Update: No longer accepting random starters. Please inbox me to plot!
To be quite honest, I think of myself as rather approachable and lenient regarding roleplays. Here are some guidelines, which can and will be updated as I see fit. Additionally, I would recommend that you read this for a brief introduction to the writer, and this for Abelas’ verses.
Basics;; Writer 21+, not selective or private. I don't want to exclude anyone on principle, so I am free to be approached by non-mutuals. multi-ship/multi-verse. standard rules apply, including remembering to trim posts and not reblogging asks. reply to asks as a new post for the thread. skype available to all (sunshinehalla)! open to all writing styles, from one-liners to para or novella.
Abelas is aromantic & asexual. what this means is while I’m open to multiple platonic ships with the same character, he is not open to romantic or sexual shipping.
On tagging;; I have no triggers, personally, but I’ll try to be as considerate as possible. The format will be -> trigger ///<- and -> nsfw /// <- and if I miss something, please don’t be afraid to approach me politely about it.
Regarding the story;; I will automatically assume that all interactions take place at any point after the Arbor Wilds/What Pride Had Wrought questline, unless otherwise specified. Accordingly, this is not a spoiler-free blog, and end-game plot points may be mentioned. This is a good reference for Abelas’ Inquisition verse.
Regarding characters;; Abelas will automatically interact with all companions as though they had been present at the Well of Sorrows and that he left in peace — again, unless otherwise specified. Every character will be treated as unique. There are no duplicates. Therefore, if you see me interacting with a like muse, don’t feel intimidated/threatened/disappointed, etc. Every player has a different perspective and approach, and they all bring something new to the table. Besides, each exists singularly for Abelas.
I’ll love you if;; you send me a meme, you strike up a conversation, you ask questions! Abelas might be super srs disagreeable, but I promise I try to be perfectly friendly. c:
Also, please note that I tend to use endearments -- sweetie, sweetheart -- because I am trying to show my affection. If these bother you in any way, let me know and I will accommodate accordingly!
№1 I have the right to refuse to roleplay. I don’t need a reason. I don’t need to offer a reason. Usually, it’s because I’m bogged down with threads, or I want to focus on the ones I have. Please understand and be respectful, and I will be respectful in return.
№2 Similarly, I reserve the right to unfollow at any time. Same rules apply — I don’t need to have or give a reason. Typically, this will occur when we haven’t interacted ever or in a long time, and/or there are too many ooc posts on my dash and I want to keep things clean. It’s truly nothing personal against you.
№3 I sometimes do drop threads. I drop more often that I like. So of course, you can, too. Sometimes roleplays or character interaction moves beyond that particular thread. Sometimes inspiration just doesn’t come to me. 95% of the time, however, I’ve just saved it to drafts or I happened to miss it. You can always step forward to communicate with me. If it’s been a few weeks and I haven’t replied, it’s perfectly fine to casually let me know.
№4 On that note — communicate! I LOVE to talk ooc. It’s fun to get to know my partner and I think the roleplays turn out better when we discuss things outside of the thread. Is it getting stale? Do you have a new idea? Do you want to drop it? Are you uncomfortable with something I wrote? Please let me know. Feel free to add me on skype -- sunshinehalla. Please keep in mind that I have 180+ contacts on there and I tend to very quickly get overwhelmed. Furthermore, I am often not logged in to that skype, so do not take it to heart if you send me a message and I do not respond, even if you see me active on tumblr.
№5 I will not roleplay with personals, and generally prefer that all roleplay blogs have a rules page in addition to a codex or an "about" equivalent.
law
Vita: : a brief biographical sketch; Latin ⊰∬ literally, L I F E
( spoilers to follow )
Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas
What once might have been known of Abelas’ life before the fall of Arlathan has been lost to the ocean of time. Indeed, it is likely that his very name, Abelas {Sorrow}, was given to him — or that it was a title which he, himself, took up years later.
He was a servant - slave ? - and guardian of Mythal’s temple in the Arbor Wilds for thousands of years, adrift in the long slumber of uthenera when not directly required to defend it. Each time he and his brethren awoke, a little more of the world they had known was lost forever, slipped from their grasp.
Their numbers dwindling and the treasures of the Elvhen nearly gone from this world, Abelas had little to defend by the time Morrigan and the Inquisitor reached his sacred charge — the Well of Sorrows. He was willing to destroy the Well to protect the Vir’Abelasan from the corrupting taint of unworthy shemlen and ignorant blunderers seeking to wrest away his life’s purpose.
His destiny upon him now, one way or another, Abelas relinquished his ancient duty at last…or fell into shadow and memory.
Mythal sulevin
{ If Abelas is dead in your world state, feel free to plot with me or otherwise assume that he clawed his way back into consciousness, and fled the Arbor Wilds after his singular purpose for staying there had been taken away. Otherwise, assume that he is quite alive. }
For the first time in millennia, he has no duty, no reason to exist or to linger in one place. He searches for any trace of the Elvhen; he searches for purpose…and for the Inquisition that dances on the knife’s edge, and which holds the power to change the very fate of the world.
—In time, he might seek out the Inquisitor, his curiosity and his quest for purpose providing him with few other options. In the Inquisition, he might find a cause, even if he could never bring himself to pledge his services or his spirit fully to them. He could never replace what he had lost — but somewhere in his wanderings, it is not so impossible a thing for his hope in the Elvhen to be r e i g n i t e d.
- - -
The Sentinel;;
Born during the height of Arlathan and promised to the service of Mythal as a youth, his notions of freedom and slavery have a very different meaning to him than to just about every culture extant today. Freedom was never something he sought nor desired. He respects Mythal greatly, and was proud of the purpose he had while following her dictates.
His world crumbled as Arlathan buckled beneath its own bloated power, the treachery and warring raging throughout Elvhenan. { The Dalish and their infantile need to blame it all upon the humans brings but a curled sneer to his lips— }
Even when Mythal had been struck down, he knew that she endured in some form, and so he compelled his fellows to tend to their duties still, drawing them to the place that had once been her sanctum sanctorum. Only now, her temple was still and empty, barred from within to keep out a world that had gone mad.
His years spent awake passed much the same as those deep in the slumber of uthenera — only when he returned to consciousness, his rest stirred by something troubling the Vir’Abelasan, did he see how the world had changed that much more from what he knew. The death of Elvhenan didn’t end with Arlathan, although it had been its gem. The death continues, and a little more of some fundamental part of Abelas dies with it each time he wakes.
By the time the Well of Sorrows falls to the hands of the Inquisition, what had once been a force worthy of representing the Will of Mythal was reduced to a beleaguered handful. Those few that survived Corypheus’ assault scattered to the winds, each seeking to discover or preserve one last remnant of the People. It made sense, at the time, but while Abelas regrets it now, it is far too late to call them back.
Time and tradition are the factors which molded a young elven devotee into a cynical and wearied keeper. Mythal the Protector demanded justice delivered with clear minds and open hearts, and these are precisely the qualities that Abelas has lost. It is too great a blow for him to accept, and so he continues to dig himself deeper, channeling his disgust outward, disdainful of all the races infesting Thedas and repulsed by the Dalish in particular.
But it is not that simple. He sees the Dalish as orphaned children, shambling and ignorant, but what pity he might feel is tempered by how alien they are to one another — they have so little in common that the sting of it hurts him most of all.
—And while he might disdain of them, of the vallaslin worn without comprehension, they are all that was left to him of his kin.
Art credit to swevenfox, qissus and artemorte.
vita
Hello! You can call me Sam! 22. She/Her. From California but living in New England for college (studying osteology and archaeology). I’m honestly really quite friendly and a dork and I’d love you forever if you snuck into my inbox to chat, even if it’s just to say hi.
I love video games and leatherbound novels and mint. I’m 30% enthusiasm, 60% water and 10% everything else. I’m petite sized in real life but people tend to forget that I’m short until we’re all standing up.
I love science and know a little bit about a lot of things, although sometimes I wish my knowledge base was more precisely detailed. I think that the ocean and space are basically the coolest things ever and in an alternate universe I might have become a physicist.
I have a terrible memory, so sorry in advance.
Regarding Roleplays:
My skype is available to everyone, even non-mutuals. sunshinehalla !
I personally have zero triggers but if something I write or do makes you uncomfortable, come to me privately and we can talk about how to fix it.
Frequently Asked Questions
Who can roleplay with you?
- Absolutely anyone, so long as I'm somewhat familiar with the universe and the character has both about and rules pages.
Even crossovers or like characters?
- Sure, although having a DA or fantasy verse increases the chance of us interacting. Still, I do have a crossover verse page here.
Can I send an ask even if we've never talked?
- Absolutely. I'm very friendly (more so than Abelas). You can send any questions to me or to my muse.
But what if I'm a Personal blog?
- As long as it doesn't require me to create an entire thread, I have no problems interacting with Personals. I will answer asks (even in character) but I will not roleplay with them.
Do you still take drabble requests?
- I do! Keep in mind that I have the right to refuse and that I may be slow, but I will write drabbles. Don't be afraid to send me some, although please note I will not accept romantic or sexual themes with this character!
He is young, but Arlathan is already in its prime. The vallaslin are fresh upon his face, and the towers stand gold and strong. He is Vallasvhen, and his are the hands fated to inscribe the runes upon the holiest of holies.
In the Shadow of Tarasyl'an Te'las
He is given purpose, finding a place in the Inquisitor's Inner Circle. More than completing the ancient rituals, the Inquisitor saw fit to spare his life and see the Well's Legacy continued. For better or worse, he has become a member of their companions. In time, their cause might give him purpose — whether for a new principle in which to believe, or a foul heresy he cannot allow to continue.
He has forged his own purpose, for although Elvhenan is dead, the People yet remain. ( May or may not follow the 'Wanderer Without Purpose' or 'Shadow of Tarasyl'an Te'las' trees ) — He has come to terms, as best he can, with this time and its peoples. He seeks to aid what remains of the elves and their true heritage, and they see him as one of their own. He is not so angry as he once was. He is not so sorrowful. He has taken a new name, Suledin, and for the first time, he is free.
worlds
Before there had been a Veil, there was only the Weave. The worlds were fluid, and one, and language a thing of sensation, of memory, emotion, thought. It was known, because it was.
There is little way to describe what had been, for in losing the Weave, they lost the language, too. The corpse of Vir’Dirthara hangs in fractured space, shunted, frozen, lost in the void, and stands as reminder of the flattening of the worlds, the inability to maintain an empire that spanned dreams themselves.
And so remains the Well of Sorrows - the Source.
The nexus of collected memories of all those who walked beneath the aegis of the Great Protector, who bore her branches on their skin. Like an eternal spring bubbled by deep flowing water, the Well of Sorrows found its renewal in the living. So long as they endured, so, too, did the last core of Mythal’s energies cling to the frayed soul of a shallow earth. Such is the purity of the Source, the untapped waters free from the great crippling, the Sundering that smote the infinite library.
She walked these woods. Her feet strode these halls. She was too bright; She left Her presence in the patterns of light, in the sweetness of the air. She was seared into the memory of the place, an afterimpression burning behind closed eyes. Her power abides here, most of all places.
And here, too, does some shadow of the tongue remain.
It is quiet, the trickling of water through the halls, carrying the whisper of Her presence. Only the perfect, eternal stillness that claimed this place yet carries the murmur of the perennial flow. Without this silence, the silence of the tomb, its voice would be lost.
( It had not always been a sigh. )
Countless were the channels cut through tile limned in painted gold. As other temples reflected their gods, pathways yielding patterns of arterial design, so, too, did these halls register the domain of their potentate. This place of worship had been alive. Innumerable had been the threaded streams - conduits of water and energy to feed the Heart, the Source, the Well. Mythal’s servants kept these channels, stood as keepers to its fonts.
In the world that was, it had been the language, the tongue. A sip, a promise of honeysuckle and cinnamon, a kiss to the lips of the sanctified. It was memory, words, feelings, images. To drink was to know, and when life faded, it was to the waters Her servants returned.
What is left of the flow yet grounds this sanctuary, never the greatest, but now the last.
The susurration of the undying waters guides the last of Her sentinels into the great sleep, anchors their souls in the devastation of the Dreaming. They will be its guardians, until they are no more. And the waters will fall silent.
Though Solas has no desire for Mythal’s protection nor her blessing, Solas will not say so. Not to Abelas. Not to one so dedicated to an ancient being. Candelight flickers on the planes of his face, and it is one of the only times that Solas’ visage begins to show his true age. Centuries etch themselves into the creases of his eyes, his forehead, the lines around his mouth.
Solas’ head tilts, inquisitive and curious. There are but a few places for the pair to sit – two chairs, a sofa, all spread throughout the rotunda. When the frescoes are being created, they are more often than not in the way; they are pushed against the walls, as was convenient. Instead of moving to offer Abelas a seat, Solas instead dips his head in acknowledgement and clasps his hands loosely.
“As you wish.”
For all that he stands at parade rest, rigid lines broken by the organic curve of burnished armor, his hands flex with the cracking of leather, and his eyes betray the unease frozen muscles will not allow. Tendons flex sluggishly, seen only in the shift of fluid mail, contouring to tensed flesh and the hackles of a haunted man.
‘What have you witnessed, in the passing of ages? You, who have walked the Beyond and watched time bleed like oil? What have you done, in all those years? ’
He speaks, as any might have, of the man who catches dreams like precious stones within his hand. Any who yet ghosted the halls of Tarasyl’an Te’las would hear only an elf, asking kin of the memories he had caught from the living Fade. And yet he stands before one elvhen – before one who does not - has never ? - been branded with the touch of the vallaslin. And Abelas aches; a slow, consuming pain, to know that others of his People yet linger.
They live - but have they, too, changed like this world he does not know?
List 10 favorite characters (one per series/fandom) then tag 10 people.
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea; Captain Nemo Borderlands; Mr. Torgue Firefly; Kaylee Lord of the Rings; Aragorn Marvel; MCU: Captain America. / Comics: Iron Man Star Wars; Carth Onasi ( maybe Han Solo???) Futurama; Professor Farnsworth (nearly tied with Zoidberg) The Elder Scrolls; Hircine Assassin’s Creed; Mary Read (does it not count that she was real?) Watchmen; Doctor Manhattan
He is young, but Arlathan is already in its prime. The vallaslin are fresh upon his face, and the towers stand gold and strong. He is Vallasvhen, and his are the hands fated to inscribe the runes upon the holiest of holies.
He is given purpose, finding a place in the Inquisitor's Inner Circle. More than completing the ancient rituals, the Inquisitor saw fit to spare his life and see the Well's Legacy continued. For better or worse, he has become a member of their companions. In time, their cause might give him purpose — whether for a new principle in which to believe, or a foul heresy he cannot allow to continue.
He has forged his own purpose, for although Elvhenan is dead, the People yet remain. ( May or may not follow the 'Wanderer Without Purpose' or 'Shadow of Tarasyl'an Te'las' trees ) — He has come to terms, as best he can, with this time and its peoples. He seeks to aid what remains of the elves and their true heritage, and they see him as one of their own. He is not so angry as he once was. He is not so sorrowful. He has taken a new name, Suledin, and for the first time, he is 
