#MIRIAM INGELLVAR.

[ch4nticle]

❝ I've missed this place so, ❞ Miriam says with real relish, turning on her toe in a little twirl as they walk underneath the Bell. In the dim, dark, dusty Necropolis - she glows, as if lit by some invisible force. If she notices the glance that Bellara gives her because this is her third time since they'd managed to clear out the Venatori and her twenty-second time saying it since they'd entered the Necropolis, she doesn't give any sign. Her smile is a bit abashed as she turns toward Emmrich, securing her staff into place on her back again. ❝ I've missed you too - and you, Manfred, of course - you look thinner. Have you been eating? I told Myrna to look after you. ❞ This is also the third time she's made this joke.

@breathandshadow didn't like, i just have a mighty need for something a little cute.

[shadowglens]

💛☠️🔥MIRIAM INGELLVAR - elven mage, nevarran, mourn watcher, infant abandoned in the grand necropolis

[carrionsflower]

12 DAYS OF OCS ❄ ─── MIRIAM INGELLVAR for @shadowglens️️

[deputyrook]

pookie (Miriam “Rook” Ingellvar, currently failing to romance Lucanis, slightly too trusting of you-know-who)

[ch4nticle]

Miriam nearly stabs the needle straight into her fingertips at the sound of screams. Her stomach drops, embroidery abandoned in favor of sprinting toward the library. She can hear other footsteps too, but bursting into the room her focus is immediately drawn sharply to Kasaanda. The arithmetic of it all is quickly done, each overturned chair and the sizzle of chaos in the air - and she wishes, briefly, Emmrich were here instead. He'd had some business back at the Necropolis, surely he'd be better.

Well, they'd simply have to make do.

Motioning to the others who had run in - Taash and Lucanis, having been engrossed in some conversation - to remain where they were, Miriam moves down the staircase silently and comes to a stop in front of Kasaanda. She did not know, really, what it was to have been without magic and suddenly have it. But she did know ( as many mages did, she was certain ) what it was to lose control. She breathes in, then out:

❝ Kasaanda, ❞ Miriam's voice is low, but light and measured, an attempt at cutting through the panic. ❝ Look at me. ❞

The shriek that resounds within the lighthouse could practically pierce the veil itself. Shrill and panicked followed by pressured qunlat and the crashing of something heavy. At the center of the chaos Kasaanda is crouched, body pressed close to the bookshelf that remains upright. Half the mismatched chairs that normally surround the central table are overturned and scattered through the room.

A small scorch mark colors the floor in front of the child soot black as electricity dances along her fingertips. Her hands are held as far from her body as she can manage as she pushes her back against the old polished wood.

“No, no, no, no!”

STARTER FOR @chanticle

[ch4nticle]

She has avoided him. It is clear to everyone, it is most definitely clear to him - one needn’t be an all-powerful lich at all. When he entered a room, Miriam suddenly needed to be in the other. When she entered a room with him in it, suddenly what she needed was not of import. She had become, in the intervening days, a girl of curtsies and stiff bows. The kind of respect that she had given all her professors and the kind that had been unsaid in every warm, smiling greeting of Uncle! since she was a little girl.

Is that not how one approaches strangers?

At last, however, Miriam could not linger on avoidance. It was a cruelty to even leave him out of the planning, but it did not keep her from doing so. She was not quite so heartless (ha.) as to not invite him at all. She raps on the door, three times. Waits. When assent is given, Miriam enters with a notebook clutched to her chest and - struggling to look at him, or rather, the glamour he put on - but doing so. Her own eyes, meee flesh and blood, are rimmed red. “ I have organized a small memorial. For Manfred. If you would like to make a contribution, tell me so. ”

@breathandshadow, it wasn’t a threat it was a promise.

[ch4nticle]

❝ Hm? ❞ Miriam had always attempted to practice the same kindness and patience her uncle had displayed with spirits. It was, indeed, what made the Necropolis what it was - at least to her. The realization of what was being asked, however, fractured that patience just a bit. It wasn't the spirit's fault, really. It just so happened to tug on a thread already well trod. Bones continued in his lounging, purring low at the touch on his head. ❝ No, he's not dead! ❞

She huffed, placing her hands on her hips. ❝ I'm flattered at your estimation of my skills in articulation, but just because I happen to do necromancy - ❞ Miriam stopped abruptly, holding up her hands before approaching where Pax and Bones were sat. ❝ He is just a cat. A very old one, I grant you, but very much normal. ❞

puzzled look pulled at light cracked features. a soft orange glow spilling from engulfed eyes as a hand was brought gently atop a fur dressed head. there was no hint of death about the small creature, no pull of threads. they were certain … huh. pax had been certain. mistaken, then. movement above caught attention and the spirit only spared a brief glance, so engrossed in the soft sounds generated by the resting cat,

❝ not … dead ? we were under the impression it was risen. ❞

@chanticle [ MIRIAM ] / COIN FLIP STARTER CALL - mercy !

[ch4nticle]

Miriam is very angry with Emmrich in a lichdom route (which, again, predicates that this was a choice he made and not one she has control over as it is in-game). Angrier than a lot of people have seen her, and angrier I think than she expected to be with him since she first learned of it. I’ll use bullet points to articulate her thoughts, which aren’t altogether rational and are a bit self centered, but Bishop doesn’t deserve to suffer alone.

Emmrich choosing lichdom means that she and Manfred and his students, his legacy, was not enough. She really feels the she is not enough, which is not a new feeling necessarily when it comes to people she loves, but new from Emmrich.

By choosing lichdom at all Emmrich is not who she thought he was. This shakes her up.

Manfred was like a brother to her. She’s really upset he’s gone. And angry, again, that it’s at the expense of so-called improvement.

Given their closeness, there’s also a part of her that wonders if he had to give her up for lichdom in a similar fashion, would he?

And leading from that - if he did, then she hates that. And if he wouldn’t, but he would give up Manfred, who is just as much a person as she is, how does that make him any different than Hezenkoss?

In short, it’s . . . gonna take awhile for her to accept. She’ll do it in fits and starts. She loves Emmrich. He’s the only kind of father she’s ever known. But she greatly disapproves.

[ch4nticle]

Miriam is not usually a PDA type, I think - which does make it all the more shocking when she pauses just before the final battle and gives Lucanis a very big kiss full on the lips.

[ch4nticle]

miri, when they’re in nevarra, does take a moment to stop by her room - i imagine there’s some fancier version of a barracks where mourn watchers who don’t have their own place live (or on-duty ones cycle out), or maybe she even has a room wherever emmrich stays. anyway i think it’s a fun little peek for the gang. it’s messy, just as she left it, with flowers on the window sill and dried ones hanging upside down, a half-finished skirt laying out on the table, a few notebooks open, etc.

[ch4nticle]

LOST & FOUND. THE GRAND NECROPOLIS, 9:50 DRAGON.

Miriam never got lost in the Necropolis.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. There were a handful of times. Times, she had noted later, in which she had been petulant and charged forward against all sense. Times when she ought to have known better. Like a particularly churlish instructor, the Necropolis had responded: left her wandering long enough to get hungry, to be respectful, before leading her out. But even all of these times were less than the average Mourn Watcher. It was for this reason that Myrna had sent her after the child.

She had little in the way of description: human, small, sticky. The last had been an addition from Vorgoth and so was taken with a proverbial grain of salt. Still, any Mourn Watcher worth their weight grave gold would be able to parse out a spare living among the undead. Stopping at one of the outcroppings, a sharp cliff face where the wind whipped at her hair before leading into another chamber, Miriam pressed her lips together and whistled. It was a jaunty little tune, a favorite of the Maestro's, though he kept to his level of the Necropolis - why mingle with less honored dead? Most importantly, she had found wisps enjoyed it.

In no time, several had gathered around her as the tune continued - it would be cruel to stop short! - and she met their bounces and hums of approval with a small curtsy.

"Hello," she smiled, and the glow of the wisps increased in response. "I wondered if you had seen a little girl -" Here Miriam paused, recalculated, and tried again. "A smaller one of us, you understand. She might have felt like - Fear. Or Despair." One of the wisps bobbed, brushing past her hair and zipping off down the hill next to the cliff face.

"Oh!" Miriam paused to bow to the others before following, leaping down from the outcropping of rock and alighting on the ground with help from an unuttered spell. She ran after the wisp - they never seemed to understand that two feet moved slower than floating. Then again, she supposed if she had never had feet, she wouldn't know either.

The wisp stopped at a wall of sarcophagi, ancient and in a state of disrepair that ought to be reported. Her uncle certainly wouldn't be happy about it. But crucially, no sign of a little girl. Miriam turned to the wisp again, lips already shaping a question before she heard it - the tell-tale sound of shaking, stuttering breaths and tears that could not stop. Certainly she had run into remnants prone to such things as well, but this one smacked of something solid. There was no mistaking it.

Thank you, she mouthed to the wisp before moving to stand in front of the crying sarcophagus. She hesitated for longer than strictly necessary. It was not her first time dealing with a lost child, but there was always so much riding on meetings such as these - the last thing she wished to do was frighten the poor thing, or make their grief more unbearable. Though it couldn't be said Myrna or Vorgoth were better suited, and her uncle was busy grading the newest set of term papers. There were others of them, but . . . well, very few of them could be described as soft touches. She ought to know. Miriam steeled herself, taking a careful step toward the sarcophagus.

"Hello?" She waited. The sobs broke off with a small gasp, but no reply. Miriam did her best not to smile - she'd tried the same, once. Stay silent, stay still. Unfortunately one could never get quite as still as the dead.

"My name is Miriam." Watcher Ingellvar, one of her superiors might have reminded her. But she had earned one title and stolen the other, she could dispense with them as she liked. Still, silence. "What's yours?"

She continued to move, one foot in front of the other. Her staff glowed where it remained on her back. They were at such a depth that the unbridled emotions of a little girl might call forth something unwanted, and Miriam carved a gentle arc of protection. The air warmed around the area in response. It gave the girl the time she needed to respond, it seemed, and Miriam was pleased to see a head of thick curls poke out of her hiding spot.

She was smaller than Miriam had thought she would be, her features sharp and suspicious as everything narrowed to look at Miriam. For her part, Miriam stopped, holding her hands in front of her, one folded neatly over the other.

"Hello," Miriam smiled. "What's your name?"

"Alina," The girl said, still suspicious. She took in Miriam's stance, her clothes, the bits of grave gold clinging to her fingers and wrists. She was trying to look brave, Miriam realized. Or defiant. "Are you going to turn me to bones?"

Well. She certainly hadn't expected that. Miriam bit her lip in an effort not to laugh and shook her head with all the sobriety she could muster.

"No, Miss Alina," she said, voice gentle. "I am not here to turn you to bones."

"'cause that's what Jo said. She said the Mourn Watch, they turn people to bones if they run away in the Necropolis, and then you have to be bones forever and you never rest and -" Maker, the little thing was on the verge of tears again. Miriam took another cautious step toward her and, when she didn't flinch away, took a knee so they could see eye to eye.

"On my oath as a Mourn Watcher, Miss Alina, on the graves of the honored dead themselves. I will not turn you to bones." Alina seemed convinced, or at least marked the seriousness of Miriam's vow even if the words meant very little to her. Miriam's lips quirked a mischevous smile. "Besides, I ran off into the Necropolis quite a few times when I was your age. And I assure you, my bones are where they belong." That got a smile. Good.

"Shall we get you back to the gardens?" Miriam extended her hand to Alina. When the girl shied away, Miriam remembered: "It's alright. You can also hold onto my staff, if you like, either one will make the Necropolis a bit less scary to traverse."

"I don't want to go back." Ah. "I don't want to see him, and Mother says I have to, that he would want to see me before they - they -"

Of course. The girl began to cry again, though Miriam made note of the fact that she seemed to be trying to keep a stiff upper lip. Poor thing. Miriam's hands folded atop her knee as she watched. A Mourn Watcher's duty is not just to the dead, my dear girl, but to those they leave behind. Miriam's magic went out, strengthening the little bubble she'd made for them - her eyes scanned, too, feelers out for anything particularly cold.

One duty fulfilled, she looked back at Alina and thought briefly of a very bright boy who used to hand her dead flowers. That was her first. This one, she knew, was Alina’s.

"Alina," she whispered, and waited until the girl could muster up enough courage to look at her again. "It is - it is strange, I know. But this is how you can give your father,” A guess, gleaned from the feelings that rolled off the girl and a bit of deductive reasoning. It struck true. The poor thing’s face seemed to crumple again. “This is how we say goodbye, us who must remain. It gives us the chance that was stolen. To tell them how much we loved them. How much you loved him - and I can tell you loved him dearly, Alina.”

Alina sniffled, still stuck to the spot, tears tracking through the dirt on her face. Miriam lifted her hand, offering it palm up.

“I can go with you, if you like. We needn’t go see him if you do not wish it, but . . . many people find it a relief.”

“Really?” She wiped at her eyes again, and Miriam nodded.

“Really.”

They stood staring at one another for a long while. And then without ceremony, Alina put her small hand in Miriam’s and squeezed tight. Miriam gripped it right back as she stood, allowing what talents afforded her by the Watch to wash over Alina too. The Necropolis would protect her too, for the time being.

“I’m ready,” Alina said, though her voice shook. Brave girl. Miriam nodded in response, and the two began the journey upward to the surface. Together.

[ch4nticle]

anonymous vc: would miriam pursue lichdom? 🎤

“ No. ”

The answer is sharper than she intends, accompanied by a brief inhale as she misses a stitch and pokes her finger with a needle. Taking her fingertip in her mouth to stymie the blood, Miriam considers her answer. It is complete, but - she sighs.

“ Lichdom is anti-theitical to everything a Mourn Watcher ought stand for. Death is natural. It comes to us all in our time. We should not run from it, but greet it. And if our vows demand, serve just as others have served - with bone and body - not strive to retain ourselves at the cost of . . . well, I do not know the true cost. The only ones who do are them, and isn’t that the problem? I am not saying everyone need know everything, but why pursue it at all? They hide away, beings of supposedly supreme power, and work from the shadows? Why should they get to - ”

A pause. Miriam’s cheeks are flushed with heat, her lips pressing together. She didn’t usually ramble. “ No. It serves no one but themselves. They can reconcile it how they like, but I see no benefits. Not for the Necropolis and not for Nevarra, certainly not her people. ”

[ch4nticle]

Partially inspired by the banter where Vivienne points out Solas has singed his shirt, I am once more thinking about my magic-users and the ways in which their styles differ depending on their backgrounds and training. This is mostly centered around combat and not more day-to-day spellwork.

Caron: Very few of the forms and motions she uses when casting offensive or defensive magic are used today - or seen to be used by others. While a natural talent in healing and barriers, she learned much of her combat prowess while directly under Sylaise, sometimes even from the Hearthkeeper herself. People in the know ( stares in the direction of the Skyhold rotunda ) are welcome to recognize this when she fights or in the techniques she uses to heal and protect people.

Jayne: More of an honorable mention than anything, as she attempts to keep her actual practice of magic to the bare minimum. During the Fifth Blight, while she's possessed by Rage, her movements mimic that of the demon's. There's very little rhyme or reason to it. She's burning and then she isn't. She does learn some methods of control from Wynne which some Circle mages may recognize later on in her life if they know.

Jessamine: Again, she was trained in the Circle so her movements have a similar uniformity to many Southern mages without some of their stiffness due to experience. She also has a distinct tendency for flair - a laugh her, a flourish of the hand here - her tutors always warned against. The last thing you wanted in a Circle was attention. This blended with, I assume, a Warden mage's training which would build upon the Circle's principles while focusing specifically on one enemy: the Darkspawn. Watching her is a weird, disparate mix of sharp, controlled movements with just a hint of fun. It's clear she's well-trained, but it's also clear she genuinely enjoys her magic.

Miriam: Having had access to her magic since infancy rather than early puberty like many, there is an air of effortlessness she brings to it. Since there are standards of practice in the Mourn Watch, there are definite similarities in her movements to Emmrich's, but she is just a bit more fluid and does a lot more improvising. She's also fast - both physically and in volleying off her spells.

Octavia: She came into her magic around the same time that she and her mother fled the Imperium to the Inquisition - likely brought on by the stress of the situation. As such, her early education in that area was largely influenced by her mother and there's a harshness to her combat magic movements that one wouldn't expect from her. She's also quite the perfectionist. Watching her is like watching diagrams from a book come to life: pristine and perfect, but sometimes too predictable.

Willa: Control is the biggest marker of Willa's approach to magic in combat. Also, a bit of trickery. She was raised an apostate by a former Circle mage. In combat she tends to do everything but cast a spell until she needs to, fooling many people in Kirkwall into thinking she's exceptionally good with a staff ( she is ) and nothing else as a weapon. There is a precision to her spells that comes about after that same philosophy - no one in the Kirkwall crew can claim to have ever gotten nicked by an errant fire or frost hands. Lots of her forms will be recognizable to Circle mages, but with an even tighter grip. She gets extremely frustrated in Inquisition when the Mark messes with her control and spends hours at night retraining herself.

[ch4nticle]

Anyway, I said it in passing in a reply so I’m going to keep it as an actual headcanon: Part of early Watcher training is remembering to breathe, particularly as one gets deeper in the Grand Necropolis. It’s a heady place of magic and death. Sometimes things get so still or so detached, you simply . . . stop. Or you’re so tense you hold your breath for far longer than is strictly healthy. By virtue of her strengthened connection to the Necropolis, Miriam has never struggled with it once she reached formal classes - but there was a time when she was very small that she fainted and had to be brought out. It was scary - for everyone else. Once she came around she was happy as a clam, she had such wonderful dreams there.

I also think she warns her companions of this when they visit for the first time, and offers them a bit of help like we see Myrna do for Audric in DAtDM.