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[merrillofsabrae]

[merrillofsabrae]

[merrillofsabrae]

[merrillofsabrae]

"You did get it right. Nearly perfect, actually. Of course, I can still tell got an accent about you-- though, that may have more to do with the fact that I can clearly see a human speaking it." Halfway through her little rant on Elvish and the accents that can be attached to it, she realizes she has a mouthful of scone-- which, of course, made her sound a bit muffled.

After offering Hawke and apologetic look, she clenches up her throat, and swallows both jam and pastry completely before saying anything fruther. Even though, all she does is mouth a tacit apology to her, hanging her head in momentary sheepishness.

They're not an openly friendly bunch, Merrill...

Merrill quick nods agreement, not wanting to make it seem as though she's that naive. She may have spent most-- err, all-- of her life away from most 'civilized' parts of the world, but she knows enough of social customs to be able to assume that city elves wouldn't immediately warm to an outsider, especially when they're forced to live in a slum like this.

"Oh! I know. And I don't mind. It's only natural they'd be skeptical of me. I mean, I dress funny and talk even funnier, apparently. They're not like my kind, and I... am not like theirs. But we'll get used to each other," she beams, quite chipper and optimistic about it. "It'll just take some time." 

Her ears twitch noticeably when the other woman begins her story about why, exactly, she gets on so well with elves. Merrill immediately finds herself enraptured by the tail, which smacks of altruism and self-sacrifice. For a long moment, she feels very small across the way from Hawke. After all, what has she-- comparatively-- accomplished with her life? Not much comes to mind, and it brings a small frown to her face.

"A human as a midwife in an Elven alienage? That along should earn you some sort of valor commendation, at least as far as I'm concerned. I thought most humans were too clean to even set foot in a place like this.I can see why they'd start to trust you so much." As she talks, Merrill leans herself down in front of some log splits, getting on her knees in front of the fireplace. With awkward clumsiness, she starts to arrange the split logs into a tent-shape inside the fireplace, though she sharply withdraws her thumb (and licks a pinprick of blood from it) after she gets a splinter from one of the logs.

"Creator!," she yelps, wagging her hand furiously back and forth for a moment as she squeezes her thumb. She may perform well enough in an actual battle, but when it comes to minor household injuries like this, well. She's still quite clueless. With a set of sad, Dalish puppy eyes, she looks over towards Hawke. "Ehm... I really hate to impose, but could you perhaps lend me a hand with this? I'm good enough with making a fire in a woodside pit, but this whole... alienage fireplace thing is quite new to me."

A Pariah Among Pariahs. (closed)

Delight twinkled in Petronilla’s silvery-grey eyes. “Yes, I have. After hearing the clan speak it earlier, I took some time to work on my pronunciation. I think I got it right this time!” Dalish were elusive at best—They had to be, to avoid persecution—but Petronilla had been lucky. When they crossed paths with Dalish clans, they often traded with them peacefully rather than engage in hostilities.

Those had been rare, happy times. The Dalish were rightfully wary, and the adults watched her carefully when she ran off to play with their children. She was always happy to trade cloth, toys, and other handmade objects with them in exchange for little things, often Elvish lessons. A few lucky times, she had run across a Hunter or two amiable enough to offer hunting lessons in exchange for herbs or salves she made under Malcolm’s harsh guidance. One Hunter had taught her how to disarm bear traps after she had offered a few candied apples in trade.

Kirkwall elves were as wary as Dalish. Their alienage was small, and it forced them to be a tightly-knit community. For this reason, Petronilla had difficulty fathoming why Merrill was not flooded with new alienage sisters, brothers and even suitors. The Dalish were often venerated among the Fereldan elves. She did not know their reputation here. Merrill’s tribe was Fereldan, and they had crossed the Sea relatively recently…

“They’re not an openly friendly bunch, Merrill. It’s, unfortunately, out of necessity. They’re only just recovering from a bad stint under Aveline’s predecessor. A lot of Elven teenagers were lifted from their homes during that time, and not all of them have been found alive. So…” Petronilla cleared her throat. Jeven had been a right arse, exploiting the elves any way he feasibly could with his criminal contacts. “Well, I mean to say you’ve come to the alienage during a time of mourning. It’ll take them a while to learn to accept you. Don’t take it personally.”

She glanced at her empty hands and filled one with a scone. Merrill’s taking to the jam elicited in a light-hearted laugh. “Beth and I spent two weeks working on that jar. I hope you enjoy it.” Good jam was difficult to come by in the marketplace of Kirkwall. Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown or the Docks, good jam seemed to have vanished into the Sea as they crossed it to enter the City of Chains. Sometimes, Bethany would sell it in the market to one of the vendors for extra coin. Theirs was quickly becoming popular. It was ironic, as their jam was made in the Fereldan style using recipes learned from Highever to Redcliffe. A merchant from Denerim had taught them a new recipe too, but the ingredients were difficult to come by.

Taking a bite, she took her time to savor the flakiness of the crust. She gave a soft hum when Merrill mentioned the mabari’s typically large size wouldn’t be suited to her rather quaint home. Boo may be petite by breeder standards, but even she was too big to be comfortable in Merrill’s house… She would have to remember that.

Aye. The affirmative brought her to pause. It was a Fereldan phrase rarely heard here in Kirkwall outside of fellow refugees. She turned toward the mantle and the kettle in turn as they were mentioned. She nodded and sat up, and winced as a sudden ache reminded her of the midwife’s kit clipped neatly to the small of her back. It was small, meant to be filled to the brim with tools, salves, lotions, herbs and other supplements and carried at any pace, including a run if the patient was in a bad way or needed immediate care.

It was an interesting coincidence how Merrill mentioned her warm relations with the alienage elves just as she had begun to reach around to unstrap the kit from its nest. Petronilla felt herself flush bright pink. “Growing up, I learned the midwife’s trade. I got very good at it, and my mentor would take me everywhere with her to learn new techniques. When I came here—”

A soft grunt interrupted her explanation as she opened the last clasp and removed the kit from her back. She held it up for Merrill to see. “I brought my kit here, and a lot of new knowledge with me. I worked with a shady group at first, but I worked as a midwife on the side. The elves were often neglected by human midwives, and few would take elven apprentices. A lot of good women died. They were in a bad way, and I offered to serve them as any true midwife should. Mother and child alive, healthy and on their way to recovery is considered payment enough. They began to trust me.” 

[merrillofsabrae]

Merrill by ~quargon

[merrillofsabrae]

[merrillofsabrae]

OH LORD JESUS, IT'S A FIRE! AND I GOT BRONCHITIS!

"I… what? But. But I heard that…"

"… nobody had time for that?"

[merrillofsabrae]

Confessions of a mediocre RP blog...

1. I have favorites. I try not to - and I do truly give every new thread a chance. But favorites happen, because some people write in a way that just thrills me in particular. I will try not to focus too much on my favorites, knowing that each new person I roleplay with just may turn out to be a favorite as well.

2. Some days I struggle to write replies. When I do, when I skip over your thread to reply to another, it’s not something you have done wrong. My muse is not responding to yours at the moment, possibly for reasons neither of us have any control over.

3. There is no correlation between a lengthy reply and a good one. If you can only type out two paragraphs and I’ve written five, you didn’t fail, and vice versa. Writing flows best when you free yourself from the expectations of verbiage, structure, number of words on the page. 

4. I do this for fun. If I’m not having fun with our thread, I have a responsibility to tell you so, to try and fix it so that it’s fun for us both. Conversely, you have a responsibility to do the same. We both have the responsibility of ending things on a pleasant basis if our muses are incompatible.

5. There are days when I doubt my writing. I think we all have these days. Days when every sentence comes out awkwardly and half-thought, when nothing seems to flow. Please, don’t be afraid to ask me to change a reply if I’ve sidelined the plot with my meandering muse logic.

6. You will never upset me by talking to me out of character. I’m fully cognizant that behind each muse is a real person, and I would love to get to know that person.

7. I have a ‘style’, a set way that I best enjoy writing. If you’re a brilliant muse and I enjoy your writing, I may stalk you relentlessly without ever replying to a starter you’ve done just because our styles do not match. This doesn’t mean that either of us is less of a roleplayer because of it - we’re just different.

8. I will not belittle your character ooc.Each muse is unique, each muse is a precious creation of a creative mind, an entity of its own. I promise to respect that, and only critique when asked and then only for the purposes of helping your writing. I will never send you anon hate.

9. I want you to plot with me.I want our muses to have a story so complex, so incredible, that everyone reads along. I don’t want either of us to know how it will end before it begins. I want to sit on the edge of my seat, waiting for your reply, just to shake my head in awe of the brilliant turn or twist you’ve come up with.

10. Mun to mun - you are beautiful to me.When you’re having a bad day, come to my inbox. When you’re doubting yourself, tell me about it and I will remind you how amazing you are. When I’ve angered or disappointed you in character or out, tell me about it. First and foremost, we are writers, and I consider us friends if we write together. You’re not imposing on me - you’re allowing me to help.

[merrillofsabrae]

M E R R I L L quotes

[merrillofsabrae]

"Voveso in Mori (Mon Vandas)" (In the Ocean of My Tears, I drown) // Eluveitie

[merrillofsabrae]

"Oh, they're just giving me the traditional alienage greeting. I think after a few months here, I'll be having the same people over for scones and jam. ... once I learn how to make either, that is. I noticed there's a dreadful lack of bakeries in Lowtown, so I think that'd go over quite well here. What do you think?" Merrill nods firmly, her own enthusiasm-- mixed with her zesty blend of joy and spices-- easily overriding the common sense one should probably approach a living situation like this with.

While humming a jaunty little Dalish tune to herself, Merrill hands up her hay-bristle broom on a set of nails that run parallel to one another on the wall by her fireplace. After a quick slap of her hands against one another-- to dust them off-- she nods, satisfied. 

"I don't mind the death threats, really. I'm sure they don't mean them. They just don't like outsiders. But after I stay here a while, I won't be an outsider any more!", she chirps, refusing to let her good mood dim even the slightest bit.

"And... thank you, for coming to visit me. I could have really used the company right now." Merrill offers Hawke a bright little smile as she knees down in front of her fireplace. Over top of the burning logs rests a heavy black iron cauldron, from which Merrill removes the top (releasing a very earthy, vegetably soup-y smell) and gives the contents a hasty stir.

"If you'll be here for a bit, would you care for some soup? This should be done within the hour. ... oh, and in any event, would you be kind enough to hand me some rosemary sprigs? They're in the bowl to your right."

Rabbit Heart [Hawke & Merrill]

Hawke gave a grin as she reached behind her to shut the door, eyes fixed upon the little elf before her. She moved like an over-excited animal and Hawke could only place a hand over her mouth to stifle the chuckle that fought to break free. She was learning very quickly that Merrill was simply adorable… and highly amusing to watch. 

"You should perhaps stay away from those who make the slitting motions, I don’t think they’re looking for new friends." She advised, though her tone was jovial and her smile persistent. Grey eyes drifted about the abode and her lip curled almost imperceptibly. She couldn’t imagine going from living with the Dalish, surrounded by freedom and nature to… this. The walls were cracked, some surfaces still caked with dust. Damp patches marked certain areas of the floor, indicating the numerous leaks and though Hawke was used to the stench of Lowtown by now, she doubted Merrill would be. 

Then again, Merrill didn’t seem to mind, but she made a mental note to gift her some nice smelling candles, or something. 

"You’ll get used to it eventually, I’d wager." She spoke as she stepped across the threshold, taking a seat on a chair. Absently, she flicked a speck of dust from the arm. "How are you settling in? Beyond death threats from your fellows, of course." 

[merrillofsabrae]

"Your Elvish has gotten a mite better. Have you been practicing?," she affirms, pleased with the way 'ma serannas' rolls off of Hawke's tongue.  It's rare to find a human who takes so eagerly to the Elvish language-- well, in Merrill's case, it had been rare to see a human at all until quite recently. In that time, Hawke's been nothing short of the perfect counter-foil to the Dalish stereotype of humans as monsters that lurk under the beds of children.

"Ahh. Maybe that's why they get on with you so well, then. I'm still not sure if they like me. Most of the elves here look the other way when they see me coming, and I'm constantly feeling out of place in these clothes. I don't know, it's just so... different from what I'm used to. Not, ah! Not that I'm complaining, though! I'm sure I'll get used to it in time, but for right now-- oh, feel free to tell me to shut up any time, by the way-- where was I. Oh, yes. I'll get used to it."

Merrill coughs a bit-- though not the wet, hacking cough Hawke made earlier-- when she realizes she's gone off the deep end again with regards to rambling. Truthfully, though, she's quite curious about the origins of Hawke's largely friendly relations with Elves. Everything she'd heard of humans led her to expect very much the contrary from them. Every day, Hawke proves her kinsfolk wrong, in all the best ways.

"Oh it's not that I dislike dogs. Just... dogs that are bigger than me. A mabari would right crush me if I took a few misplaced steps in one direction or another. Plus, I," as she motions about the modest little quarters with one hand, liberally (very liberally) applying some jam to her scone with the other. "... don't really have the room to keep one here."

The next bite of scone-y goodness she takes is easily ten times better than the first bite, thanks to her liberal application of sweet jam. The face she makes could only be described as obscenely pleased, as does the squeaky noise that escapes her throat. "Aye, if you like. There are fresh splits by the mantle, and the kettle's still hung if you'd like me to make soup? I think I have everything I need here for it. Oh, and, um... I have a question, if you don't mind?"

Only after she finishes speaking does she finally choke down the scone crumbs in her mouth, offering Hawke an apologetic, puppy-like look for talking with her mouth full. "You, ehm. You get on very well with Elves, don't you? May I ask why? Isn't that... isn't that a bit odd, for a human?"

A Pariah Among Pariahs. (closed)

“Don’t worry,” Petronilla was quick to reassure her companion. “I’m fine, and it’s not contagious.” She smiled at Merrill’s clumsiness in the face of her surprise. Just as she open her mouth to apologize and offer to leave, the elf surprised her. “I—Ah, thank you. Ma serannas.” Relief washed through her like water. Her shoulders slumped, relaxed. No longer was her spine rigid and taut like a bowstring ready to launch a volley of arrows.

Merrill’s rambling was quickly becoming a comforting, almost charming quirk as far as Petronilla viewed it. Her Dalish accent was soothing. It was an accent she heard mostly back in Ferelden, among the clans wandering through Highever, Redcliffe and Lothering. She’d never seen Denerim, the capital, but she’d heard the alienage was spacious and isolated. Highever’s alienage, by order of the Teryn, was perhaps the largest she’d ever seen. Elves in Redcliffe even owned tiny plots of land to grow their own crops. Petronilla loved to run through those fields with her new friends. She reveled in their strange accents, their dances and traditions, but the happiness ended when Malcolm came. Red-faced, he’d drag her away by her hair and scold her until she cried.

She shook away the memories and leaned forward with interest, hands clasped with her elbows supported atop her thighs. “Boo is spending the night with Bethany. You won’t have to worry about her hunting rats. We could find you a mabari, I’m sure. Lots of Fereldans brought their hounds with them when they fled the Blight… Unless you dislike dogs?”

“I… Ah, I wouldn’t exactly call Uncle’s home nicer.” Petronilla admitted bashfully. “I know the people here, anyway. Makes it more comfortable.” The elves had been surprised and wary of her initially: a sweet but reticent human willing to deliver mothers of their children without thought for coin, a woman of compassion who offered to tend to the wounded and the sick—Again, without thought for coin. It had surprised her to meet Anders, who had taken the same task upon himself. Many people trusted her for her good deeds. She was a professional, and her skill was beginning to become known in Kirkwall. The nobles were beginning to demand her services, and no was not an option with the coin they offered in return.

Offering a nod and a sealed jar of jam, Petronilla smiled. Though she could still feel a bitter coppery taste in the back of her throat, she did not want Merrill to worry. At best, she could sneak out to cough once Merrill had fallen asleep. No one gave spilt blood a second glance in Lowtown, least of all the Alienage. “I’m all right,” she repeated. “I can draw the fire.” 

[merrillofsabrae]

Every time Fenris is rude to you, I kind of want to smack him across the face with a shovel.

"Maker! Don’t do that. That’s impossibly rude! Fenris is just… set in his ways. I feel bad for him, the poor thing. Certainly not to the point where I’d harm him… He’s had enough people do that as it is.”

[merrillofsabrae]

Merrill

[merrillofsabrae]

ooc;

Mun-day photo beneath the cut. Avert your eyes.

excuse me. wtf r u lookin' at

[merrillofsabrae]

friendly reminder that the Dalish frolick. But not in the woods, because the trees get jealous. ✿◕‿◕✿

[merrillofsabrae]

Name [or Nickname]: Natalie | "Tally"  Sexual Orientation: 5 on the Kinsey Scale (a lesbian for all intents and purposes) Tumblr URL[s]: Oh god I have way too many to enumerate upon. Some examples: inductionstraw.tumblr.com (Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy RP blog), forthesoulofmyspecies.tumblr.com (Fem!Shepard RP blog), pistolsandziplines (Lara Croft RP blog), natalievonkarma.tumblr.com (personal) Fandoms: DC comics, Mass Effect, Terminator (esp. the original two films and TSCC), The Avengers, Lord of the Rings, Dragon Age, Skyrim, Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Wars... To name a few. Muse[s]: Far, far too many to list. I'll keep it simple and just say my only DA muse is Merrill. OC Friendly?: Absolutely, OCs are (er, can be) wonderful. I only ask that you don't assume some prior history your character has with Merrill without going over it first. Multi-Fandom Friendly?: Yes and no. ... the term "friendly" makes this sound kind of weasely, though. Like if I don't accept all fandoms I'm being a hateful bitch. When the reality is I'm just not creative enough to brainstorm a reason for why Merrill might be on the starship Enterprise deep in Romulan space. I'm more likely to multi-fandom if the other is similar to my own. Something fantasy based, like LotR. Ship Your Muse With Any Sex?: I tend to prefer femslash pairings because of my own leanings, but in practice most of my characters are bi/pan. Open to SFW RP?: What kind of sick pervert would I be if I said no? ... have people actually said no to this? What is wrong with them? Open to NSFW RP?: Of course! All kinds. Violence, sex, potential TWs, bring it on. Just get the mun's consent first and remember to tag your triggers appropriately. Oh, and be 18+. That is non-negotiable. Open to Conversing OOC?: Sure thing! My contact info for Skype, Steam, and GTalk is listed on my disclaimer tab. Open to Making Friends OOC?: Yessir!

[[ Introducing the Mun. ]]