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Merrill - Blog Posts
While I haven’t quite pinned down her appearance yet, I can say for a fact that modern AU Marian’s wardrobe would be abt 60% stupid print shirts and that her gfs would probably have to bear the brunt of her fashion sense on occasion
Also ey check out my giveaway that I’m just going to blatantly advertize because I’m shameless like that
Spin this wheel to get a Dragon Age Valentine
isabela’s drunk and keeps laughing at her own jokes
merrill is confused
I feel like getting that letter from Varric would be the last push Merrill needs to get her Eluvian working again. Then she’d march into Skyhold, grab both Varric and the Inquisitor by the ear and drag them back into the Fade to rescue her girlfriend.
my best drawings! HAHA I love it!
day 20!!! merrill is here as the smol dragon age character today!!
i’m almost out of my last round of requests so if there’s someone you wanna see let me know!!
merrill dragon age really reverse engineered an eluvian from first principles in a cave with a box of scraps and one single blighted shard. and STILL she gets no respect for it from anyone but potentially hawke, at least in a confused yet well-meaning 'are ya winning son' sort of way on the friendship path. dark days for women in STEM
(really though it seems the equivalent of a person in the middle ages putting together a nokia phone from rocks and sticks (and one coaching session from a spirit, fair enough) and then just not being able to figure out how to turn it on even though it is fully functioning. magically at least merrill is inarguably a genius. the tony stark of kirkwall. well not really that comparison falls apart pretty quickly but you see what I'm saying here lmao)
Keeping your head down is the best way to achieve the next-best thing to safety in the Kirkwall alienage. Some neighbors are better at it than others, and sometimes, an elf will need a little extra help to keep attention off her.
(AKA. Assorted members of the Kirkwall alienage do their best to not put their resident Dalish neighbor in harm's way. 845 words.)
i've been a bit busy these past few weeks, but i can finally write again and have churned out a late quick little kirkwall-centric piece for @cityelfweek 's community prompt! i've a small handful of other projects bubbling in the doc, so hopefully i'll manage 2 or 3 more before the event is run ^_^
City Elf Appreciation Week- Day 3- Community
Day 3 - Community for @cityelfweek
- Close-knit family, or claustrophobic little box?
I had the idea of Merril being accepted by the alienage...or at least the kids... and this is what come out... lol
Merril’s strings hung about the Vhenadahl, the children of the alienage's new past time when she was lost. She smiled up at the tree, the knotted bits hopelessly tangled about it’s branched fingers.
‘Miss Merril! MISS MERRIL!” A cacophony of children's voices called out, each young ones hands full with wads of twine, different colors and weights. Adults going about their duties glance and shake their heads. Their kids' antics with the Wild One are none of their business if no harm comes their way.
‘Hullo, children! I seem to be lost! Could you all help me find my way back to my house?” She crouched to the level of the closet, a young freckled girl. She smiled warmly, accepting the twine she handed her.
“This way Miss Merril! This way! The young girl grabbed her hands and all the children began tugging her back through the alleys towards her home and hearth.
“Do you have any stories for us, Miss Merril?”
“Is Mr. Sparkles coming again?”
Giggling, Merril let them lead her, their questions and smiles warming her heart and making her think of the Clan she lost.
“Now, don’t go letting Fenris hear you call him that, Thomas, he might get extra sparkly.” She ruffled Thomas’ red curls.
“But he does sparkle! Specially when the shems get surly with yah, Miss Merril!”
“Everyone gets surly with her. Thom”
“That’s cuz she’s one of us now! Them shems just don’t get it!” Huffed one of the older kids, her name at the tip of MErril’s tongue.
A looming shadow caused the children to abruptly stop. “She’s one of you lots, now, ey?”
Merril tilted her head back and smiled. The children all quickly turning to stare up at the newcomer.
“Of course! Mr. Sparkles!”
Glare
“-er, Mr. Fenris, sir.” Thomas scuffed his toes in the dirt. “Here, you can help her find the rest of the way home.“ He tossed the string in his hands at the scary elf and ran, laughing as the other children did the same, the voices echoing down the alley.
Merril turned, covering her grin with a hand. Fenris stood there, face impassive, tangled in a rainbow of threads.
“Hullo, Mr. Sparkles, I think I can find my the rest of the way myself…” She tilted back on her heels, mirth in her eyes.
Day 1: Vhenadahl
Written for @cityelfweek day 1! One of my favourite parts of DA lore is how many of our Elvhen companions cannot be neatly categorised into one of two boxes human society designates for them. I wanted to start the week writing about that overlap with Merrill and the city elves she lives among for, at this point, most of her adult life.
“Ir abelas,” Merrill mutters as she makes the first cut. The sapling branch surrenders easilyl to her shears, falling to the earth with little more hurry than a feather from a bird’s wing. She pats the trunk fondly. “I promise we’re almost through.”
When the wind stirs, it’s almost like it’s answering. She smiles, satisfied, and moves onto the next branch. Though she had promised to be done soon, she does not rush the task before her. From the rare traveller that passes through, she has come to learn the vhenadahl is the beating heart of the Alienage, and unique as the community it represents. Some exist only as stumps, sitting places for elves to gather and chatter, others grow in impossible ways, defying the desert sun to offer shade to the People on hopelessly hot days. As she understands it, the one in Hossburg is just a cutting, the old tree felled in a mighty storm.
Merrill, for her part, has become quite proud of Kirkwall’s. Mighty it grows, and tall. The paint they had decorated it with on Summerday has begun to fade in the fierce sunshine of August, pigment clinging brightest where the boughs gather the darkest shadow. Soon, the elven new year will be upon them, and they will hang ribbons in her branches and paint patterns in her bark once again.
She reaches for the next branch, snipping deftly. The slice of the blades are so sharp, she doesn’t hear the quiet gasp behind her.
“Why are you hurting the tree, hahren?” A small voice asks. Merrill pauses her pruning to look down, met by the sweet face of Libi, Elara’s daughter. Her wild blonde hair is freshly tamed and combed into two thick plaits. She’d broken from a pack of nearby children to accost Merrill with her question, dolly held limply by her side.
“Oh.” Merrill’s teeth drive into her lower lip, impressing a faint line. The Alienage’s children don’t often address her, content to let her be an oddity. The strange, Dalish lady they could imagine all sorts of things about, as children are like to do with things they do not understand. It doesn’t trouble her, she had been no less strange to her clan, and no better with their children. “I’m not hurting it, da’len. I’m helping.”
She lifts her hand, rubbing the trunk of the tree like she strokes the side of some great, friendly beast. “You prune the branches to help it grow. Think of it like… if you had an arm-” Merrill sticks her thumb against her forehead, fingers splaying out like leaves on a branch- “growing out of your forehead! Or… a leg in your ear.” She tilts her head, like the imaginary appendage weighs it to one side.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Libi remarks, perhaps considering the extra toys she could tote around with her if she had an extra arm.
Merrill laughs. “You might be alright,” she says, “but trees will tip over.”
Libi nods with a stoic understanding. She steps over to the pile of sticks Merrill has gathered through her morning’s work. “What will these be for?”
The shoots are still green, flush with water, and will make for poor kindling. Among the Dalish, it had made them the ideal spit to roast their dinners on, but there is no shortage to their use. “They may dry clean laundry, or make for a little slingshot.” She strays in her task to pluck one that diverges like a fork in a river, separate ends just far apart enough to tie something between them. “Maybe a little loom?”
“A sword,” Libbi declares, leaving no room for argument. With her free hand, she reaches out, but thinks twice before snatching it. Merrill can almost hear mamae’s voice reprimanding her for her lack of manners. “May I have one?”
“Uh, of course! But choose wisely, da’len.”
Libi takes her words to heart, deliberating until she finds the narrowest stick in the pile. She brandishes it like a rapier, then, apparently satisfied with her decisions, bounds back to her friends as though no time has passed. A little ‘thank you’ follows her retreat, manners not entirely abandoned now that she had what she came for.
Merrill smiles, taking heart in the fact that they had parted as friends. The parents had taken to calling her hahren for her knowledge, but without children to teach, it often felt an empty title. It’s only when she hears the whip of a twig against bare flesh that she realises her mistake. That afternoon, the shade of the vhenadahl nurses many a skinned knee as a little war plays out beneath its boughs.
It's WIP WEDNESDAY! Thanks for the tag @merrybandofmurderers @ammoniteflesh and @blarrghe for your recent (and not-so-recent) tags. I promise I'm writing. I've just hit a bit of a block.
Here's an excerpt from No Town More Barren Than Our Town. If I'm lucky I won't scrap it haha. Also tagging @tea42 and @rakshadow if y'all want to share. Sorry if I missed someone! I haven't done this in a bit.
It was Merrill. Surrounded by no small amount of rubble, indicating that the intensity of her knocking may have had magical assistance. Shocked out of his moroseness, he choked back a laugh. “Don’t laugh!” She insisted, “I’m quite cross with you.” An acid retort on his tongue, Fenris stopped himself, remembering the way Merrill’s stone fist had careened toward Danarius only a few days ago. They may not agree on much, but she deserved some respect from him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Did you want to come in?” “I want you to come out,” she insisted. “Merrill…” She shook her head, “We’re painting the Vhenadahl. You’re tall enough to reach the high branches. Come on.” For some reason, when she turned on her heel to walk off, he followed. They didn’t speak as the wound their way through the city streets- or, more accurately, Fenris didn’t speak. Merrill muttered to herself, trying to keep track of the directions in the winding city streets. “Five streets down from the chanters board…” she murmured, tracking the street numbers on her fingers. Despite himself, Fenris smiled slightly. The day was bright, the Kirkwall sky uncharacteristically blue overhead. The alienage was wild with activity when they arrived. Elven children scrambled through the square, streaks of paint color blocking faces and clothes. There was a fry-bread scent in the air and the sound of lutes and drums. He couldn’t help himself, “Have you brought me to a party?” “It’s a festival, Fenris,” she emphasized, pressing a bucket of paint into his hands,”I’ve been told it’s rather different.” “You’ve been told?” “Well, I haven’t exactly been invited to a lot of parties.”
