Having just spent a year of her life crisscrossing Ferelden in a grand effort to amass an army that wanted to be amassed about as much as cats want to be herded, Morrigan is not pleased to be inserted into someone else's war.
Worse, a war in a time and place where she is expected to cover her face. She does not pass for man well, in her opinion, and she makes a minimal . While she has very reluctantly been convinced to cover her face for the sake of blending, she takes a contrary sort of pleasure in noting when her golden eyes unnerve someone.
One man, weak from blood loss, has a near instant dislike for her despite the measures she has taken to blend in with those around her. He points a trembling finger in her direction and refuses to let her be the one to dress his wounds. She all but shrugs, not at all unwilling to let someone else go to the trouble. Fools who would sooner die are always welcome to take their chances.
She pushes the bandages she holds into the hands of the nearest person. "You are welcome to him."
[ playing doctor (b) ]
An herbalist separated from potions and many of the plants to which she is most accustomed, her particular brand of medical expertise only goes so far here and now. Still, she is not afraid to get her hands dirty, does not flinch at the sight of blood, and has no problem being the one to deliver bad news or help hold someone down when a limb is to be removed.
At one point she finds herself delivering a drink of water to a man fighting off infection as he wakes from a fevered nightmare. With him she shows less prickliness. Only weeks ago she slept beside Aedan, waking with him when dreams of the Archdemon plagued him. She learned the hard way that not even her sleeping draughts can ease a Grey Warden's nights during a Blight.
She is careful as she helps the man drink, even dabbing the sweat from his forehead before she leaves him. Walking away, she nearly collides with a face familiar if only through moving in the same circles today. Her tone offers little
"Is there something you need?" Her tone does not promise an eagerness to help.
[ girls just wanna have fun ]
Though no stranger to battle, she is not yet convinced she wishes to risk life and limb for a cause she has not exactly chosen. Avoiding the chaos of direct combat for now, in the middle of the night she finds herself with a partner, attempting stealth. They are to make sure that the enemy gets no rest but she is not supposed to draw attention to herself? A waste of her talents.
Careful to get the pair in her line of sight without alerting anyone, she plants Horror in their minds with a single graceful gesture of her hands. Within moments both are in a panic, yelling and running around as though a dragon has swooped down upon the unsuspecting camp.
Dropping quickly back into a crouch, she watches with a slow half-smile of satisfaction.
"Not as cathartic as fire," she acknowledges in a low voice, "but it will do for the moment." Her eyes flick to her companion. "Only a temporary effect. Do you have another idea?"
(As always, happy to match brackets if that's your pref! For any potential canonmates I'm looking at a shortly post-Origins Morrigan, so early-to-mid twenties and romanced but no ritual and a dead Warden.)
Morrigan | Dragon Age
Having just spent a year of her life crisscrossing Ferelden in a grand effort to amass an army that wanted to be amassed about as much as cats want to be herded, Morrigan is not pleased to be inserted into someone else's war.
Worse, a war in a time and place where she is expected to cover her face. She does not pass for man well, in her opinion, and she makes a minimal . While she has very reluctantly been convinced to cover her face for the sake of blending, she takes a contrary sort of pleasure in noting when her golden eyes unnerve someone.
One man, weak from blood loss, has a near instant dislike for her despite the measures she has taken to blend in with those around her. He points a trembling finger in her direction and refuses to let her be the one to dress his wounds. She all but shrugs, not at all unwilling to let someone else go to the trouble. Fools who would sooner die are always welcome to take their chances.
She pushes the bandages she holds into the hands of the nearest person. "You are welcome to him."
[ playing doctor (b) ]
An herbalist separated from potions and many of the plants to which she is most accustomed, her particular brand of medical expertise only goes so far here and now. Still, she is not afraid to get her hands dirty, does not flinch at the sight of blood, and has no problem being the one to deliver bad news or help hold someone down when a limb is to be removed.
At one point she finds herself delivering a drink of water to a man fighting off infection as he wakes from a fevered nightmare. With him she shows less prickliness. Only weeks ago she slept beside Aedan, waking with him when dreams of the Archdemon plagued him. She learned the hard way that not even her sleeping draughts can ease a Grey Warden's nights during a Blight.
She is careful as she helps the man drink, even dabbing the sweat from his forehead before she leaves him. Walking away, she nearly collides with a face familiar if only through moving in the same circles today. Her tone offers little
"Is there something you need?" Her tone does not promise an eagerness to help.
[ girls just wanna have fun ]
Though no stranger to battle, she is not yet convinced she wishes to risk life and limb for a cause she has not exactly chosen. Avoiding the chaos of direct combat for now, in the middle of the night she finds herself with a partner, attempting stealth. They are to make sure that the enemy gets no rest but she is not supposed to draw attention to herself? A waste of her talents.
Careful to get the pair in her line of sight without alerting anyone, she plants Horror in their minds with a single graceful gesture of her hands. Within moments both are in a panic, yelling and running around as though a dragon has swooped down upon the unsuspecting camp.
Dropping quickly back into a crouch, she watches with a slow half-smile of satisfaction.
"Not as cathartic as fire," she acknowledges in a low voice, "but it will do for the moment." Her eyes flick to her companion. "Only a temporary effect. Do you have another idea?"
(As always, happy to match brackets if that's your pref! For any potential canonmates I'm looking at a shortly post-Origins Morrigan, so early-to-mid twenties and romanced but no ritual and a dead Warden.)