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About Deviant Artist Member Misty SinclairFemale/United States Recent Activity
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WIP: Clean by MistyKat
WIP: Clean

WIP of my latest doodle with lines and flat color. Several things need to be fixed, and she needs, like, a chair or something… >.>;

So, a bit of explanation here. I got it into my head a few days ago that since elves go barefoot, footwashing must be a big deal for them and happen pretty often. I then thought that having another elf wash your feet might carry some sort of meaning for them. So now I have a headcanon where an elf washing another elf’s feet is a sign of trust and respect since it’s a fairly intimate act (not necessarily a sexual one, though, just a way to be closer). 

So OF COURSE I had to produce another Solavellan doodle. I have no idea how he ended up offering, but here they are. 

I also headcanon Meria running around without those damn boots. It irks me that they put a Dalish elf in shoes (not to mention that godawful mercenary gear at the beginning). Solas gets to be barefoot, why can’t Meria? >.>

Also, Dorian-chibi-doodle is annoyed because he’s party to yet another mushy Solavellan moment. ^_^; 

Meria Rifted: Done! by MistyKat
Meria Rifted: Done!

Holy shit, you guys, I actually finished something.

Well, finished by my super low standards. The background is a shooped screenshot from the Fade, and I still don’t like the anchor lines that work their way up her arm to her face. I also couldn’t decide if the tears were too much or not…

I need something better to paint with than Photoshop. So much difficult. 

Anyway, this is my Inquisitor, Meria, as she appears in (a future installment of) my fanfiction story dealio. She’s meant to look sickly and thin - the poor thing has had a really rough year. The premise of the story is that that, after there were no more rifts to feed it, the anchor turns on Meria, slowly killing her.

Happy stuff. There’s also Solavellan angst, Dorian crying, and even more Solavellan angst. Yay! If you’re interested, and who wouldn’t be, here ya go:

Chapter 1:…

Chapter 2:…

Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: strong language)
Author’s Note:

As always, spoilers for Solasmancers and, at this point, the game in general.

As the name of the chapter implies, this centers around grief. It is very sad. I am very sad after having written it. I swear that something will happen in the next chapter when everyone gets together and the real conflict of the story is revealed. I just wanted to get all the sadness out of the way in the first two parts so I don’t have to have any more damn crying… for a while.

In other news, I’ve recently decided that I ship Dorian and Cullen (well, I have the one Cullen x Trevelyan playthrough, but this story is based on my Solas x Lavellan run, so there). If you’re offended by the idea of Cullen swinging Dorian’s way…. sorry? :( I think they’d have an interesting dynamic as a couple.

In case you couldn’t tell, in my playthrough Meria and Dorian are absolute best friends and love each other (platonically) dearly. He’s the one I really wished would have had some sort of consoling words for Meria after the breakup. Like, I went straight to see Dorian, in IRL tears because sad, and I actually cried harder when he didn’t even acknowledge that the vallaslin were missing. What is wrong with me?

~ 2,200 words


Skyhold was clad in her best finery for the occasion. Elegant swags of rich velvet cloaked her walls and towers. Bouquets of crystal grace adorned her halls. Torches of veil fire were everywhere, lining the battlements and walkways like jewels strung on a necklace.

The fortress was beautiful, an exquisite flower against the picturesque backdrop of snowy mountaintops.  And why shouldn’t she be beautiful today? She was celebrating a singularly magnificent life, a flame that burned too intensely to last. Her mistress had set out for the last time, shaking the chains of this world from her weary soul and falling into that eternal sleep.

Dorian’s eyes were dull, blind to the trappings of mourning around him as he walked slowly through the garden. His mind cast itself back over and over again to the moment she’d slipped away. It had only been two days. Two days that felt like a lifetime and an instant at once. He hurt, Maker, but he hurt. There was an echoing hollow place in his heart where she used to live. The place he’d made just for her. How many walls did he have to tear down to let her in? How many had she torn down herself before he’d known it? Excepting Felix, she was his first true friend. Because of her, there had been many more. She’d taught him how to abandon the ironic detachment that he’d armored himself with. She’d taught him how to be genuine. She’d taught him how to care.  

Despite the empty place in his heart, he couldn’t cry. They kept telling him to “let it out.” He didn’t know what it was he should be letting out. His hurt? His anger? Everything? To let that out would be to flood the world. There was so much love and rage and sorrow and confusion, he’d drown trying to let it out. No, outside the constant dull ache in his chest, he had become numb, it was safer that way.

His feet carried him without any interference from his mind. He moved aimlessly past the main hall as he remembered his friend’s last night. He couldn’t believe it, but she’d opened her eyes for the first time in days. With horror, he realized the anchor had not only covered the left side of her face, it had taken her left eye as well. It pulsed with a sickly green light that shook him to the core and set his teeth on edge. Despite the anchor, however, she was clear and present, lucid in what were to be her final moments. She actually sat up, and he remembered how his heart had skipped a beat as he allowed hope some room to grow. She took a slow breath and reached for him, her one blue eye clear and focused.

Her hands closed around his, impossibly hot, heartbreakingly thin. Hope receded as she opened her cracked lips.  

"The dream is real. The Black City is real. The wolf is real. It’s all real, Dorian.”

Her voice was the sound of the desert. Sand on sand on sand, breaking and grinding. But still hers. Still sweet to his ears.

"I don’t understand…" he began.

"Ir abelas, Dorian. Ma serannas. For everything, ma serannas."

There was a moment of silence as she closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillows.

"Ar lath ma, lethallin," she breathed out, almost too quiet to hear.

And that was it. She was gone. The anchor marks that had covered her pale body burned with blinding intensity for a moment and then were gone. Both her eyes were blue. Both her eyes were empty.

He sat alone with her in silence for a long time, even after the fire died and the candles burned down. He didn’t move, scared that if he did, scared that if he told someone, it would all be real. Instead, he’d gone over what she said to him over and over. He hadn’t understood it and he cursed himself for never bothering to learn her language in all the years they were friends.

"Hey… Dorian? Are you ok?" a familiar voice called out, notes of concern clear over the layers of grief.

Dorian snapped out of his reflection and looked around, mildly surprised to see he’d made his way to the Commander’s office. The man himself stood next to the window behind his desk. His red face and bloodshot eyes painted a picture as plain as day. In his mind, Dorian saw the Commander gazing out that window as he did whenever he was troubled, trying to hold back the tears and failing. Despite what he’d have his enemies believe, Dorian knew that Cullen’s heart was huge and his emotions ran deep and strong. Meria had meant a lot to him, too, Dorian knew. She’d helped him break his addiction. She’d shown him that he was stronger for all his scars, a better man for the lessons learned from his mistakes. She’d taught him it was ok to love another in his own slow way. She’d helped him find that love.  

"As well as can be expected," Dorian’s voice cracked and trembled. Just seeing Cullen’s tear-streaked face and the worry in his eyes was enough to bring on the storm. He felt the flood coming, and there was nothing he could do to turn the tide.

"Fuck that," he said, somewhere between rage and sorrow, "This whole thing, the whole world, we’re all of us fucked. Proper fucked. What was the point of saving anything when everything is so wrong? How can people like Samson or Florianne still draw breath while she has none? How can I… how can I fill her spot in my heart? It hurts, Cullen. Maker, it hurts! I can’t…" Dorian’s rage became strangled sobs as the floodgates opened. His legs drained of strength as he lost balance and swayed dangerously. He was sure he’d fall and found that he didn’t care. Instead of the hitting cold stone floor, however, he found himself secure, caught in soft warmth. Strong arms pulled the mage in tightly against a warm chest. Hands calloused from years of living by the sword and shield ran fingers gently through dark hair. Scarred lips kissed the tears away with heartbreaking gentleness.  

The Commander didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The Lion of Skyhold wasn’t great with words, but Dorian listened to the sound of Cullen’s heartbeat and finally, finally began to let it out.


Across the mountains, Solas lifted his eyes to the horizon. Skyhold burned with splendor in her honor.

"It is her fortress, after all," he whispered, "It reflects her actions. The depths of its grief is a testament to her."  

He smiled sadly as he began the last leg of his journey, one that had started as a quest to tell her the truth, but had become instead a trek to pay last respects. He’d been making his way to Skyhold since the night she appeared to him in the Fade. That was weeks ago now. He would have made better time, but the spring thaw made for treacherous terrain, so the going was painfully slow.  

Indeed, the trip was made all the more painful by the knowledge that every day she was falling further away. He felt her decline almost physically, since he was tied to her in more ways than one. The anchor itself originated from him, but the deepest connection was through Mythal. He remembered how frustrated he’d been when she chose to drink from the Well of Sorrows. He’d raised his voice at her for the first time in true anger. She took it in stride and calmed his anger with subtle grace and charm.

She happily told him she’d make the world a better place with the power, vowing to try again and again if she failed. Her confidence. Her spirit. Her wonderful innocence. Everything about her filled him in that moment, and his frustration melted away. In that moment, there was only love. He was truly moved by her. Her words inspired him and showed him how cynical and bitter he’d become. The fire in her eyes called him to be better, and he desperately wanted to answer her.

He decided to tell her everything. He let himself hope that he could build a life with her. As they journeyed to Crestwood together that day, he saw it all. He’d give up on his quest. They’d be bonded together. He’d do his best to recreate the ancient elvhen bonding ceremony, and though it would surely be a poor subsitute, it would be perfect because she’d be there, shining, beside him. He saw their life together, journeying through the world and through the Fade, together as one. He looked forward to the nights they’d spend talking and telling stories or simply reading, comfortable in each other’s company. He thought of the ancient elvhen secrets he could teach her and the temples they could explore. With a blush, he thought of making love to her and then holding her as she drifted off to sleep each and every night. He felt the warmth of her breath, steady on his chest, and the beating of her heart in the dark of night. He dared to dream of their children, and all the things he could teach them. Saw them grow into compassionate and kind adults, defying expectations of elves at every turn.

He then saw her, growing old and frail and lesser. Finally dying while he never aged. He saw his children spat upon and beaten in the streets for the shape of their ears. He saw the pain and confusion in their big, tear-filled eyes as he tried to explain why the world was so full of hate. “We didn’t do anything to them, we promise, daddy. Why did they hurt us, mommy? We just wanted to play with the other children. It looked like fun.”    

The words of his not-children pierced his mind and the happy future he crafted evaporated. He saw the faces of the downtrodden elves, sad and abused in their alienages. He saw the arrogant fumbling of the Dalish, forever homeless and in danger from all sides. He saw his people reduced to animals.

As if she knew his heart was troubled, Meria reached out and grabbed Solas’s hand as they walked into the grotto he’d taken them to. His heart only grew more pained as he realized he could never tell her the truth. Worse, he could never be with her. Not the way she wanted or the way he’d daydreamed as they walked together. Until the world was safe for the people, his heart was not his to give away.

He knew she expected something from him. The look in her eye was expectant, exited. He braced himself and followed the course of action he knew was right.

Afterwards, he didn’t turn when he heard her sorrow and confusion rising into the warm night air. As she crumbled to the ground behind him, his stride remained the same as it ever was - calm and purposeful. There was no hitch in his gait, no hint of hesitation, even when she called out that she loved him, calling him vhenan. Even when, finally angry, she called him cruel, cold as the stone.

Her words were daggers, but he had pressed on. He needed her to believe that it was over. He couldn’t let her see the weakness in his resolve. Couldn’t let her see the loneliness that already washed over him. Couldn’t let her see his face twisted with the bitterness of regret. Couldn’t let her see the tears that burned down his cheeks as he mourned the life that could have been.

Deep in memory, Solas crested the last mountaintop between Haven and Skyhold, his hot breath forming clouds around his head. The first time he had stood in this spot, gazing out at Skyhold, she was beside him, bright and full of life and hope. Her face was full of wonder as she examined her new home. She laughed with delight and bounded down the mountainside.

Standing there now, in the cold dark of loneliness, it all became suddenly too real. Her light was gone from this world. The anguish he felt at leaving her in Crestwood was a trifle compared to this. The hole in his heart was ragged, ripped and bleeding for the loss of her.

He feel to his knees, grasping his staff at the last moment to keep from falling completely. The rush of emotion threatened to overtake him, but he kept it at bay with an iron will. He was, after all, very good at keeping his mask of detached composure up. The years of sacrificing personal needs for the greater good made him an old hand at pushing emotion and heartache back into the recesses of his mind.

He’d only dropped that mask once since waking from the long slumber of Uthenera. Once in a crazy fever dream when she made him believe he could be happy.

Jaw clenched and eyes dry, he rose and made his was slowly down the mountain towards her fortress.

"She will know why."

For the first time in weeks, he heard the other voice, that might-be-Mythal, speak up.

It will not be that simple. It never is where love is concerned… even in the face of death.
Meria Rifted by MistyKat
Meria Rifted
This is (obviously, I hope) a work in progress of my Inquisitor, Meria Lavellan, as she appears at one point in the story I'm writing. Suffice it to say that the anchor is sort of wrecking her body and making her very ill. 

Check out the first part here:…
Necessary Death
Part 1

She is not long for this world.

Eyes the color of the stormy sea snapped open. Visions of the Fade evaporated and disappeared. The gates of the Black City, Arlathan-that-was, had loomed large in front of him.

So close. He was so close to his goal.

She is not long for this world.

He knew. Of course he knew. They were tied together in ways that were frustratingly impossible to untangle. He closed his eyes again and willed the voice to quiet and be still. To him, it sounded like Mythal, though whether it was truly Mythal speaking to him or his own battered conscience, he could never decide. Either way, it refused to be ignored.

She is dying. Right now. While you lie here chasing a dream of the past, she’s at Skyhold counting the breaths left in her. There are only a handful; far too few for one so young.

“And what would you have me do, friend?”

You know what’s killing her. Is it a surprise that she, a mortal, doesn’t have the power needed to keep the anchor stable?

"I was never certain of what would happen. I only studied the anchor closely in Haven; she grew far more powerful in the years that followed.”

Excuses. You had a better idea than most. You always suspected… The anchor is yours, after all, Fen’harel. And now it’s eating her alive.

"I decided long ago to place restoring the People above everything - above myself and above her. It is… unfortunate, but turning back now would render everything meaningless."

Unfortunate? She deserves the truth before she dies in the dark.

“I can’t.”

You can’t? You can’t what?

“I can’t.”


“Where she is concerned… I do not deny it.”

Grey storm cloud eyes close again; tears flow like rivers rolling to the sea. He pushes the hurt below the waves and journeys once more into the Fade.

Standing before the gates, he takes a deep breath to clear his head. He can’t seem to stop the tears, but he has a job to do. As he’s done so many times before, he closes his eyes, opens his arms wide, and draws from the power of Mythal and Urthemiel to find a way to breach the walls.

"Solas?" A gentle voice calls to him, piercing his heart with its beauty and sadness. He catches only a glimpse of her as he turns. Red hair floating softly around a pale face, dancing like a flame. Suddenly, everything goes white, and she screams as she’s pulled from her Fade dream.

You can’t let her become another of your 'necessary deaths.' She is more than that, the voice that was and wasn’t Mythal hissed in his mind.  


You are not long for this world, da’len.  

Eyes the color of a cloudless day snap open as pain suddenly ricochets through her body. A scream of fear and agony erupts from her lips. For what seems like an eternity, the world is white-hot and hazy. Her mind tries to hold on to the dream, but for the moment everything is pain and the dream is forgotten.

Finally, slowly, the world refocuses and she is again Meria Lavellan. Breathing hard, cold sweat soaking through her bedclothes, she clutches her blankets tightly to her chest and sways gently.

"I am not long for this world," she whispers to the cold moon looming large outside her window. "I’m dying. I’m going to die. Why do I have to die?"

"You really don’t," a familiar voice called from the stairwell, steps growing louder as the Tevinter mage made his way up to her room. "We’ve kept it at bay so far, haven’t we?"

"Dorian, I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?" Meria breathed, embarrassed that her friend had heard.

"No matter, my dear," he said with a grin and a wink, standing on the top step, "Strictly speaking, I haven’t actually gone to bed yet. Maker, but it’s freezing in here - your blasted fire’s gone out!"

He strode into the room to the fireplace and sheepishly looked around before igniting the fire with a spell.

"So lazy, Lord Pavus," Meria chuckled weakly.  

"Some call it ‘laziness,’ others ‘genius.’ Me, I’m all for getting warm. Quickly."

As he faced her, his smile fell and a ghost of fear clouded his face. A spark of panic flared in his eyes and was willfully extinguished. He tried to hide it from her, but she knew that he’d come to the same conclusion she had. Despite all his knowledge. Despite all the hours and hours he spent poring over old tomes and following leads to find a cure. Despite the healers from nearly every corner of Thedas he’d paraded up the steps to her quarters. Despite everything, he couldn’t save her. She knew he felt like he was failing her, and that knowledge cut deeper than the pain of the anchor.

The anchor. It was killing her. The change had started slowly, but had gathered fearful momentum in the past few years. When Corypheus had been defeated and the rifts all closed, the anchor began to grow. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, but when it extended past her palm to her forearm, she couldn’t deny that it was growing. And it wasn’t just getting physically bigger, it was also consuming her energy. It took her magic from her, leaving her empty and unable to cast even the simplest spell.

Dorian’s lyrium potions and healing poultices had helped to turn the tide for a bit, but the anchor was too… hungry now. From her left hand, it extended up her arm to her chest, neck and cheek in gracefully arching lines that glowed a faint green. She could feel tendrils of it wrapped around her heart and lungs, squeezing tighter each day.

No, there was no amount of lyrium that could stop it now. They were only delaying the inevitable at this point, and they both knew it.

The roar of the fire was the only sound as Dorian worked to wipe the pained look from his face. He coughed and moved stiffly to her side, sitting next to her on the bed and placing his hand on her forehead.

"Well, no wonder you weren’t cold. You’re burning up."

"I had the dream."

Dorian sighed heavily, “Just lie back. You need to rest.”

"… he was there."

"Please don’t do this to yourself." He placed a cool compress on her forehead.

"He was there, in the Fade. Facing the Black City. Again. But this time, he was crying. I tried to call out to him, but when he looked up… that’s when the pain came and I woke up."

Dorian mixed the lyrium draught in silence. He’d heard her describe this dream so many times, he felt like it was his own. The crying was new, but otherwise, it was always him. Solas, the bastard, standing before the Black City, searching for a way in.

"Do you think it was just a dream or really him?"

The same question. Always the same question. Was it really him? Do you think it was really him? Anger, raw and unexpected, bubbled up from the pit of Dorian’s stomach.

"Stop it!" he snapped, "Stop wasting the little bit of energy you have left pining for him.”

"Dorian, I only…"

"You only waste precious energy on the memory of kaffas who broke your heart years ago. Where is he now, Meria? Now that you can’t even walk, let alone cast? Where was he when it was finally too much to just get out of bed? He was gone, that’s where he was. Gone because he’d gotten what he wanted from you. Don’t spend your last days crying over him!”

The silence that fell between them was deafening.

"I’m so sorry," he choked out in a low growl. The lump in his throat made it hard to get the words out. "I don’t know what to do any more. Fasta vass, this is really happening. What do I do?" Dorian’s voice cracked and dropped to a whisper as he hung his head. The Inquisitor reached out to her friend and drew him into a fever-warm embrace. She stroked his dark hair while he wrapped his arms around her small body and sobbed into her shoulder.

She whispered into his ear, “I don’t know what to do either. I’m so scared. But I’m so, so glad you stayed with me, da’len.”

The Dalish endearment made him smile, in spite of himself.

"Oh," he said with a tearful chuckle as he straightened himself up and dried his eyes, "I’m a persistent bastard, if nothing else. You won’t be rid of me so easily."

Smiling through the sadness, he went back to work preparing the medicine that would keep her alive for another day. Maker willing.
Necessary Death: Part 1
This is a longer fiction that will have multiple parts. It contains spoilers for those of you romancing Solas and the end of game twist.

Power has a price, and the Inquisitor is paying it. Without the energy of the rifts to feed it, the anchor has turned its hunger on its host, Meria Lavellan. She lays dying in Skyhold as her dearest friend Dorian works tirelessly to find a way to reverse the anchor’s effects. Meanwhile, somewhere in the Fade, Solas is immersed in his efforts to restore The People when he becomes all too aware of Meria’s condition.

Things to know:
- I like the idea of the Black City and Arlathan being one and the same.
- I like the idea of Mythal talking to Solas as his conscience. She’s about vengeance, but I imagine she would feel affinity with Lavellan’s heartbreak.

~ 1500 words. Assuming I don’t lose momentum, there will be many more.

Also, I'm working on a a bit of art that shows Meria at one point during this story. Here's the work in progress shot:…

Chapter 2 Here:…


Misty Sinclair
United States
Current Residence: Alpharetta, GA
Favourite genre of music: Ermm... anything. I'm eclectic!
Favourite style of art: watercolors and cel art
Wallpaper of choice: Whatever the latest school assignment was...
Favourite cartoon character: Himura Kenshin
Personal Quote: The road leads ever on and on....
  • Mood: Triumph
  • Listening to: Nothing but the rain.
  • Reading: Absolutely nothing...
  • Watching: Still watching Naruto.. up to Shippuden!
I just have to write a journal entry about this...

I have officially sewn my very first costume (Shiva doesn't count--she wasn't sewn, she was GLUED). I used a real pattern (as opposed to one of the super simple ones that came with my "how to sew" book), and made a jacket and skirt and everything. I can't tell you how proud of myself I am. Three or four weeks ago, I was *scared* of a sewing machine.

There are definitely flaws with it... I couldn't figure out how the lining and the pleat underlay went together, so I fudged it, and the jacket is just a little too large for me (I need one of those elastic strips with clips on each end like vests can have, I suppose), but overall, I call this a success.

My Version:…

Link to the Pattern:…

I'll stop being obnoxious about it now. ^_^

Member Of:

:iconshikamari-fanclub: Shikamari-fanclub

:iconwinteriscoming-fans: WinterIsComing-Fans: A Song of Ice and Fire Fanclub

:iconavatar-fan: Avatar: The Last Airbender Fanclub

:iconrebootclub: ReBoot Fanclub

Journal History

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Add a Comment:
EmaNosha Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2014
I saw your fan fiction maybe you would like to enter my writing contest:…
bunnybearme Featured By Owner Jan 12, 2012
You have been tagged~ [link] :D
zurisae Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2010
did you get your Yuna tattoo finished? Just curious, as I didn't see a final pic in your gallery... :)
mimikayuko Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2009
um how much do your cosplays cost
MistyKat Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2009
Hi... thanks for asking. Sorry for taking so long to respond... school and work suck up a lot of my time. This is why I actually don't do commissions any more, if that's what you're after.

Sorry about that... take care!
mimikayuko Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2009
ohhhh ok
BillCorbett Featured By Owner Sep 19, 2009
Thanks very much for the Wild Thing fave :)
Werdandi Featured By Owner Mar 21, 2009  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for fav ^^
MistyKat Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2009
Oh, no problem... your work, it is amazing. ^_^
shel-yang Featured By Owner Mar 12, 2009
many thanks for the watch^^
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