maeve flynn

[attr="class","qty"]"i once had a thousand desires."

[attr="class","bxy"][attr="class","bb"]

Ah, Val Royeaux. Capital of the beautiful Orlais. Said to be one of most glorious, exciting, and expansive cities in all of Thedas. The heart of the Chantry. Many of those who know of the extravagance of Orlais seem to miss or simply skip over the fact of the alienage; about the size of Denerim’s market, and home to around ten thousand elves.

This is where Maeve grew up.

They say it takes a village to raise a child, but how small that village grows once you have a secret to keep. After all, exactly how many can one truly trust not to share that their daughter is sparking at the fingertips? Luckily, it wasn’t anything completely out of the blue; inherited by her mother, in fact, who made a point of passing on only just enough to keep the girl safe from herself. Anything more, she assured her daughter, would be more likely to be detrimental than life saving.

Perhaps that was all her mother had learned to be true.

When Maeve had been a child, she had wanted so deeply to be able to trust the humans, quick to believe those few she actually met who had promised to be “one of the good ones.” She learned better the hard way. That’s not to say that she isn’t civil when around one, of course; she puts value in her well being.

And at the end of the day when she came home there was no space, never enough space. What small bits of training with her mother had to be chosen carefully, in rare safe spaces when no one was looking. There were too many eyes where the family laid their head down to rest. Even if she could have afforded any staff or robes, it would have been too dangerous to keep any.

Maeve was a small child when news reached Orlais of the Blight in Ferelden. There was a different kind of tension in the air, but life went on as normal. Soon enough, news hit: Ferelden had been torn apart, but the Blight had been ended. That was not what Maeve considered important, it is not what stayed with her as she grew.

The Archdemon had been slain by an elf. A city elf became the only known Warden to survive killing the Archdemon. A single elf, with more strength than Maeve was already used to hearing about any of her kind being expected to have.

As soon as her father agreed to train her in weapons she opted to try for dual wielding. It was her very first choice, something she was surprisingly insistent on. However, she never really gained much proficiency with the weapons at all. She tried bow work too, as her father was good enough at it to earn enough from hunting, but only after finally being convinced that any serious work with blades just wasn't working out. No, that didn't work either. Now, when Maeve really needs to have a weapon on her she can use, she keeps a single dagger. It's easier to hide, and while she isn't the best with it, she knows where the pointy end goes. Even better, having it on her isn't the equivalent of strapping a sign to her back that reads, "HEY. HEY YOU. HEY YOU TEMPLAR. HEY TEMPLAR LOOK. HEY TEMPLAR. OVER HERE TEMPLAR." When she has to pick some kind of armor, she picks the lightest leathers she can afford to get her hands on.

As soon as she could Maeve was trying to get work, along with, well, most of the other elves, really. The most she could snag while she was younger was the harmless odd job here and there. Or, at least, that's how it started out.

As she grew and got better, learning more basic skills (skinning, cleaning, lying - which she makes a point of telling most humans she's terrible at) along the way, Maeve caught a small break. A few favors had been earned, a few strings were pulled, and Maeve got a gig from an older noble. He had been kind enough, for a human. What's more, although she had been brought in only as a temporary replacement, this man took as least predatory a liking to her as Maeve had grown to consider possible, for a human man. The worst he'd ever really done that she can recall is pressing a hand more firmly on her shoulder than necessary, keeping her rooted to the spot while demanding tales about her experiences in her homeland. Maeve never once told him she had never seen Antiva; she knew better than that. Instead, she took from stories her father had told her, only ever just enough bits and pieces to be believable ... though, anymore, she's not sure he much cares if she's telling the truth or not. She wasn't the best of his staff, but she was the only one who could get the stained glass he insisted on keeping just right. Eventually, he came to insist on letting her use his personal library for a short time after the day of work was done. Of course, it was made quite clear that she couldn't bring any of the tomes home with her. Even if they deserved learning, you couldn't trust an elf, after all.

Still, the room was spacious and full of many differing genres, some of varying scandal. One covered basic theory of magic, another of the history of mages through the lens of the chantry. Some books spoke of the wardens, though many of them without much authority, perhaps some facts drowned in fairy tale, rumor and speculation. The few more recent tomes on THE warden held information which, for the most part, Maeve recognized as rumors and speculation she had heard before, only couched in a noble's jargon and longer words. Not that it stopped her from trying to parse any amount of truth from what she now held in her hands. She enjoyed what little time she spent there, though. Even with the set of eyes that were always on her, the room was never crowded. She could lay three books out on the table before her, take up as much room as she wanted to as long as she didn't cause damage and cleaned up. She had space.

Of course, an added bonus was that her wages, when combined with what her parents got for plying their wares (what little elves could sell from hunting and work with herbs, respectively) afforded them the sheer luxury of a home of their own that wasn't entirely breaking down and, thanks to her father's trade, just enough to eat. Of course, her mother insisted on "renting" what space they could out to other elves who could cover the cost of food with slender profit, and Maeve couldn't rightly disagree. That did mean that keeping any magical items was still off limits, that there still wasn't enough room. Yet, maybe it was for the best; a tangible reminder that eyes would always be seeking in Orlais. There never was any such thing as privacy.

Occasionally, through varying ways, Maeve has heard her share of secrets. After all, it is Orlais. For the most part, she has more important things to care about (such as, oh, surviving). When it concerns the possible well being or betterment of elves, however, there's more of a temptation to find one way or another to (cautiously!) help the information along. If Maeve had learned anything of importance, it was that she was nothing if she didn't help those of her own that she could. Even if she only felt she could help in the quietest of ways.

At one point, her family housed a young elf fleeing kirkwall before the circle collapsed, even before the Qunari had attacked. Nonetheless, he was always quiet when asked about it. Questions regarding what it had been like, or why he'd left, were never directly answered.

He stayed for a few months. He made most of his keep helping Maeve with the odd jobs that took her outside the city walls, and it was only a matter of time before she discovered he had magic. He almost ran right then, before she showed him that he wasn't alone. When he learned that she had basically no training, he was appalled. He insisted on teaching her some basics, telling her some secrets, teaching her that there was more to stavework than using it as a walking stick. Rumors came to pass that they were "together," and they were not refuted. Better to let the intellectuals so impressed with themselves spread misinformation than learn the truth, after all.

He left before any kind of hell had broken loose, but he didn't do so without warning. "Whatever you do, no matter what happens, don't go to Kirkwall Maeve. Something is wrong there." Now a days, she isn't sure what about it could possibly make it so much worse than anywhere else.

When the battle of Kirkwall erupted, he was long gone. When the Circles dissolved, Maeve wondered where her friend had gone. Silly, considering she was the one still living in the heart of what was left of the Chantry. She'd heard whispers of the Hero of Ferelden disappearing, and her own heart sank.

When Halamshiral was razed, something splintered in Maeve. Being kind, being patient, would never be enough. Maeve was suddenly very, very tired of the idea of just waiting it out until the humans came to value the elves as people.

The only question left was where to start.


LIST OF TALENTS:
Creation: Heal, Glyph of Paralysis
Primal: Chain Lightning
Force Mage: Fist of the Maker, Telekinetic Burst, Unshakeable

LIST OF SKILLS:
Clarity, Combat Training, Survival, Stealing

SPECIALIZATION:
Force Mage