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throughtrialbyfire · 1 year ago

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𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 ♥

you already know what time it is!!

thank you to the lovely and incredibly talented @skyrim-forever @your-talos-is-problematic @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter and @dirty-bosmer for the tags this week!! i've been having an amazing time reading/looking at all your wips, and i know i say it always but i can't wait to see how your works turn out, whether writing or art!! wednesday has easily become my favorite day of the week bc of this community <3

i'm passing the tag to @umbracirrus @wispstalk @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @orfeoarte @caliblorn @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @aphocryphas @gilgamish and YOU! if you wanna hop in, tag me back, and no pressure as always!!

this week i've got a bit of a treat: i'm working on some art! it's one that's really pushing me out of my comfort zone in terms of pose, expression, and perspective, and i'm extremely excited to finish it and show what i've been up to! featuring the beloved Cicero, of course

aaaaaaaand since i posted chapter 14 of Cycle of the Serpent this past weekend, i'm gonna give you guys a long snippet of chapter 23. >:3c emeros is asking for the group's imperial pardon from general tullius, and it comes with a catch. fair warning, the snippet is LONG bc i am incapable of being normal about this fic. are you ready, because i sure fucking am

Emeros stifled a scoff. Athenath did not. Instead, the Altmer made a step forward, the Bosmer eyeing him with a quirked brow. The bard said, "we helped Hadvar, he said he'd help us out if we needed it." "Precisely." Emeros leveled. "In fact, he said that should we wish to acquire an Imperial pardon, to come directly to you, General Tullius." He lowered his brow. The General waited, shifting from foot to foot as he considered this, before waving an enormous hand and resting it again on the table, facing the map sprawled before him. Wooden pegs painted in red and blues littered various points, stuck in deep with metal ends. The light landed along the metal gleam of his armor, golden color running rotten in the days glare. "You know, not many survived that place. If you could give us a hand, Legate Rikke-" he motioned to the woman beside him, stray hairs catching the light, "-could have some use for you. Besides, I'm sure your being imprisoned was all a big misunderstanding." Wyndrelis cleared his throat and looked up at the Bosmer, already making a slow, calculated stride to the General, his teeth grit together. With a deep inhale, he spoke, ignoring the light twitch of his under eye, the pittering in his chest. "General, I do not wish to waste your time, nor do I believe mine is of any less value," he began, "however, my compatriots and I have come a long way to be here. Not to mention, the scene we witnessed in your town square-" "Roggvir, the traitor," Tullius scoffed, shaking his head, disbelief clearly running courses through him, "he opened the gate for Ulfric Stormcloak after he murdered High King Torygg-" "And started this bloody Civil War proper, yes, I'm well aware of the stories, sir." Emeros interrupted in a bored drone, his wrist making idle motions. General Tullius craned his neck to peer back at Emeros, one wrinkled brow raised. His face had the character of a man well beyond the usual glory days of a soldier, a war and weather-battered face, with the scarred and sun-roughened arms to match. He was no man to be trifled with in the slightest, and yet (despite the atrocious nerves burdening his every action, the weight of every word weighed heavy on the blade the General carried to cut out sharp-tongues like his) the alchemist bothered not with patience nor obedience here. Instead, the Bosmer lifted his chin, his posture taking all the hallmarks of Aldmeri society, his arms straight at his sides, his spine taut, his eyes skimming the face of the Imperial like a bird to a field mouse among the brush. "We are here for our pardon. Nothing more."

General Tullius turned again to face the Bosmer. "And we're low on men. Our ranks are thin enough as is. If you want your pardon, you'll have to earn it." He made no motion, no step, nothing to indicate intimidation, but the bead of sweat down the back of his neck brandished his demeanor, the stress he was under already. In the shadows, Emeros observed the bruise-dark circles forming under the man's eyes over the past few weeks of sleepless nights, the kind he'd seen on many an Imperial soldier returning to Cyrodiil from the front lines in the Great War. He'd been younger then, thought nothing of the bloodshed. But here? He saw the thirty years aftermath and the absurdity of the Civil War plain and simple.

"Then I believe we are at an impasse." Emeros simply turned on his heel and began the walk down the antechamber, guards unsure whether to apprehend the Bosmer or allow him to step away. General Tullius watched in disbelief, and as the doors parted, gave a great sigh.

"Wait, now."

Emeros stood on the precipice, light filtering in, casting his shadow long behind him. He turned. "Yes, sir?"

"I understand the urgency of your request, elf-"

"Emeros Nightlock."

General Tullius sighed again. "I understand the urgency of your request, mister Nightlock, but I can't grant something like that on a whim. I need to know you're not here to cause trouble. I know your winding up on the Helgen prison cart was probably just a misunderstanding, as well as these…" he gestured vaguely to Athenath and Wyndrelis, who were halfway through the antechamber and to their friends side when he'd turned back at the General's request, "…fine young people. But until I can verify that you've no intentions to make me regret that decision…"

"Ah," Emeros ticked, "a deed for a deed." He shut the doors, and made a solid march back to the war room as though nothing had happened. "Really, General, I would prefer if you had said so in the first place."

General Tullius inhaled deeply through his nose, leveling out whatever turmoil brewed behind his cold exterior. He made a motion to the Nord, Legate Rikke, who watched the trio with bewildered amusement. "You will speak to the Legate here, and do what she asks. Only then, can I grant your pardon."

"Thank you for your time, General Tullius." Emeros approached the Legate with a polite smile, the kind that barely graced his eyes, and spoke again. "What can we do for you, Legate Rikke?"

The Legate, her eyes keenly examining the three before her, barely tamped down the burgeoning smirk on her lips. "You three survived Helgen?" She shifted her light-hued gaze between their faces. Wyndrelis' nervous fidgeting, Athenath's fingers combing through his dark curls, and Emeros' cold expression, his posture high and solid - he silently hoped the shaking palms eluded her. "Not many made it out alive, you know. I've got a good feeling about you three, and I don't often get good feelings about anything. A warrior knows to trust her gut."

"Legate Rikke, I appreciate the sentiment deeply, but I would like to know what it is you're expecting us to… Do, exactly." Emeros watched the Legate as she lifted her brow, internally mulling something over before she spoke up again.

"You know, bravado gets soldiers killed."

"Fascinating. I will note that down for any soldiers I may meet."

"Emeros," Athenath hissed quietly, tugging his arm. The Bosmer seemed to come back to the room around him, as though he had been operating in some sort of pre-determined mode, a Dwemer automata wound up and gaining sentience. For a moment, his eyes flashed cold-sweat panic to the Altmer, then narrowed sternly. He returned his gaze to the Legate.

"Well," Legate Rikke breathed, sliding a palm over the map before her, "I'm sending you to clear out Fort Hraagstad. If you survive, you'll pass. If you die, then I'll have no further use for your corpses."

An icy fear grasped the trio, but Emeros merely cleared his throat and spoke again. "What is the purpose of this assignment?"

"The ancients built many of the fortresses that dot the landscape of Skyrim. Sadly, most have fallen into disrepair. And nearly all have been overrun with bandits or other vagabonds. Fort Hraagstad is one of the few that remains mostly intact. We're going to install a garrison there, but first, you three are going to clean out the bandits that have moved in."

"Mark it on our map, and we'll be off by morning." Emeros made a gesture behind himself, Wyndrelis fumbling with the map he tugged from his pocket, passing it to the Bosmer. He allowed Legate Rikke to make scratches along the surface with a quill, easy lines detailing the best path up to the fort, her face stern as she passed it back over to him.

"Good luck."

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