Dragon Age: Absolution is an alternate universe RPG based on BioWare's video game and novel series. DA: Absolution is rated 18+ for mature content, and played in a highly literate third-person perspective. All DA concepts and pictures belong to Bioware and their respective artists.

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10.5 - Absolution is open, active and welcomes you! What has changed in the past few months? A civil war has started in Ferelden! Seekers have arrived in Kirkwall, and tensions are higher than ever. And pirates? Come, join the fun!

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Quote of the Week-

❝There has yet to be a thing that I have wanted that gold cannot buy. Drink. Food. New armour. New blades. Boys. Girls. Gold is what makes the world turn, princess, whether you want to admit it or not."
Orion Stormborn[src]

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Aug 16 2014, 02:17 AM
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<div class="takeit"><div style="width: 240px; margin: 0px 15px 0px 15px;">18</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px;"></div>
<div class="takeit"><div style="width: 240px; margin: 0px 15px 0px 15px;">HOMOSEXUAL</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px;"></div>
<div class="takeit"><div style="width: 240px; margin: 0px 15px 0px 15px;">GREY WARDEN</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px;"></div>
<div class="takeit"><div style="width: 240px; margin: 0px 15px 0px 15px;">MAGE</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px;"></div>
<div class="takeit"><div style="width: 240px; margin: 0px 15px 0px 15px;">PRIMAL, ELEMENTAL</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px;"></div>
<div class="takeit"><div style="width: 240px; margin: 0px 15px 0px 15px;">ARCANE WARRIOR (In Training)</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px;"></div>
<div class="takeit"><div style="width: 240px; margin: 0px 15px 0px 15px;">STAFF AND SWORD</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px;"></div>
<div class="takeit"><div style="width: 240px; margin: 0px 15px 0px 15px;">CHAOTIC/NEUTRAL GOOD</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 10px;"></div>

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<p>Not only was fire the colour of her hair and eyes, in her first haunt of a memory it danced from the tips of her ears, caressing her cheek and gnawing at her toes. The trees were painted with it, a sprawling forest set alight.

<p>And the screams. They burned the small girl more than thousand flaming tongues.

<p>Illia! Illia! My lethalin!

<p>A wilderness consumed and towering wall of flame stood between mother and child, the former dragged away from the chaos by a lover and father. The latter, left to scream. Biting, gnawing, the heat mangled and charred cloth and flesh, as the wafts of smoke filled her the tiny lungs. Sending the small girl hurling headfirst into darkness.

<p>But not death. Never death.

<p>It was the same dream every night, the young elf relived her first and only memory of her mother. Of her clan. Of her origin. Even from the safety of the top bunk of her apprentice quarter nest, it was frightening, even in moments waking. Still, she was glad for it. It was all that she had.

<p>That dream, and the scars on her body. Burns that ravaged her skin. A mark of fire stood apart on her left cheek, the strangest of convolutions. It touched the corner of her lip, spreading up and out to the bottom of her ear and tip of her nose, only just avoiding her eye. To match there are marks that cover her torso, in patches of scarred skin and the imprint of a tree branch up her left leg. So many scars. A reminder of her past each time she looked in the mirror. If only she remembered the sweetness, instead of the all consuming fear. And the night of her abandon.

<p>Four, she was, and her life before that night had been sweet and peaceful. A child of the Dalish, a huntress Ashalle and a craftsman, Tiren. United by love, the sweet girl was produced in a union of love, bearing the sweetest and humblest of beginnings.

<p>Before marred by the scars of the forest fire, that tore her from her peaceful destiny.

<p>She would have been left at the mercy of the more carnivorous creatures of the forest if not for the simple kindness of a forest ranger. The man had narrowly escaped the fires with his life, and upon making his way through the parts already burned as any sane man would. This looming man did stumble across the body of the child, scarred and torn in her state of decay. The pictures of innocent, even in her ravaged form. At peace, she looked, yet a pulse was found upon inspection. What man could justify leaving a small child to die, no matter her race? Not this one. Although perhaps in the long run, it would have been better for him.

<p>Illia woke with a cough and splutter, to the scent of elfroot and the smile of a kindly man. The sweetest of small yawns, and a rub of her eyes with her tiny, aching hands. In the safety of a woodland cottage, she was confused and afraid. But not alone.

<p>"Where is mama?"

<p>A question without a solid answer. A question she never stopped asking in the coming months, as this ranger took her in and raised her as his own. A daughter, almost. As he'd always wanted.

<p>Until, of course, the day the orange eyed girl turned the yellowing grass the same colour as her eyes, with the heat of her past overtaking. The young elf had been asleep in the fields as she bathed in the sun, not prepared for the dream and the fresh sting of the memory. A grassfire, all sparked from her small hand. Her tiny hand and that same question she'd asked had started the fire. Another blaze to seal her doom.

<p>With this mistake came the sorrow of a man, whom for but a few years had his one wish fulfilled. Strangled sobs emanated from the charred cottage, as the armoured mage hunters took the child away. Seven, she was, when the Templars took her from her home. A little girl, abandoned to the mercy of the Chantry. Forced half way across Thedas, tired and hungry, to the Circle in Cumberland, Nevvara.

<p>This prompted many nights of lying awake with her silent tears, calling for papa, for mama, for home. Screaming, in her mind, not wanting to face the nightmares that would spark from the moment she opened her eyes. For almost the first year of her confinement in the Circle Of Magi, Illia was entirely a miserable being. Magically, she was incredibly unstable, and generally uninterested in the theory behind it all. As quiet as a ghost, she spoke less than she smiled. Infinitesimal. This was not remedied by her natural clumsiness, rather furthered by the sharp laughter of the children surrounding her. At each stumble, each stutter, it was a twist of the knife. There was a gaunt look in her eyes, the very essence of haunting.

<p>The poor girl had nothing to live for, putting it frankly. Lost in an endless despair, the terror of her nightmares shaking what little passion she had left. These vivid, viscid dreams left her shaking and sobbing. Those sleeping under her never stayed there for long, always requesting another bunk to share. The requests always seemed to be acquiesced.

<p>It is actually possible to pin the change in her life down to a single moment. A single kindness, the first after months of suffering under the tyranny of her own mind and the cruelty of her small peers. The soft patter of footsteps, as a small being climbed the rungs. This being faced the shaky, miserable Illia, recently woken from a recreation of the forest fire, by simply lying down beside her.

<p>"It's going to be alright," a small voice had whispered, fragile fingers grasping the damp hand of the girl. "You see, you were only dreaming. Really, right now, you're just lying in your bed. Whatever was hurting you, can't anymore." Wise words, coming from the lips of another girl, not quite as small, but only a few years older. The conversation continued in this direction, one sided just until Illia's bunkmate had decided to return the warmth of her own cot. The following were perhaps the first words she'd spoken in weeks.

<p>"Don't go."

<p>And she didn't. Naela stayed put, the two girls set to whisper long into the night. A human, strawberry blonde with the brightest green eyes, and a heart full of hope and love. This dreamy companion was the greatest gift given unto the young elf. Naela's company had changed Illia completely. The mist of misery began to shake as they grew into each other's company. For the first time since she'd arrived, Illia had opened her eyes to the world around her. There were dozens and dozens of other children, elves and humans alike, all forced into this sanctum. This gilded cage. Not that she understood that, in the early years of her training, in fact, there was much about her situation covered by youthful optimism alone. Mostly the optimism of Naela who seemed to believe the Circle was a wonderful thing. The entire friendship, two inseparable beings set to confide in one and other...and make wonderful mischief. It was beautiful.

<p>At last, Illia had a childhood. Albeit full of books and lessons, stumbles and falls, each time she got back up again with a smile on her face. The more she spoke, the less cruel her surroundings became. Soon every day was a wonderful to her as Naela's emerald eyes. Although at first she was shy, upon getting to know her one was brought into the light. Such a loud child in a lot of cases, as if all of the years of despair had to be made up for in each moment. Dragged out of her shell by her best friend. Her constant companion. It felt entirely meant to be.

<p>Sure, the pair had their ups and downs. As the inseparable pair grew into adolescence they caused a fair bit of trouble as well! In the First Enchanter's office for inappropriate use of stockroom supplies, forced to scrub the Chanty floor after a certain run in regarding the catacombs....the list continues in this direction rather continuously. The giggling, freckled girl had a way of finding trouble by simply going on a walk. She was a magnet.

<p>Attracting as much chaos as she wrought. At fifteen, she still had immense trouble controlling her powers and her immense connection with the elements. Far greater than any of her peers, yet lacking in almost every other field. And fire, fire was her true gift. It came so naturally to her, yet she struggled to control it ever do tragically.

<p>Safe to say, they should never have been instructed to go over fire spells in a library. Illia spent a lot of time picking up charred parchment, with her faithful friend at her side.

<p>A luxury she was not afforded for long. Naela was taken for her Harrowing in the dead of the night, near Illia's sixteenth name day. Around the same time that the young elf had come to realise that she loved her.

<p>Forever, this went unspoken. Naela never came back. She was possessed, or so whispered a Templar friend in the corner of a corridor. Stuck down by a Templar blade.

<p>Misery again overcame. If Illia's natural sweetness, the truth of her person had not attracted so many to her whilst Naela was alive, she would have surely taken her own life. But her motley crew of friends, Mages, Templars and Chantry Initiates alike, they kept her out of trouble. Wherever she has been, she has been loved. Even in her destruction.

<p>Slowly, the pieces were placed together again. Although one does not simply recover from a loss such as that. It changed you. And it changed her. Illia now dedicated a lot of her time to mastering the elements, wanting to control her greatest fear. To use it as a weapon. Against what? She didn't know. She wouldn't, not until seventeen.

<p>It was at almost seventeen when the news reached her ears. A Templar, dear friend by the name of Caine, had stopped her again in a corridor and told it to her straight. What smile there was, was completely stolen from the Elven girl's face. Caine had seen the paper on the desk of his superior, his heart seizing in fear.

<p>They fear you are too unstable, unpredictable, that you'll become too powerful, and shall make you Tranquil for this alone. This is madness! Illia, we have to get you out of here.

<p>And so they did.

<p>Was she again abandoned? Betrayed by the Circle, left by her friends. Even as they helped her, they left her to the cruelty of the world.

<p>She made it to the border of Nevvara, a starving wreck the verge of the country and that of the Anderfels. No further. Before the Templars caught up, having tracked her down their own brand of blood magic, the cursed vial of her blood. Phylactory. The elven girl threw fire and ice, as she tried to run from her attackers and into a new place. A fresh start. Even a country of barren landscapes and darkspawn was better than to be tranquil.

<p>Never to feel...

<p>It fuelled her more, though in the end she failed. Her arms bound, her head pressed to the stump of a tree. There wasn't even the justice of the Circle, no, the malifecar had to be dealt with then and there. By the Templars three, two unknowns and Caine. With whom, a traitors death awaits.

<p>There was no knight in shining armour, no silver saviour. Instead, grey. A ragged man with an eye patch and numbers on his side. It was blurred, the entire exchanged by the tears and her own desperate cries. A fighter till the end, but this wasn't her end. This was the end of her pursuers, as they unsheathed their swords.

<p>Whereas her attacks had been unpredictable, wild and explosives. This new figure, the one eyed man, his were as precise as they were utterly deadly. Even in her panic she was slightly awed. By the mismatched bunch who defended, they fought with precision unseen to the small girl. Who at this time, was indeed a day past seventeen.

<p>From there it was simple. The girl with the flaming hair was conscripted, her saving grace from all pursuers. For some reason, some unknown reason, Vincello Cervantes, Warden Constable of the Anderfels and a most powerful mage had elected to take Illia under his wing.

<p>Grey Wardens, the folk she'd heard about in the legends. The Queen of Ferelden was a Grey Warden, the heroic sort. They fought the darkspawn, they saved the world. Better than dying. Better than the way she'd been living. If she'd been asked, she would have accepted.

<p>Instead, she went along with it all. At first, as quiet as a mouse. Scared perhaps, staying back and watching with wide eyes. Admiring and fearing her new companions. Who would in the next year become the closest thing she'd ever had to a family. It was the same man who'd invoked the right of conscription who melted the ice over the firey girl, slowly brought her true self into the light. Surprisingly bubbly under the surface, sweet and sometimes loud...most definitely short tempered, to top it all.

<p>It was a new stage in live, in which she was determined to prove herself. For the past year she'd been training and learning, waiting until the Wardens would let her join their ranks. It was a matter of age more than anything but that didn't matter to her. She was determined, utterly determined to prove herself and be of use to the wardens. It was a natural determination, the same determination the ever so clumsy elf used to sneak into the pantry every so often. (Say what you will about life with the Wardens, but the food, oh the food...)

<p>Other than pantry shenanigans, it caused her to suffer through every training session which left her bruised and slightly singed. To continue to overcome her issues with fire, learning how to control it alongside her much loved mentor/ To be a hero. To make her mentor proud.

<p>Ah, the idealism of youth. Perhaps it would be beaten out of her by the hardships that her future would bestow? Or perhaps it would and will soldier on. Just as she has. The firey eyed girl.

Appearance notes:

<p>From the forest fire, she has burn marks all over the left side of her body. The most noticeable is on her face, starting just under her eye and ending at the top of her neck, slightly touching the corner of her mouth. The rest are spread out from her lower torso to her ankles, with the appropriate prominence of an old scar.

<p>Otherwise, her features are very pixielike and elvhen, big wide eyes and a small and pointy nose.

<div style="text-align: center; border-top: 1px dotted #778877; margin-top: 10px;"><div style="text-align: right; font-family: times; font-size: 12px; color: #a12a27; font-style: italic; text-transform: lowercase; line-height: 30px; letter-spacing: 3px; text-shadow: 1px 1px #eee;">▸ Amy. Almostseventeen. GMT + 10. </div>


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