Medea Admeta
Status Alive
Race Elf
Age 22
Birth Date {{{birthdate}}}
Gender Female
Sexual Orientation Heterosexual
Hometown Minrathous, Tevinter
Residence Lowtown Residential Area
Affiliation Imperial Circle of Magi

Imperial Legion

Occupation Legion Battle Mage and Spirit Healer

Clinic healer at the Blooming Rose

Class Mage
Specialization Spirit Healer

Battle Mage

Gear She keeps a wide array of various robes and dresses. Her weapon of choice is the black onyx quarterstaff, Ambición.
Behind the Mask
Player Nynuwe
Face Claim Cristina Scabbia
Profile Link Here


  • Eyes: Amber green
  • Skin shade: Light beige
  • Hair: Black. Slightly wavy. Reaching just below her shoulder plates.
  • Height: 5'3" ft. tall.
  • Weight: 118 pounds.

As is typical for elves, Medea possesses a willowy lithe figure with soft curves. Coupled with a relatively short stature, her corporal appearance bestows an image of daintiness on her person. An image of delicate beauty easily shattered by ruthless and precise execution of magical power, accompanied by a subtle vexing smile.

Often impulsed by voracious curiosity, she inspects her surroundings with canny eyes and reserved glee. Her lofty image is softened by moments where she exudes a childlike fascination for something new and exotic.

On the road, or in any situation where she can anticipate possible combat, she equips herself with pliant robes of black silk, and red and golden patterned cloth. Her robes look delicate and beautiful, but are heavily enchanted for vicious battle. Otherwise, whenever she can enjoy a moment of peace and relaxation, she would wear one of her many tastefully simple dresses. Her favorite would be a set of simple champagne colored dress with loose sleeves, and a flowy skirt, occasionally worn underneath a set of long deep purple robes, and a champagne colored wide cloth belt.

However, whenever she is expecting possible danger, she always carries a 6-ft quarterstaff, Ambición strapped to her back. Beautiful in its simplicity, the staff is made of black onyx stone, polished into a sleek shine. It lacks any visible engravings, jewels, or any other adornment. This quarterstaff is her signature weapon, nonetheless. Only a fool would dare judge it for its oddly minimalist appearance.


Upon first meeting, Medea displays a reserved and secretive disposition; her thoughts and actions driven by a dooming sense of paranoia that is barely held in check. However, once past her initial reservations, and has had the chance to feel herself assured around the new company, Medea's true personality is revealed.

Extremely curious and inquisitive, Medea questions and rationalizes practically anything. Yet she still holds unto some misconceptions as is expected. When not held back by her paranoia, she's shameless in her dealings with others as she is used to eccentric arrogant magisters and their seeming moral ambiguity. Her bouts of sarcasm and lingering Tevinter pride don't exactly benefit her either.

Medea doesn't feel very "elvish", but retains a habit to refer to humans as shems or shemlens at least in her mind which she inherited from her mother's Dalish origins. Due to her father being a magister, she has enjoyed privileges most elves in Tevinter do not possess. Not that she hasn't faced any difficulties. As all mages ferociously compete with each other in Tevinter -much as nobles do in Orlais- her status as an elf has proven to be a constant liability throughout her life.

But from her struggles is born her impressive confidence in her magic, and thirst for continued self improvement. As she travels wherever her whim takes her, she will be consistently re-evaluating her personal perspective of the world, bringing herself closer towards her life purpose.


Her history is tied to that of Nirmoh Liberius.

As far as she can remember, her life has always been surrounded by magic. Having been born inside the very Tower of the Minrathous Circle of Magi, Medea has always been fascinated by the possibilities magic could bring to the world. She practically breathed it. It was her every day reality, and anything outside of it was considered foreign and alien to her.

She was raised under the careful guidance of her father, Magister Kharlos'lan Admeta, and her loving mother, Laryn. The Admetas are one of the few elvhen families whose members had become magisters in Tevinter. And as such, Medea had the luxury to the protection and critter comforts that come with being a magister's daughter.

But at the tender age of 8, her mother had died. Medea and her mother had been on the outskirts of a forest outside of the country, visiting the Dalish clan her mother once belonged to. Laryn had wanted to introduce her daughter to her heritage. But horror struck, and due to blood magic practices, her mother had become possessed by a demon. In a moment of insanity, Laryn had slaughtered the whole clan. Medea was the only survivor.

From this traumatizing event, Medea had become hardened and unwaveringly focused on her magical development. Medea had undertaken rigorous training from mentors and enchanters in the Spirit Healer specializations. Her goal was to become a deadly weapon that would not ever fall prey to the same weakness her mother did. As a result of her experience, Medea developed a hatred towards all things blood magic.

At the age of 18, Medea joined the ranks of the Legion to fight in Seheron. For three years she has undergone the ruthless exercises and specialized training of Battle Magic honed by generations of the conquering Imperial magisters. Despite the endless racism against it, she owed it to Tevinter to have allowed her to be the free mage that she was. And it was an honor for her to use her talents in the defense of magekind against the heathen followers of the Qun.

Three years later, just as she had recently arrived on Minrathous for a small reprieve from the constant battles, her general and issued an urgent order for her return to the wretched island of Seheron along with various other Spirit Healers.

But just as she and her fellow Spirit Healers had reached the shores of Seheron, the contingent of Legion soldiers that were supposed to receive them was strangely absent. The band of healers ventured further in, and once finding the first clearing of trees, they found their answer.

Corpses of many Legion soldiers were strewn across the field. It was a trap. The Qunari sprang from the copses of tress and foliage surrounding them. The band of Spirit Healers were almost instantly decimated. Medea was the last one standing. Injured and weakened, she had erected a powerful barrier to keep herself and two others alive. But her mana was draining and she had no lyrium potions left. Just as the powerful swing of an Arvaraad was about to break through her weakening barrier and smash her to bits, his head flew away from his body and fell to the ground. The tables have turned on the Qunari, it seems. But instead of a vengeful contingent of Legion soldiers as she had expected, it was a fierce band of angry Tal-Vashoth. It was pure luck, or was it fate? Either way, Medea was saved.

Unfortunately, having to keep the barrier had not allowed Medea to spare mana nor time to heal the other two last survivors. While the Tal-Vashoth wiped the field clean of any breathing Qunari, her comrades finally gave out from their fatal wounds and died. Broken and angry, Medea kept her bloodied stance as the Tal-Vashoth neared her when the battle ended in their favor.

Expecting the fateful fall of the axe through her barely existing barrier and her head, she was surprised to see a mature kossith halt any violent intentions towards her with the slight movement of his arm. With a few words spoken in their native tongue, the leader sheathed his sword and surveyed her surroundings. He noticed the various corpses of Qunari strewn about her. She had done her fair amount of damage before being forced to a defensive stance during her battle against the Qunari. The mature Tal-Vashoth smiled at her, and issued orders once again in his native tongue. This time, she did not see one of the soldiers move silently behind her and land a pommel blow of her head. She had blacked out.

When she woke up, she was informed of her situation. 'Heal or die'. Not being foolish and unnecessarily suicidal, she obeyed. Out of all the Tal-Vashoth, it was one lone Saarebas who had taken the task to feed her and guard her. He was the only one she cared to exchange words with. As weeks passed by, she was impressed that he had learned a few healing spells out of simple observation, and had started to feel more at ease speaking with him. She even felt comfortable enough to teach him a few words in Arcanum, and learn some Qunlan in exchange. The saarebas was the only one who knew what she meant when she said "Cálmate, idiota." when a Tal-Vashoth did wish to stay still while she administered a healing spell.

Then came the fateful day that she and the Saarebas had decided to escape Seheron together. It was his idea. He had offered to free her in exchange of becoming his guide in the outside world. Technically, if she followed through with the agreement, she would still remain a prisoner, but at least it wouldn't be permanent. Only until he had learned enough of the bas world to live by himself. At night, they ran, although it almost seemed too easy. According to Saarebas, the Tal-Vashoth leader, who Saarebas called "Ashkaari", actually knew of their intentions and had simply allowed it. To this day, she does not exactly understand why would the Tal-Vashoth Ashkaari do that.

Once they reached the shores of Minrathous, she was sorely tempted to lock the Saarebas in a Crushing Prison and flee, but she had given her word. Looking back at him, she suggested he take on a name. The Saarebas smiled and asked in his choppy Common, "Why don't you help me come up with a proper name? One whose meaning would suit me."

For the undeluded free man, she had come up with the perfect name, "Nirmoh Liberius".