#;prebreach

[ofdxlish]

Age 25 -- what are your main priorities? Do you feel safe?

Pick an age or point on the character’s timeline, and ask a question. The character will respond as that age.

{ 25 Years old - 9:26 Dragon }

The young elf rubs her arm, dipping her head anxiously. She’s quick to avert her eyes -- very shifty body language all together.

“M-main priorities.... Find someplace safe. So - the answer to your second part is no, I definitely don’t feel safe.” Mihtriel replies. She’s certainly not as muscular - still someplace in between.“I... Haven’t quite found a place that won’t keep me out because I’m an apostate, let alone one that won’t let the Templars know where I am. They’re eager to put me in a Circle if they aren’t the group that is after me.” The young elf shudders.“Plus - there’s talk of... Another Blight. Faint signs... I’m - not prepared to take that on alone.” Mihtriel sighs softly.

[ofdxlish]

{ xstrange }

“Please.”

She never begged or pleaded to a soul - but she’s desperate. “They will kill me or take me to a Circle.       I can’t  -- do that. I just need your help.”

[ofdxlish]

crowblooded said: “All bleeding stops eventually,” Zevran said cheerfully as he rummaged in her pack for something to wrap the wound with; she probably had a salve of some sort, too. Best get that as well.

“J-just - give me a moment.” She grunts again, having to shift her weight properly before moving her arm up. Granted -- she’s not a magnificent healer when it comes to magic, but she knows the extent of what her father taught her.    Her palm glows, nose beginning to drip slightly with the amount of focus it took. Zevran -- knew she was an apostate, didn’t he? Either way, most of the gash has closed leaving something closer to a paper cut. “There should be a rag and cloth in there to cover this.”

[ofdxlish]

{ crowblooded }

Normally -- she’d enjoy the rain. The soft patter against leaves, stepping through soft soil and really feeling the atmosphere of a dampened forest. Yet traveling through the outer region of the Brecilian just south of Denerim wasn’t entirely desirable in a storm like this. Mihtriel would relate it more to the likings of a monsoon, the rain drenching anything out in it. The thunder was like a drum in your ears, rippling through and breaking the noise apart that the torrential downpour provided. She’s lucky to find a cave, taking refuge inside and near the mouth while the weather continues to pound the world outside. With a few bits of tinder and dry wood, Mihtriel sparks a fire with her hand and rolls her bedroll out. A lot of her items within her pack are definitely soaked through, so she lays them out and sighs.    Attempting to get comfortable, the apostate sits cross-legged with a bit of dry meat on her lap. It’s a small meal, but she sips from water out of her water skin and stares into the open flame. The rain is a bit drowned out from where she is inside, though the silence is broken when she hears footsteps. A hand reaches for her sword, the Dalish prepared to defend herself if need be.

[ofdxlish]

[ofdxlish]

shxdowtrxckers:

The younger boy who didn’t appear to be quite old stood before her. Heat from the sun was being drawn into his black slacks and long shirt as he stared at the little elf girl who snapped at him. Eyes widened as he appeared to be shock at the sudden outburst. Taking in the surrounding area, realizing that he had wander off the path that would take him home to his master. Looking at the girl once more who appeared to not backing down and to the bag he carried, he had gotten quite a bit of loafs of bread for the house and he figured they wouldn’t notice if one went missing. A smile appeared on his face as he grabbed a loaf of bread and offer it to the girl. “You want some, miss?”  

Mihtriel was only about six herself - as fiery as the magic she'd recently discovered. Realizing that the other probably didn't mean to step her way, she loosens her tiny fists and huffs. Her head turns away, arms crossed defiantly. "I don't need your food." She grumbles.      To be honest, all of the stubbornness was fear. What would happen if a much older human came along? Mihtriel's mindset was that she had to act tough so that the boy could tell anyone else that the Sebrae clan was not to be messed with. Turning back, green eyes stare him down. "What are you doing so far out here?" The little voice adds, puffing her chest out.

[ofdxlish]

"Don't chase the rabbit!"

Send me “Don’t chase the rabbit” and your muse will be shown a random memory from my muse’s past.

Heart is racing - she feels the magic bubbling within her as she tries so hard to hide it all. Mihtriel doesn’t want to be carted off to a Circle- she doesn’t want to serve or be killed just for being what she is. The young elf is absolutely petrified. The same group of people who had killed her father and her mother, probably even her brother — here and stepping through her small, makeshift camp.   It’s hardly dawn and she stirs within her thin, leather bedroll.The elf squeaks, tugged up by the collar of her shirt. Tugging free, she hops to the other side of the dying fire while surrounded by four of them. Luckily for her she doesn’t carry a staff— nothing at all to hint to her being a mage. She messes with her hands, green eyes flashing like a feline’s in the slowly growing light.   “You. Sources are telling us there’s an elf in these parts that’s a mage. An apostate - burning down crops and killing off livestock." Mihtriel gulps, face paling. This wasn’t her doing, and she had a sickening feeling that they’d try to put the blame on her regardless. Her voice is small, even with how strong she attempts to be. The man in armor towers over her, tying her stomach in knots.   “N-no— it’s not me. I’m not even a mage.” Mihtriel replies.He scoffs. “Not a mage? You look a lot like one." He chuckles, stepping closer. "Why are you alone? You and your filth usually travel together, right?" Intimidation- he’s clearly trying to scare her into either revealing her magic or possibly something worse. Mihtriel was silent, so his hand snaps up to seize her neck. She yelps out in protest, a swift gag leaving her lips when he shakes her around. "Well -?!”   Mihtriel is left frantically shaking her head, gasping for air.      ”N-no— I-I’ve been sent out hunting!” She wheezes.The Templar drops her, and she hurriedly scrambles back on the dirt below.   ”Aie- not worth the energy or the trouble. Be glad a bear didn’t get yah." And they’re gone. Mihtriel waits, tugging her bedroll over. She’s petrified - clinging to the leather before she succumbs to shaky weeping into it’s depths.    All she could do now was keep moving.