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wellthebardsdead · 19 days ago

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*the scarab prince & the runaway dragon pt14 part 13 here*

———

Voryn: *watching nerevar pace back and forth* He’s safe my love…

Nerevar: And he’s not here! He should be on this blasted rock!! And why is it taking so long for the ship to resupply?!

Voryn: pirates and reavers attacked the latest supply shipment to the island from skyrims port in windhelm… we’ll be set to leave come morning.

Nerevar: morning can’t come fast enough then… *sighs* …Are you alright?…

Voryn: no… *looks down*

Nerevar: … *walks to his side and sits with him* my heart?… my dreamer? D-did I upset you again?… I’m-

Voryn: no, no no my moon and star… it… it’s not you… *shifts uncomfortably* this island is overflowing with energy… it’s overwhelming me but- something here in particular is making me incredibly… uncomfortable… *reaches his hand up, placing it on his chest* somehow the mountain feels louder here… it feels sick…

Nerevar: the heart… how is it reaching you my love?…

Voryn: *shakes his head looking down and away from his gaze* …

Nerevar: … *gently takes his hand, giving it a squeeze* my dreamer…

Voryn: *looks at him sadly* it’s… at the end of this land… it bares his face… and it frightens me…

Nerevar: … *eyes widening knowing exactly what he’s talking about* Come, well, we’ll sleep on the ship… I won’t let that blasted curse sink its claws into you again… *scoops him up with ease and without hesitation leaving no room for protest*

Voryn: *drapes his arms around his shoulders, third eye open wide as they step into the cold night air, staring off past the bulwark, and to a vision of a golden mask, laughing and dancing beyond his reach* thank you, my love…

Nerevar: *holds him a little tighter as he carries him aboard the ship, oblivious to Sen Dres crawling his way onto the docks, soaked to the bone and gasping for air after finally swimming back to shore following that lurker yeeting him*

Sen Dres: b-by Azura- *gets up, spotting the Hortator and high councillor* Your gr- *steps forward and goes right back into the water as the docks rotted planks give way beneath his feet*

Nerevar: hm? The fish are awfully active tonight.

*meanwhile*

Vivienne: *hugging the blanket tight as he walks through the boarder of Windhelm and the rift, his breath catching in his throat as he looks up to see a flurry of gold and reds gleaming beneath the fading moonlight as the sun begins to rise. The eternal autumn greeting him with a golden embrace so awe inspiring he doesn’t even notice the crazed khajiit creeping up on him with their bow drawn*

???: h-hand it over! Hand over your half!

Vivienne: *blinks and turns around, barely having a chance to comprehend the figure before him as an arrow lodges itself in his chest* Hghh- *staggers back, looking down at it in shock* n-no- *slowly looks up at the strange blue Khajiit before falling back and landing amongst the golden fallen leaves, tears spilling from his eyes as he begins to black out, his mind drifting to the only point of happiness in his life, the only person that made him feel happy and safe* s-steren… *winces as he falls into darkness. The void before him stretching far and wide, in the distance a faint red glow, gleaming like a star* …Steren?… *voice cracking as he walks towards it, palm outstretched* Steren?… I-is that you?… *feels his ears twitch against the fabric of his hood as they respond to the faintest murmur of a heartbeat, soft, gentle. Radiating from the star slowly growing closer to his grasp* Steren?? *blinks again seeing the faint outline of a figure, sitting before him, the red star gleaming from their forehead as they stare directly at him* Steren! I’m sorry I left! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! *blinks again and gasps as the darkness is replaced by the blinding morning light, and the outline of Steren is replaced by a rugged Nord man seated across from him in a cart* h-huh?…

Ralof: Hey, you, you’re finally awake.

*meanwhile*

Steren: *galloping ahead of Teldryn, his horse shaking its head and practically choking for breath until halting as Sero grabs its reigns and pulls them to a halt* I- Teldryn we can’t slow down we-

Teldryn Sero: Need to let the horses rest! You’re going to kill the poor thing it’s not a Guar!!

Steren: I- *finally realises his horse is desperately puffing in and out for air, head lowering and ears flicking* I…I’m sorry. *gently places his hand on its shoulder, watching it twitch in response to his touch* Poor thi- *gasps as a blinding pain suddenly shoots through his body, an arrowhead protruding through his shoulder blade and its length through the other side, his eyes following it in stunned silence as he looks back to see a wild eyed blue khajiit aiming for him, a blue khajiit, wearing a green blanket cloak over their ebony armour* … *slides off his horse*

Teldryn Sero: *does the same* Ohhhh, you’re a dead cat for that one, Khajiit. *draws his blade* I’ll handle this your-

Steren: *grasps the hilt of trueflame, drawing it from its sheath with one hand, as the other grasps the arrowhead, ripping it through his shoulder and tossing it to the khajiits feet* Where. Are. They?…

*that evening*

Vivienne: *quietly standing outside the sleeping giant inn, still smelling of dragon fire and dressed in robes that stink vaguely of the decay of the unfortunate mage he’d salvaged them from* is- that a lot? *looks up at his new companion*

Taliesin: For those of humble means I suppose- yes… but for adventurers like ourselves? Not really… it may buy us a night and dinner at the very least but we’ll need more certainly.

Vivienne: *frowns* oh… I’ll… *looks around the town, skin crawling as a Nord man dressed in dark armour catches his gaze, eyeing his body up and down from beneath his robes* I’ll… find some clientele while you rest then…

Taliesin: *noticed the man staring before Vivienne did* No… let’s both rest and we’ll ask around town for work tomorrow? Small little hamlets like this always have odd jobs that need to be done. *gently ushers him inside, standing between him and the man’s gaze as they step through the door and settle in for the night*

#vivienne Dragonborn #steren nerevarine #teldryn Sero #skyrim taliesin

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sulphuricgrin · 9 hours ago

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WIP Whensday

Last week I was tagged by: @hircines-hunter @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @theoneandonlysemla and @saltymaplesyrup thank you c: AND I'M TAGGING YOU BACK🫵

no pressure tagging: @pocket-vvardvark @firefly-factory @madam-whim @moriche @dirty-bosmer @sunlightpassingthroughthewater @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @changelingsandothernonsense

@scholarlyhermit @illumiera @yansurnummu @thescrolls-haveforetold @truth-01001001-liar @silly-little-diary @captain-of-silvenar

Almost Wednesday, but whatever. Sorry i've been kinda MIA. Emotional burnout is tiring, i'm trying to take care of myself first and foremost right now. I skipped last week in favor of putting out a new chapter. So this week, (because Kuri told me to) I'm gonna share 2 WIPS. I'm sorry if it's a lot to read. Each are 1k.

Before we start, as always, if you see a mistake, no, you didn't. It's WIPs after all ;-;

First WIP: I've started writing Miraak's first chapter in Fate-Touched, which I'm weirdly anxious about sharing, but fuck it. (I say while crying lol) I have thoughts to possibly rewrite this later, but that's future-me's problem.

Time did not pass in Apocrypha. It layered, like dust on untouched tomes, like mold beneath cracked parchment.

Miraak has learned long ago not to measure it.

There were no seasons here, no stars, no calendar to mark the creeping ruin of days. Light filtered in through nowhere. The sky, if it could be called that, rolls in shades of green. Books fell from nothing and towers breathed like great slumbering beasts. One could not measure time in a place that had no heartbeat. You could only endure it.

And endure it he had.

He no longer remembered the warmth of the sun, not truly. The idea of it remained, abstract and academic: golden heat on skin, the smell of pine-sap and stone after rain, a horizon that stretched beyond sight. He could recite the sensations. He could even summon phantom echoes of them in dreams. But when he reached for them in his waking mind, they fell apart like old scrolls in damp hands.

But Miraak had learned patience.

The patience of seeds buried in ash, waiting for the forest to burn itself away. The patience of a prisoner scraping at the same patch of wall for centuries, knowing that one day, even stone will remember the shape of his hand. The patience of the tapestry weaver who vanished into her threads, knowing that beauty takes time and vengeance even more.

Hermaeus Mora had taught him many things. How to consume knowledge without choking on it. How to see with more than just his eyes. How to bend words into weapons. But perhaps the most cruel lession the Daedric Prince has offered was the nature of obedience ― how a man could serve and resist at the same time.

He played the servant now. Worked with ciphers when it suited him. Spoke in half-truths, in carefully shaped lies. He walks the stacks of Apocrypha like a ghost, silent and watching, rarely interfering unless it was necessary ― and when it was necessary, it was final.

To the Ciphers of Apocrypha, he was legend and warning in one.

Some revered him: the First Servant, the first mortal deemed fit to help their Lord, forever here and powerful. Others feared him: the drowned man who whispered secrets into their ears and left them mad with knowing. The wisest among them understood the truth: Miraak could be helpful in this exchange of knowledge, but never fully trusted. He would manipulate them, use them, discard them without remorse if they prove no longer useful. He was not cruel for cruelty’s sake. He was methodical.

He has patience. Not mercy.

And in that patience, he schemed.

Every so often, a new plan took shape. A path to escape. A possible weakness in Mora’s design taken advantage of. Yet each time, it unraveled ― whether by fate, or sabotage, or the Prince’s quiet disapproval. Once he had nearly breached the walls of the realm, a gate had opened. He had tasted the air beyond― and then, suddenly, it had collapsed, melted to ink. A book he’d written himself lay where the gate had been, rewritten in a tongue only he could read.

A message. His leash tugged on.

A warning.

But he did not rage. Not anymore. Not after all these innumerable, never-ending years. He watched. He waited. Patience was a power in slow form, the kind of power Mora underestimated in mortals. (Though he could hardly be considered one, both with his dragon soul and seemingly immortal body.)

Miraak had all the time in the world, with a body lost out of time. And when his patience bore fruit, when, not if, his prison cracked and the stars remembered his name―

Many would quickly understand what it meant to cage a mind that never stopped planning.

For now, he watches the dullness of the Cipher’s Midden. He barely remembers a time when there was no such thing within Apocrypha, no mortals settling within this plane of Oblivion. But over the― over the centuries it slowly grew. Buildings slowly built in the area. Slowly one grew to three, to six, to ten, to more and more. It acted as a pseudo-capital for the ciphers and visiting cultists, and a hub for brave and greedy merchants willing to step into Oblivion to sell to disadvantaged ciphers. This was Oblivion, there was nothing friendly to mortal lives here ― no flora or fauna that was proper to sustain life. So they had to depend on visiting merchants or return to Nirn to restock.

He stalks the upper levels of the Midden, his face covered by his mask. He preferred it that way when here or when interacting with the Ciphers and cultists in general. It left them in the dark how he really looked, making it easier to disarm them if he approaches one of them without it. Even in their little myths about him, the damn mask was how new generations learn to recognize him, and fear him. It was the simplest of intimidation tactics to use. Even now as he walks, the inhabitants of the Midden warily part a path for him.

Walking along one of the wooden bridges in the Midden, he stops to the side and looks down below briefly, where it was busy with several merchants pawning goods to needy ciphers. Eyes glance around not out of need, but boredom. He turns and walks off. There were two he’s seen before and one new one ― some blonde elf from what he could see, but thought little of it.

The further he walks away though, his mind refuses to shed the idea of the new one. The more he runs the scene in his head. Tall, taller than everyone around them. In a sea of greens and blacks, merchants were often the biggest source of colour, but they were in deep, rich blues and golds. Something― something is telling him to go back and so he does, turning on his heels.

But when he returns, he cannot find them.

He shakes his head at such impulsivity, and decides to forget about them.

----

Onto the second WIP: Uhhh, I wrote this in a parking lot on the laptop I carry around, because I knew I'd lose it/the vibe before getting home. I might not even use it honestly?? But- but I wrote it and it's a WIP. So have a kinda soft Dragonsong scene. :>

Also yeah, song is In A Week by Hozier

She finds him in her study, listening to one of the imprinted stones she had stashed.

It was one of those rare moments where he felt exhaustion, and found respite here, listening to records of her voice. He sits back in her desk chair, body and mind feeling weary. Legs are outstretched, crossed at the ankles and his body slumped in the chair with arms crossed. His head leans back, eyes closed as he listens to the slow song and― he sighs when he hears a soft chuckle.

Lifting his head, he sees her watching him, almost bemused by the sight of him. “You know this is my study?” Her eyes glance at the recorded image of her and a man singing and dancing. He hadn’t cared much about the image, not liking the scene of her in another’s arms, but he certainly doesn’t voice this. Both the image and the audio are slightly worn, the image slightly foggy and the audio quiet. Neither mention this happens from repeated watching, the magic wearing out. She looks over him again, and continues when he doesn’t reply to her question. “You seem tired.”

He’s surprised a comment on his age doesn’t immediately follow that. He replies with nothing, instead unfolding his arms. His right stays in his lap as the left reaches for the imprint stone, turning the magic off, knowing the end will begin to stutter.

She turns and he hopes she plans to leave him be. But, per usual, she defies expectations, instead pulling an additional chair up to the desk. She positions it in front of him, and sits so that they face each other. Without explanation, he feels that light bit of magicka from her and she begins to sing the song he had been listening to.

Her voice is a far better substitute to that fiance of hers she had been with in the recording, even as she sings in her more masculine voice. As she sings, it is all her, with no other, shifting between voices.

“I have never known peace

Like the damp grass that yields to me

I have never known hunger

Like these insects that feast on me”

He stays relaxed in the chair, but oddly cannot watch her. In such close quarters and this song, it feels too― He leans his head back again, and allows himself to enjoy it, but swallow the feelings that threaten to bubble. Her feet bump into his, proving how close they are, yet does not move away. He unconsciously separates his feet and hers is quick to come between, their ankles against the other.

“A thousand teeth

And yours among them, I know

Our hungers appeased

Our heartbeats becoming slow”

She sings of death, yet of soft romance; her voice layering in a duet. It fits her too well, it fits them. His left hand fidgets with the imprint stone still in his hand on the desk. He hates how his mind, twisted as it was, thinks of their own bodies, perhaps somewhere on Nirn, composing into the dirt side by side one day. A sort of peace, when time finally gets him. Or perhaps they’ll kill each other.

“We lay here for years or for hours

Thrown here or found, to freeze or to thaw

So long, we'd become the flowers

Two corpses we were, two corpses I saw.”

Her right hand gently pulls the stone from his hand, and then her fingers come back to touch his. This was something he’s grown accustomed to, her almost experimental touches. But now? He starves for them. For her to never stop. Damn him for this want.

“And they'd find us in a week

When the weather gets hot

After the insects have made their claim

I'd be home with you, I'd be home with you”

He moves to look at her again. She does not have her gaze on him, but on their hands. His mind tells him to pull away and yet, his body defies him. Instead, for the first time, his fingers moves to grasp her calloused hand. He curses her difficult to read expression.

“I have never known sleep

Like this slumber that creeps to me

I have never known colour

Like this morning reveals to me”

This is foolish behavior. And feelings.

But her hand doesn’t leave his.

“And you haven't moved an inch

Such that I would not know

If you sleep always like this

The flesh calmly going cold”

Long, slender fingers simply shift in his grasp and lace their hands together. Her hands, slightly longer than his, but they fit just right. She looks almost curious at them and stops singing to give a short, low hum as she stares.

This intimacy feels almost wrong ― far too gentle for either of them, but― but here they are, doing so. It makes his skin itch and his chest too heavy for this. This is foolish. His fingers twitch, a half-thought to pull away, but she gives the faintest of squeezes in response, as if to stop him, and her head just so barely tilts to the side.

It’s in these moments of her rare silence that he even more rarely wishes to hear her babble her string of consciousness, listen to her unbidden thoughts.

He hates that he―

That―

Inwardly he groans over all of this. Of all people, after such a terribly long time stuck here, she is the one he pines over. What a terribly weak, pathetic word for it.

He starves for her, yet drowns in her presence. It’s now been two years since he realised and he hates every bit of it. And by the gods, was she a tease; he cannot tell her wants, yet she does things like this. Would it just be easier to simply force her to stay in Apocrypha?

He does not know.

Her thumb softly caresses the side of his forefinger and he’s ready to retreat, accept a loss in this odd battle.

#tes #tesblr #wip wednesday #wip whenever #OC: lilliandra #miraak #i'm so v tired but uh enjoy???#otp: dragonsong

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