.
For the first time, Saarebas was content behind her mask.
On the outside, Arvaarad grappled with the bloody work the Qun demanded. He wondered. He hoped.
When the Qun demanded they flush out a village of dissidents with qamek, he cracked. And he began to plan his own escape, with Saarebas none the wiser.
It took nearly a year before the pieces fell into place. The final question was agonizing; his Karataam had five saarebas. He could take only one.
In the end, he took the leash of the smallest saarebas and slipped away in the night.
He told his charge they were on a mission for the Antaam, to scout Arlathan Forest and find something important.
Saarebas asked no questions, and walked unknowingly into a future without the Qun.
Little heart.
The runt of her peers, Hasska was a nervous child. She always preferred to stay close to her Tamassran. It seemed inevitable that she would find a place within the priesthood, or as a crafter.
No one would have expected Hasska to belong to the Antaam; but that was before her magic manifested.
She was barely eight when the dreams began. Whispers playing on her fears, her shame, her yearning for beauty and stories. Terrified to fail the Qun, Hasska kept her dreams a secret. It was always destined to fail, of course. And at eleven years old, Hasska lost her temper after being teased and nearly burned down the neighborhood.
It took less than an hour for the arvaarad to take her into the underbelly of Qunandar for reeducation.
Hasska was molded under the minds of the Ben-Hassrath, the hands of arvaarad, the will of the Qun.
The next time she saw the sun, Hasska was long dead. Saarebas followed her chains into the Antaam.
For years, decades, Saarebas was puppeted by whichever Arvaarad the Qun gave her leash at a given moment. She walked into battle after battle in Seheron, ravaging the field with fire and ice and lightning, over and over and over and over
And then, like a gentle nudge in a dream, a new Arvaarad looked through her mask to meet her eyes.
He held her chain. He took her to war. He directed her magic.
He whistled. He talked to himself about fond memories and stories and gossip. He loosened her stitches a hair more than he should.
For the first time, Saarebas was content behind her mask.
On the outside, Arvaarad grappled with the bloody work the Qun demanded. He wondered. He hoped.
When the Qun demanded they flush out a village of dissidents with qamek, he cracked. And he began to plan his own escape, with Saarebas none the wiser.
It took nearly a year before the pieces fell into place. The final question was agonizing; his Karataam had five saarebas. He could take only one.
In the end, he took the leash of the smallest saarebas and slipped away in the night.
He told his charge they were on a mission for the Antaam, to scout Arlathan Forest and find something important.
Saarebas asked no questions, and walked unknowingly into a future without the Qun.
[Faction Origins] - Plot Bunnies
veilguard made the same mistake as inquisition and started in the wrong spot. the rook origins are legit interesting and we saw precisely none of them!
i get that bioware is like 'lets get to the good stuff right away', but tbh the tutorial should have been playing through the faction origin and then getting recruited by varric. the first act should have been building up to the solas ritual. build the tension, set the stakes a lil better, y'know?
anyways playing out the shenanigans of the rook origins sounds like a fun plot hook to me! like, to be clear, i don't want either of us to play rook. that feels weirdly masturbatory to me.
but i do want to play in the space of the rook origins. maybe that's playing through the mission that rook fucked up, maybe it's playing the poor bastards in the faction stuck cleaning up rook's mess. you understand.
i get that bioware is like 'lets get to the good stuff right away', but tbh the tutorial should have been playing through the faction origin and then getting recruited by varric. the first act should have been building up to the solas ritual. build the tension, set the stakes a lil better, y'know?
anyways playing out the shenanigans of the rook origins sounds like a fun plot hook to me! like, to be clear, i don't want either of us to play rook. that feels weirdly masturbatory to me.
but i do want to play in the space of the rook origins. maybe that's playing through the mission that rook fucked up, maybe it's playing the poor bastards in the faction stuck cleaning up rook's mess. you understand.
- Shadow Dragons
While guarding a visiting dignitary who was investigating a slavery ring in the nearby city of Nessus, Rook concluded that the mission would fail without throwing caution to the wind. Alone, Rook sneaked the dignitary deep into Venatori-controlled zones and brought him back, along with the rescued slaves. These actions brought Rook to the Venatori's attention, and the Shadow Dragons decided to keep Rook out of sight.
1: i didn't expect the shadow dragons to be my favorite, but i'm ride or die.
2: look, this can't have been the only operation like this. lets go rescue some slaves and stick it to the venatori and the magisterium. along the way we can deal with everything going tits up in Rook's wake.
also an option; cleaning up ventus and helping rebuild after the antaam went and did horrible war crimes.
- Antivan Crows
When Rook saw a patrol herding along captives one night, they lept into action. Despite saving lives, however, Rook had unknowingly compromised a larger Crow operation against the Antaam. Rook's superiors were incensed.
i mean, playing through said larger operation and having to deal with the fallout would be delightful. c'mon. that's delicious plot bait.
we can play into some mob politics between the different houses, swoon over teia, bicker about coffee, and knife some guys for money. everyone wins!
- Mourn Watch
During a "civil war" between undead nobility, known later as the War of the Banners, Rook led a daring attack on the rebellion's dueling leaders. It was a success, quelling the war and saving lives. But Rook's destruction of these undead nobles was controversial. Some Mourn Watchers feared Rook had offended the order's aristocratic patrons and encouraged them to travel for a while.”
n e v a r r a my belooovveeedd. finally. we finally got to see the grand necropolis and while it wasn't what i had imagined, it was rad as hell.
anyways, i'm kind of obsessed with the idea of 2 long suffering grad students mourn watchers having to go and placate nevarran nobility. like, what, do we bring them fruit baskets for their trouble? this is objectively hilarious
- Grey Wardens
During a large darkspawn incursion, Rook was ordered to hold the line with other Grey Wardens until reinforcements arrived. Rook argued that by then, villagers under attack would be dead. Rook disobeyed orders, leading the squad into the incursion and sealing the tunnel to the Deep Roads. This turned the tide, and the darkspawn were driven off, which saved the villagers. This heroism was popular among the younger Wardens, but others with connections to noble families resented the independent streak. Rook chose to step away while tempers cooled.
god, the wardens have such messy inner politics and i love them so much. also what the fuck was up with the mysterious drama in weisshaupt teased at the end of inquisition???
i'm kind of vibing with the idea of playing some wardens that accidentally got sealed in with the incursion in the deep roads, and have to find a way out.
but also like. listen. i know that, canonically, there was only one clutch of griffon eggs that survived the fourth blight.
i do not want to doom the griffons to inbreeding into extinction. that's fucked.
sooooo lets! find! another! clutch! of! eggs!
- Veil Jumpers
On an expedition to ruins in Arlathan Forest, the Veil Jumpers found ruins that contained important lost lore and deadly danger. Barely surviving the ruins' ancient magical defenses, Rook's small team recovered an invaluable map leading to a hidden area of the forest. Although the team escaped, other Veil Jumpers found themselves trapped. Rook chose to return to the ruins, saving the team, but losing the map. The map's loss caused some resentment among Veil Jumper leaders.
the veil jumpers didn't do much for me in game, which is wild. this faction should have been pure quasar bait. nerds investigating extremely dangerous magic that fucks with time and reality and kind of wants to kill you? ugh! this is my jam!
the obvious plot hook here is the map. it's time for round two, the mappening.
- Lords of Fortune
A rising Lord of Fortune, skilled at breaking into lost tombs and ruins, Rook killed a corrupt Rivaini noble to prevent an ancient evil from being given to the Venatori. Their actions saved the lives of expedition members, but some Rivaini nobles were resentful. Because the success of the Lords' expeditions relied on Rivaini authorities looking the other way, it seemed wise for Rook to step away while tempers settled.
it's so fucking tragic how under developed rivain and the lords of fortune were. rivain is such a fascinating place in thedas; it's barely andrastian, and canonically it doesn't really have nobility. this whole set up is weird.
also!! the annulment of dairsmuid's circle was horrific! it was one of the major reasons for the mage-templar war!!! why was the only mention of this in a tiny side quest? maddening.
so like, lets dig into the rebuilding of dairsmuid. did they return to the chantry circle idea, or did the rivaini say fuck it and drive the chantry out? and, hey, maybe the new circle/not-circle of magi we're building needs magical artefacts to stabilise the veil or whatever. i guess the upside of there being so little content is that we have more room for activities?
[The Liberati Lie]
It is well known that desperate times require desperate measures.
And for the mages, the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry was only the beginning of their desperation.
Backed into a corner at Andoral's Reach, the White Spire blackened with cruelty and the wreckage of Rivain's circle still bleeding, with Templars turning rogue, and whispers of a strange new lyrium on the wind, the Circle called for desperate measures. They rebelled.
No one expected rebellion to be easy. It was a desperate measure, after all. In 9:40 Dragon, all of Thedas threatened to burn.
In 9:41 Dragon, things got worse.
In the ashes of The Conclave, hunted by Templars, poisoned by red lyrium, the rebels turned to Redcliffe as their last hope. The fate of Fereldan has always been tied to Redcliffe Castle; if any walls could provide shelter against the Templars, it would be these.
And they were turned away.
Huddled in the shadow of their last hope, desperate rebellion morphed into the desperation to merely survive. The newly forged Inquisition was nowhere to be found. The hearts and minds of Thedas were turned firmly against the mages.
And so the once Grand Enchanter Fiona, desperate and alone, did the only thing she thought she could, and accepted the only hand outstretched to her people. And she signed away all of their lives to the Tevinter Imperium.
Desperate times. Desperate measures.
--
Whether or not the Inquisitor sided with the mages, it's implied that at least some of the rebel mages in Redcliffe have already been sent to Tevinter by the time the Herald arrives.
So what happened to them?
Many mages in southern Thedas admire the Imperium. It's not unreasonable that those imprisoned in a Circle would consider anti-Tevinter sentiment to be more propaganda than truth, or that they may have seen this as a good deal. Did they make it to the city and find themselves disillusioned? Did they become Liberati as promised? Did they find themselves in a new prison with different walls?
Plenty of mages would have considered this the ultimate betrayal. Did they fight back and try to escape en route? Did they arrive and find themselves with more power than they'd ever had before? Did they try to ignite a new rebellion?
Did anyone ever try to rescue them?
And for the mages, the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry was only the beginning of their desperation.
Backed into a corner at Andoral's Reach, the White Spire blackened with cruelty and the wreckage of Rivain's circle still bleeding, with Templars turning rogue, and whispers of a strange new lyrium on the wind, the Circle called for desperate measures. They rebelled.
No one expected rebellion to be easy. It was a desperate measure, after all. In 9:40 Dragon, all of Thedas threatened to burn.
In 9:41 Dragon, things got worse.
In the ashes of The Conclave, hunted by Templars, poisoned by red lyrium, the rebels turned to Redcliffe as their last hope. The fate of Fereldan has always been tied to Redcliffe Castle; if any walls could provide shelter against the Templars, it would be these.
And they were turned away.
Huddled in the shadow of their last hope, desperate rebellion morphed into the desperation to merely survive. The newly forged Inquisition was nowhere to be found. The hearts and minds of Thedas were turned firmly against the mages.
And so the once Grand Enchanter Fiona, desperate and alone, did the only thing she thought she could, and accepted the only hand outstretched to her people. And she signed away all of their lives to the Tevinter Imperium.
Desperate times. Desperate measures.
--
Whether or not the Inquisitor sided with the mages, it's implied that at least some of the rebel mages in Redcliffe have already been sent to Tevinter by the time the Herald arrives.
So what happened to them?
Many mages in southern Thedas admire the Imperium. It's not unreasonable that those imprisoned in a Circle would consider anti-Tevinter sentiment to be more propaganda than truth, or that they may have seen this as a good deal. Did they make it to the city and find themselves disillusioned? Did they become Liberati as promised? Did they find themselves in a new prison with different walls?
Plenty of mages would have considered this the ultimate betrayal. Did they fight back and try to escape en route? Did they arrive and find themselves with more power than they'd ever had before? Did they try to ignite a new rebellion?
Did anyone ever try to rescue them?
i'm especially intrigued by the idea of rescue. surely someone tried to bring those mages home. perhaps it was an off screen war table mission. perhaps a loyalist mage with wealth and means decided to try and help. or maybe some of the rebel mages took it upon themselves to infiltrate tevinter and find their friends.
[ Characters ]
i have a couple of character concepts. either would work for the liberati lie plot, and were written with that in mind. that said, i can absolutely adapt them to fit a completely different plot idea. On the Shoulders of Emerald Giants
Name:
Savhen Ena'sallethan of Clan Ghilain
Meaning:
Sa - One | Vhen - Essence of the People
Sul - Brings, Uplifts | Ena'sal - Triumphant Joy | Lethan - Kin
One who embodies the People elevates us all.
Age:
Twenty-Four; 9 Harvestmere 9:17 Dragon
Race:
Dalish Elf
Birthplace:
The Dales
Gender:
Cis Woman
Class/Subclass:
Arcane Warrior - Blood Mage
Faction:
The Dalish
Appearance:
Among the People, Savhen is larger than life. Towering over most elves at 5'10", her lean frame does little to hide the underlying strength built from a life dedicated to swordplay.
Savhen moves with a nearly preternatural grace, as nimble and sure-footed in the depths of crumbling ruins or primeval wilds as a dancer upon the stage of Val Royeaux.
But despite her strength, her skill, her control, it's hard to find the warrior...intimidating.
Rarely seen without her dimpled grin, Savhen laughs and cries and asks countless questions without any reservation. When the da'len need minding, she's a willing tree for children to climb or a dread wolf to chase until worn out. And when her curiosity drives her into trouble, she bows her head to the Keeper's chastising.
Savhen has thick, dark auburn hair that reaches her mid back, parted down the middle. She typically wears it pulled into a side braid or a ponytail-- something she can quickly pull back and out of the way when necessary.
Her eyes are almost black, but a warm, earthy brown flickers around the pupils when caught in direct sunlight. The night flash of her eyes is, rather unsettlingly, a deep crimson.
Similarly, her vallaslin is an almost black green, the emerald undertones bleeding through whenever she uses magic. The vallaslin extends down her throat and the right side of her body, intricate flourishes and dot work all in honour of June.
Her skin is lightly tanned, with smatterings of freckles across her nose and shoulders. There are a surprising amount of scars across her left forearm; years upon years of little cuts to fuel her blood magic. While unashamed, she is careful to conceal the scars from squeamish shemlen.
Savhen dresses as most Dalish, strips of leather layered into flexible armor and scavenged bits of metal armor. Her clothes are largely greens and browns and reds, with intricate embroidery of Dalish art, with wolf pelt and halla fur for colder weather.
Savhen appreciates fine craftsmanship, but does not wear jewelry except for a wooden pendant of a halla on a simple leather cord, a parting gift from her beloved Hahren in Clan Ghilain.
Savhen moves with a nearly preternatural grace, as nimble and sure-footed in the depths of crumbling ruins or primeval wilds as a dancer upon the stage of Val Royeaux.
But despite her strength, her skill, her control, it's hard to find the warrior...intimidating.
Rarely seen without her dimpled grin, Savhen laughs and cries and asks countless questions without any reservation. When the da'len need minding, she's a willing tree for children to climb or a dread wolf to chase until worn out. And when her curiosity drives her into trouble, she bows her head to the Keeper's chastising.
Savhen has thick, dark auburn hair that reaches her mid back, parted down the middle. She typically wears it pulled into a side braid or a ponytail-- something she can quickly pull back and out of the way when necessary.
Her eyes are almost black, but a warm, earthy brown flickers around the pupils when caught in direct sunlight. The night flash of her eyes is, rather unsettlingly, a deep crimson.
Similarly, her vallaslin is an almost black green, the emerald undertones bleeding through whenever she uses magic. The vallaslin extends down her throat and the right side of her body, intricate flourishes and dot work all in honour of June.
Her skin is lightly tanned, with smatterings of freckles across her nose and shoulders. There are a surprising amount of scars across her left forearm; years upon years of little cuts to fuel her blood magic. While unashamed, she is careful to conceal the scars from squeamish shemlen.
Savhen dresses as most Dalish, strips of leather layered into flexible armor and scavenged bits of metal armor. Her clothes are largely greens and browns and reds, with intricate embroidery of Dalish art, with wolf pelt and halla fur for colder weather.
Savhen appreciates fine craftsmanship, but does not wear jewelry except for a wooden pendant of a halla on a simple leather cord, a parting gift from her beloved Hahren in Clan Ghilain.
Background:
The Orlesians have claimed the blood of Inquisitor Ameridan for centuries. But we know the truth.
Ameridan was the best of us. He walked between the shemlen and the people, bridging hearts and minds. Under his hand, Andraste's promise to Shartan would have been made truth.
But the shemlen betrayed us, taking everything from the people--even the name of an elf that they would put in chains if he stood before them.
Savhen started playing with swords as soon as she could run, and she has the scars to prove it. A fierce young woman with boundless curiosity, she was the first to scout ahead wherever the Clan wandered. She would roam further than any of her peers, always in hunt of new mysteries to uncover.
Her magic emerged later than most-- she was already fourteen when she first called a flame to hand. None was more surprised than Savhen that she was a mage. But Keeper Levinia knew better; Savhen, like Ameridan, found her magic only through the love of the blade.
And the Hahren's stories of the Arcane Warriors captured her imagination like they never had before. She spent as much time training under the Keeper as she did at Hahren's side, listening to his stories as she drilled with her great sword. When she came of age, she took after her beloved Hahren, and chose to bear June's Vallaslin.
Savhen knew she was never meant to be the Keeper's First. She roamed too far, turning her gaze towards the horizon, rather than within the Clan. She needed to find...something.
With the Keeper's blessings and stories gifted from Hahren, Savhen left to find whatever that something was.
Savhen found herself on the road. Although she spent most of her time alone, she would walk with other Clans whenever their paths crossed.
In time she found her way to Clan Ralaferin as they wandered the Free Marches. Renowned among Dalish for their willingness to cooperate with shemlen, Savhen was fascinated to learn about the world beyond halla and aravels. But their Hahren also had stories of something more than shemlen-- she had a crumbling journal from the days of Arlathan.
The journal had rebuffed countless readers, locking itself tight when the wrong hands touched its spine. Ralaferin's Hahren had managed to coax the journal to open for her only once; the book promised the deepest secrets of the Emerald Knights.
It demanded the Hahren find the proper reader and sealed itself shut for nearly twelve years.
The clan was, understandably, captivated when the journal opened for Savhen. That fascination turned to concern when the warrior insisted the book was talking to her, promising her ancient knowledge.
And yet their Keeper could find no hint of a demon locked within the pages. No one could explain what was going on, but one thing was clear; the journal knew things. It led Savhen to an ancient, nearly pristine temple to June, guiding her through rituals and traps to a crystal, humming with power--and consumed it.
Now Savhen turns her gaze towards the wildest parts of Thedas, hunting for traces of her people to unlock the deepest secrets of her journal.
Fade Walker
Name:
Tayana Castillon
Age:
Thirty-Five, 11 Bloomingtide 9:06 Dragon
Race:
Human
Birthplace:
Rialto, Antiva
Gender:
Cis Woman
Class/Subclass:
Somniari Mage, Primal - specializing in lightning.
Faction:
Senior Enchanter of the Dairsmuid Circle of Magi Apostate
Appearance:
Most people don't think 'Mage' when they look at Tayana. They certainly don't think 'Senior Enchanter'.
Pirate? That's a reasonable assumption. Gaudy? Hardly; she's no flashier than your average Orlesian. Harlot? Absolutely--but since Ferelden's got a stick the size of a high dragon rammed up its backwater ass deep enough to make those dog-lord prudes choke, that's honestly a compliment for civilized folk.
Of course, it's not hard to recognize Tayana as the lethal mage she truly is when one looks at her staff. The haft is is made of stormheart and wrapped with lurker scales and painted sea silk. The head forms a wickedly sharp trident accented with serpent stone, which seems to perpetually glisten with condensation as small arcs of electricity dance between the prongs. The butt of the weapon is capped with a heavy collar of stormheart, which Tayana cheerily notes 'hurts like a piece of bitch' when used to stomp on wayward toes. The staff was commissioned for her harrowing as a gift by her mentor, First Enchanter Rivella.
Standing at 5'6", Tayana is a wiry woman with piercing blue eyes and callused hands covered in fractal scars. She wears her pale blonde hair in a sleek, high ponytail. Her sun kissed skin is heavily freckled and heavily tattooed in the Rivaini tradition. Black and grey waves form a complete collar around her throat, stretching onto the base of her skull. She has full sleeves which extend onto her back, equal parts traditional Rivaini design and arcane sigils discovered during her extensive exploration of the Fade.
Tayana favors light, breathable clothing in jewel tones. She wears brown cotton knee-length breeches over stormheart scale leggings that leave her heels and toes bare, and finely made Antivan leather arm guards. Her halter top is made of turquoise cotton and cropped short. When weather or etiquette demands it, the teal shawl around her hips can be tied into a loose top. Tayana has an extensive jewelry collection, with several piercings in her ears, her brow, tongue, and belly button. And that's before the pendants and necklaces and rings, made of pearls, shells, braided leather, and intricately engraved beads.
Pirate? That's a reasonable assumption. Gaudy? Hardly; she's no flashier than your average Orlesian. Harlot? Absolutely--but since Ferelden's got a stick the size of a high dragon rammed up its backwater ass deep enough to make those dog-lord prudes choke, that's honestly a compliment for civilized folk.
Of course, it's not hard to recognize Tayana as the lethal mage she truly is when one looks at her staff. The haft is is made of stormheart and wrapped with lurker scales and painted sea silk. The head forms a wickedly sharp trident accented with serpent stone, which seems to perpetually glisten with condensation as small arcs of electricity dance between the prongs. The butt of the weapon is capped with a heavy collar of stormheart, which Tayana cheerily notes 'hurts like a piece of bitch' when used to stomp on wayward toes. The staff was commissioned for her harrowing as a gift by her mentor, First Enchanter Rivella.
Standing at 5'6", Tayana is a wiry woman with piercing blue eyes and callused hands covered in fractal scars. She wears her pale blonde hair in a sleek, high ponytail. Her sun kissed skin is heavily freckled and heavily tattooed in the Rivaini tradition. Black and grey waves form a complete collar around her throat, stretching onto the base of her skull. She has full sleeves which extend onto her back, equal parts traditional Rivaini design and arcane sigils discovered during her extensive exploration of the Fade.
Tayana favors light, breathable clothing in jewel tones. She wears brown cotton knee-length breeches over stormheart scale leggings that leave her heels and toes bare, and finely made Antivan leather arm guards. Her halter top is made of turquoise cotton and cropped short. When weather or etiquette demands it, the teal shawl around her hips can be tied into a loose top. Tayana has an extensive jewelry collection, with several piercings in her ears, her brow, tongue, and belly button. And that's before the pendants and necklaces and rings, made of pearls, shells, braided leather, and intricately engraved beads.
Background:
Tayana has led an adventurous life since she first began to Dream at age five. She sprinted deep into the Fade at every opportunity, exploring ruins and courts and every corner of the dreams of Thedas with all the enthusiasm of a child too young to understand fear. Asleep, she clambered up mountain passes deep within the Anderfels, and crept along the edges of battles in Seheron. In her waking hours, she found adventure running through the streets of Rialto, and in the workshops birthing new ships for the fleet, sparks chasing after her heels. Her parents concealed her magic for as long as they could, until they couldn't. Her mother managed to call in an old favor from her oldest friend, Khyrelle, who brought the menace rascal to Rivain.
Tayana's magic was exuberant, but under the expert guidance of the Mothers of Dairsmuid she learned to leash lightning and make water dance. But most importantly, she learned how better to harness her dreams and see deeper into the Fade than she ever could have imagined--as well as a healthy sense of respect (and a touch of caution) for the denizens of the Fade. Passionate, sharp, and relentlessly friendly to everyone she met, Tayana was surrounded by friends whether awake or dreaming.
Tayana was Harrowed at sixteen, and went straight from the Harrowing Chamber to the docks, where she sat for her first tattoo. She excelled in her studies and research, publishing her first paper at twenty three, A Fundamental Love Affair; A Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism. By age twenty nine, she was promoted to Senior Enchanter, and began to train her first apprentice, Elrado. Soon she began to accompany First Enchanter Rivella to Cumberland for meetings of the College of Magi-- a clear sign that her star was rising, and that one day (hopefully many, many decades away) she would take on the mantle of First Enchanter herself.
And then Kirkwall blew up, the White Spire revolted, and Dairsmuid was annulled. Tayana's charmed life in the Fade and the waking world became an endless nightmare. She saw her fellow mages butchered in every corner of southern Thedas, whether by blood magic or Templars. She wandered their dreams, seeing the truth of Circle life outside of Rivain, and the suffering of her people.
Then she began to dream of Tevinter. Of Venatori. Of mages trapped in Redcliffe, with nowhere to turn but towards the hands outstretched from the North. And then of mages, mostly children, preparing for a long journey along the Imperial Highway, chains snaking up their legs, betrayed by their leader and alone.
Fuck. That.
Tayana went West, barging into the dreams of every First Enchanter she'd met before the world went to shit. Most were only wisps or spirits in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Some refused to listen, but a few allowed her to shout speak her piece and lend her aid. The dead gave guidance, a few of the living gave sovereigns, and her most bitter academic rival lent her just enough political support to demand the nascent Inquisition help free the mages sold into Tevinter service.
With a furious letter, a hefty donation, and a few nights haunting the dreams of anyone she could find with any scrap of influence and power within the Inquisition, they finally agreed to help. Tayana was granted a few spare hands to fix Fiona's colossal fuck up and rescue the mages bound for slavery.
Tayana's magic was exuberant, but under the expert guidance of the Mothers of Dairsmuid she learned to leash lightning and make water dance. But most importantly, she learned how better to harness her dreams and see deeper into the Fade than she ever could have imagined--as well as a healthy sense of respect (and a touch of caution) for the denizens of the Fade. Passionate, sharp, and relentlessly friendly to everyone she met, Tayana was surrounded by friends whether awake or dreaming.
Tayana was Harrowed at sixteen, and went straight from the Harrowing Chamber to the docks, where she sat for her first tattoo. She excelled in her studies and research, publishing her first paper at twenty three, A Fundamental Love Affair; A Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism. By age twenty nine, she was promoted to Senior Enchanter, and began to train her first apprentice, Elrado. Soon she began to accompany First Enchanter Rivella to Cumberland for meetings of the College of Magi-- a clear sign that her star was rising, and that one day (hopefully many, many decades away) she would take on the mantle of First Enchanter herself.
And then Kirkwall blew up, the White Spire revolted, and Dairsmuid was annulled. Tayana's charmed life in the Fade and the waking world became an endless nightmare. She saw her fellow mages butchered in every corner of southern Thedas, whether by blood magic or Templars. She wandered their dreams, seeing the truth of Circle life outside of Rivain, and the suffering of her people.
Then she began to dream of Tevinter. Of Venatori. Of mages trapped in Redcliffe, with nowhere to turn but towards the hands outstretched from the North. And then of mages, mostly children, preparing for a long journey along the Imperial Highway, chains snaking up their legs, betrayed by their leader and alone.
Fuck. That.
Tayana went West, barging into the dreams of every First Enchanter she'd met before the world went to shit. Most were only wisps or spirits in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Some refused to listen, but a few allowed her to shout speak her piece and lend her aid. The dead gave guidance, a few of the living gave sovereigns, and her most bitter academic rival lent her just enough political support to demand the nascent Inquisition help free the mages sold into Tevinter service.
With a furious letter, a hefty donation, and a few nights haunting the dreams of anyone she could find with any scrap of influence and power within the Inquisition, they finally agreed to help. Tayana was granted a few spare hands to fix Fiona's colossal fuck up and rescue the mages bound for slavery.
[ discussion ]
you did it. you made it to the end. good job. i'm proud of you, sport.
if you're interested in playing in the absolute dumpster fire that is thedas with me, you can post here or shoot me a pm.
[ disclosure ]
i was recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis after 18 months of near constant crisis in my personal life, so my posting schedule has been sporadic.
i will do my best to give you a heads up, but sometimes i'm legit too sick to do that. when i'm flaring up, you might hear nothing for a couple weeks. please be patient.
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