#altmer antics

[ohmyarda]

"What's next for a master assassin?" "You mean after helping you clean up this massive debacle? Oh, the usual, I guess. Try some more of the local cuisine. Collect my next contract. Complete my next contract. What can I say? I'm a creature of habit." - Elam Drals

Another commission I had the pleasure of doing for the amazing @ohmyarda of her ESO characters! Also, if you haven't already, please go check out her lovely art!~

[crysdrawsthings]

So, I guess I am finally making a bit of an explanation about Deer's story and antics. Mostly the basics, but with some bits about the wilder side of things.

As tradition goes, warning - cringe.

Who on Nirn is Deer?

Deer is, well, Deer. More specifically Deer is Lanaraume. And Lanaraume is a minor altmer noble from Auridon, who after coming of age decided to pursue an adventuring career and join Undaunted, to the mutual "well, whatever makes you happy" of her parents.

Gifted with a natural affinity for it, she by this point started to develop her dragonknight abilities, otherwise being a pretty normal spellsword.

Personality-wise she is rather cheerful, comparably easy-going, very curious, and on the overall has the personality of an excitable puppy with a pinch of social anxiety. With the caveat of her also being very into the whole adventuring and honing her fighting abilities.

Deer the Vestige

Some time later, Deer, after already receiving more formal training and further delving into the whole dragonknight thing, find herself sacrificed to Molag Bal by Man of Marco, everyone's beloved necromancer. Well, that sucked.

So, upon clawing her way out of Coldharbour she got a serious beef with the Worm Cult and also a rather useful ability to defy death. But a notable lack of soul and overuse of dragonknight abilities affecting her physical form much more then previously. Not to mention foggy memories and the rest.

Nonetheless, she makes it her first longterm goal to get back at the Worm Cult, Mannimarco and Molag Bal. Which leads her on a series of fun adventures and plenty of opportunities to apply some extreme violence to the abovementioned parties.

Deer the Bodyguard

Well, of course she is not focusing solely on this for the next several years that it takes. She also gets a job! Or more precisely, gets immediately roped into being a Queen's Eye after crawling out of the sea.

One thing after the other over several month, including her becoming besties with a bosmer called Stabby (and also becoming Deer in the process) she and Stabby find themselves tossed into complicated Dominion politics. Deer specifically assigned to be Naemon's bodyguard after all these assassination attempts on Ayrenn. You know, just in case.

Skipping on the finer details of Deer's hopeless pinning for now, she makes some friends, alongside Stabby (who becomes the new Green Lady) helps out during the whole Dominion storyline, reconnects with her Undaunted buddies, and by this point probably reaches the point where her dragonknight talents mostly stop evolving further.

Deer the Dumbass in Love

Okay, let's talk about the ship. Ship that Stabby was sailing before anyone else did. As a fun background to the whole world-saving heroics there is also romance subplot. I don't won't to go into the whole unreasonably specific amount of details about how, but Deer and Naemon end up marrying eventually. In bullet-point format it goes kind of like this:

Several month later after the events on the Khenarthi's Roost Deer is assigned to be Naemon's bodyguard. They more or less get along rather nicely. Deer is hopelessly pinning in the background, Stabby is making angry bosmer noises.

About half a year later Estre is revealed to be the Veiled Queen and after her attempt to destroy Auridon promptly killed by Deer and Stabby. Which resulted in the expected and collectively agreed upon Deer's transfer to do something else, because the situation got awkward enough already

Around a whole year later the ratification ceremony for Ayrenn is being set up and Deer ends up working with Naemon again. Very awkward situation, yes. Stabby succeeds in making it even more awkward as do several long-expected cases of sibling drama between Ayrenn and Naemon. But at least the ceremony went along smoothly.

Unfortunately for Stabby who is trying to sail her ship of two emotionally stunted altmer, who just got back to the "friendly colleagues" point, this is where Veiled Heritance (now led by Pelidil) in their last attempt to be relevant to the plot kidnap Naemon. All around bad move.

After this little issue is dealt with (Deer finally gets to punch Pelidil!) Deer is back in her bodyguard role, Naemon is back to his beloved papers and political duties, and a month or so later they start dating, sort of. Stabby can finally rest and go do her Stabby stuff in peace.

Deer the Boziikkodstrun's New Best Friend

Okay, back on the topic of Deer and her vengeance towards Worm Cult, Man of Marco and Molag Bal. And stopping the Planemeld, I guess.

Thankfully, convincing Three Alliances to stop killing each other for a hot minute and help out with Planemeld was not that hard, and so Deer ended up among the group sent back to Coldharbour to beat some daedra up. Mostly in accordance to how it happens in the ESO things go more or less okay and Prophet uses the recovered Amulet of Kings to imbue Vestige with enough loaned power to whack Molag Bal around like a chew toy.

The one major difference would be that Molag Bal sends Boziikkodstrun, the first Daedric Titan and before this a captured dragon, to stop the Vestige. It doesn't work out, Titan is defeated, but due to the whole Amulet-empoverment thing some bits of his broken soul stick with Deer.

Congratulations, new disembodied buddy acquired. Funnily enough his influence and draconic nature kickstarting some more useful changes in Deer's dragonknight abilities. And after some time also provided her with a situationally talkative ancient dragon, reminiscing of his good old days of being treated as a living god.

Deer and her other fun antics

Completed the challenge of the Maestrom Arena and got a really cool glaive-like weapon out of it.

Is a reason why Deer's Diplomatic Disaster Bingo exists.

Moved to Alinor, finally got officially married, put a giant dragon statue in the backyard, hated by the HOA.

Kept in touch with represenative of other Alliances, whom she met while stopping Planemeld and greatly contributed to the Three Banner War slowly coming to a halt.

Did stuck her nose into every single dungeon on the list. Bullied several other Daedric Princes into leaving Nirn the hell alone.

Became a mother. Once via adoption, once in the regular way.

Have I mentioned that she got officially married to Naemon? She did. She also survived the Ordeal (tm) which is the official marriage in Alinor when royals are involved.

Found new fun stuff to do with her, empowered by Boziikkodstrun's soul, dragonknight abilities. Also started growing scales and horns in addition to already present fangs and claws

Overall has a pretty chill life spiced up by adventuring, exploring dungeons and showing up for important social events

Deer and the Tiber Wars

Now, this one would require some explanation. Which is what this post is about, but still.

Let's call the events of Elsweyr Chapter a turning point between two timelines.

Should they not happen we are talking about Timeline A, which is a Bad OG Timeline. In this timeline Deer happily lives and very unhappily dies while trying to stop Numidium from sacking Summerset, this leading the story to the events of Morrowind, Oblivion and Skyrim. And especially to Elanor ascending to become new Alduin.

Who then proceeds to abuse her privileges to enact one final act of trolling upon an upstart human god. Namely traveling alongside the threads of time to gaslight, gatekeep and girbloss events of Elsweyr into happening, thus creating Timeline B, The Good Updated one.

Which is notable for the fact that exposure to the Core of Jode and Aeonstone, as well as Mask of Alkosh is just what a doctor would have ordered for Boziikkodstrun's soul to finally heal and thus lend a hand (paw?) with a few last nifty abilities, including at long last complete transformation into an angry winged magic lizard and a Thundercloud Form for it.

Which, you guessed it, helps in breaking down Numidium and tearing out it's power core. But it is a whole another story.

Anyway, remember kids, it is always moral and right to punch Tiber in the face.

[isirumarin]

RIP whiskers

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Oromis: My sister Avarenya got a bad burn on her hands, and in the midst of her crying in pain, she placed them over my heart and went “ahhh, so nice and cold”.

Tar-Meena: She saw the chance and she took it.

[gaylittledragonborn]

welcome to azzie’s skyrim blog <3

hi! its azzie, otherwise known as @gaylittleinnkeepers !! i am a fan of skyrim and im hopefully starting a new story soon so uh,,,,,,,,,hello :D

i have many an oc: iida maryon, iverea maryon, korira adthius, etiyana jarrin, jamatil forrawyn, edwin braclas and azzie (who is basically a self insert LOL)

i will mainly post memes, stuff about my newest fic, and more memes.

i like memes.

anyway! hope u enjoy ur stay <3 feel free to msg about skyrim or whatever

~

ocs are under the cut <3

IIDA MARYON (dragonborn): she is a dunmer, the rambunctious and eccentric twin sister to brelyna maryon, grew up in solstheim in neloth’s big mushroom lol. when they were fairly young, her and brelyna moved to skyrim to go to the college of winterhold, where they lived for quite a while, learning to do magic. she’s mostly restoration inclined, since…most of the other magic she does doesn’t end well at all. iida found out she was dragonborn when she was assisting the dragon attack in whiterun and shouted at one of the guards by accident LOL. eventually she somehow manages to woo the pretty nord girl at the market and they have two kids, alesan and sofie

heres a lil iida sketch for yall ;)

IVEREA MARYON (eventual assassin): iverea is the younger cousin of both iida and brelyna, also residing in neloth’s giant mushroom until very recently, when the whole ‘miraak enslaving all of them OH NO’ thing happened, and goes to skyrim to look for iida to help. unfortunatrly she gets sidetracked because of her girlfriend friend korira, and then they become assassins by accident? lol. (also she’s my pfp)

here >x<

KORIRA ADTHIUS (eventual assassin): korira is a noice lil altmer girl, who as a child was somehow abandoned in skyrim and has lived in various bandit camps since. however, she’d accidentally angered the most recent bandit leader she’d been staying with and was locked away— that is, until iverea came along (by accident) and she’d taken a liking to the other girl immediately, therefore Falling In Love and being a pain in the ass

ETIYANA JARRIN (silencer): etiyana is an imperial, a member of the dark brotherhood, and is the eventual silencer. she is tall, ginger-haired, and desperately in love with gabriella LOL. she also has a young son, jeto, who regularly hangs out in the sanctuary haughhaugh.

JAMATIL FORRAWYN (vampire, housecarl): jamatil is the housecarl to iida, unfortunately. they are very calm, collected, and also no-nonsense, which is funny because them and iida are polar opposites HAHAHA. they are unfortunately very used to iida’s antics, and is very good friends with ysolda and ysolda + iida’s kids. oh, and they’e blind

EDWIND BRACLAS (mage): edwind is a breton mage who lives in morthal, with falion as his apprentice. he is good at magic because he has no hands and therefore cannot hold items LMAOOOO he gets by levitating items and making up for whatever restriced motor movement he has with extremely powerful magika

AZZIE (self insert): a little bosmer girl who travels around giving ominous advice to unfortunate passers-by. is trying very hard to get the attention of a khajiit girl who lives by the docks in windhelm, but is a gay disaster HA

~

thats it, i hope u like my little disasters <3

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (12)

In Which Lila Learns about Skyrim

Ao3 | FF.net

Sorry for taking a bit with this chapter. It isn’t even very long. But I was in the hospital recovering from surgery. We’re coming up close to the end of the story, but there’s maybe two more chapters after this. 

(Psst this chapter has hints to the next story I’ll publish after this one...as long as my ideas don’t change lol)

--

Lila was fired. It was immediate when they found out. Everyone sat in class, the lecture normal and lulling everyone into a soft state of sedation. 

Then Lila screamed. The scream was the worst thing Marinette had ever heard. Immediately, everyone turned to look at her in horror. 

She started bawling. Huge gasping sobs of someone who’d been shot. 

“Lila?!” Miss Bustier gasped in shock and concern. “Are you okay?!” 

“I’m so sorry, Miss Bustier!” She wailed. “I just wanted to peek at my email and—and—Mr. Agreste fired me!” 

Plagg had to bite his tongue. He knew she was going to twist this somehow, but her sobbing was so beautiful to see. 

“Oh Lila, I’m so sorry. It hurts a lot to lose a job. Especially when they don’t tell you to your face. That’s no fair.” 

“He-he-he said that Marinette told him that I was making Adrien uncomfortable! She got me fired!” 

Gasps, all around. 

“What?!” Barked Marinette. “I had nothing to do with this!” Not exactly the truth...

“But that’s what Mr. Agreste said!” 

Plagg stood, placing his foot on the seat, the spurs on his cowboy boots ringing with the motion. He put his cowboy hat back on (since Mrs. Bustier had asked him to remove it for violating dress code...again.) “well now. Sounds like we got ourselves in a gosh darn pickle.” 

Nino snorted. 

“Adrien! You never said I made you uncomfortable! Marinette must have lied to your father!” 

He flicked the rim of his hat. “Now slow your roll there, Buckeroo. I know my old man, and even if Marinette was mentioned in his email, it’s likely that he just wanted to place the blame on someone else.” 

Yes, throw the old man under the bus. He still deserves it, even with whole hearted apologies. 

“But you know, I do feel awfully bad for you, Lila. Losing yer job and all. How’s about I make it up to ya? I’ll come sit by you for a while. Keep ya company and cheer you up. Cain’t have gettin’ all akumatized up in here, you reckon?” 

Not that Lila getting akumatized was even a concern anymore. But the world wouldn’t know about Hawkmoth’s surrender until Emilie’s fate was resolved. Adrien’s family deserved that much at least. 

“Oh Adrien!” Lila cried. “You really are such a wonderful friend. But I couldn’t bear to make you move on my behalf. You need to focus on your work.” 

“A cowboy needs to be exceptional at multitasking. That is, as long as Mrs. Brassiere is okay with it.” 

Miss Bustier pinched the bridge of her nose. Usually, she was a very calm and level-headed teacher, compassionate and understanding. But Adrien’s antics were stressing her out massively. “Yes, Adrien, I suppose it’s fine if you move to���what did you call me?”

“Much obliged, Madam. If’en you’ll excuse me...” 

Marinette watched with fascination as Plagg gathered up his materials and moved to the back of the class to sit next to Lila. Then she glanced in her purse, where Tikki and Adrien were hanging out. They both shrugged. 

Due to the retirement of Hawkmoth, Adrien was now allowed to spend time away from the Miraculous without consequence. Plagg assured him that once the final condition was met, no matter where he was, his soul would return to his body. 

So he spent the school day with Tikki, and the evenings with Marinette. It was a sweet deal, and it really gave Adrien the time to bond with her without school or akumas in the way. 

He had even spent the night with her the night before, curled up next to her on her pillow, and purring every time Marinette’s hand glanced his fur. 

Nino leaned back in his seat. “Do you know what he’s up to this time?” 

“No idea...but I am eager to see where this goes.” 

Nino shook his head with a shrug. Two nights ago, when Plagg was arrested, Nino gathered all the money in his savings and went down to the jail to bail him out. 

Only to find out he was already let go. 

So he went back home, and called Adrien’s phone relentlessly, hoping for an answer. 

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Chat Noir returned and explained that he was going home now, thanks for having him, he had to watch the mansion because his sort of repentant father was going to Tibet to resurrect his dead wife. 

Nino gave up on logic and understanding, and just made sure Plagg had everything he had brought. 

Now he would wait until the whole situation blew over, and hopefully Adrien himself, in his own body, would explain it all to him. Plagg seemed to oversimplify everything to the point it became vague. 

Marinette, on the other hand, was very curious to see where this was all going. After all, Adrien’s previous tactic of being nice to Lila hadn’t worked. So what was Plagg hoping to gain from the same approach?

Wrassle her with his randomly appointed cowboy charm? 

In science, two classes later, Plagg had elected to sit next to Lila still, despite her protests. 

Marinette was close enough now to hear what Plagg’s master plan was. 

“So there’s like several types of Mer, right? But not like mermaids. This has nothing to do with mermaids. These are mostly elves, but not all. So there’s Dunmer, right? Those are dark elves. And Bosmer, wood elves, and Altmer, high elves. The Falmer are snow elves, but they’re all twisted and savage, because of the Dwemer, which are dwarves!” 

Marinette snorted a bit too loudly, drawing attention from the teacher. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, is something funny?” 

“No ma’am, I had a tickle in my sinuses.” 

“Ah, I see. Anyways, as I was saying...” 

Lila always sat in the back of the class, despite her many alleged disabilities. This was probably to get away with the fact that she rarely paid attention during class. 

It was the ideal place for Plagg to harass her and not get caught. 

Poetry in motion. 

“So you get to pick what race you want to be, but you’re always the Dragonborn. Despite the description, you don’t look any different. So a Dragonborn is someone that can devour the souls of dragons so they don’t get resurrected by Alduin. Let me back up, Alduin is an evil dragon that used to rule the world, and he’s resurrecting dragons so he can take over. There’s another dragon though, named Paarthanax, and he’s a good guy. He helps out the Tongues on the Throat of the World. Or the greybeards. Some call them Tongues, but in the game they’re called Graybeards. And the tongues are the monks that teach you to shout. And different shouts teach you different things, right? The dragonborn and the tongues are the only ones that are supposed to know how to shout, but there’s this other dude named Ulfric Stormcloak, and he knows Unrelenting Force, that’s the Fus Ro Da shout I was talking about earlier? He used it to kill high king Torygg to start a war. Oh yeah, so there’s nine holds with Jarls, right—“ 

The day ended, and Lila stood quickly. “Well Adrien, thank you so much for keeping me company today. I’m feeling a lot better. You can move back up to your old spot tomorrow.” 

“Well, you shore are welcome, Pardner. But sittin here in the back has been mighty nice. I think I’ll stay! You don’t mind, do ya? It’s awfully fun to have you as company!” 

Lila’s eye twitched, but she was aware that most of the class was watching them. “Yeah. That’d be...great.” 

“Darn tootin’! Well, you look like you’re in a rush, don’t want to hold you up!” 

“See you tomorrow!” She chirped, before hurrying from the room. As she passed Marinette, a dark look came over her face. The look of someone seething with rage and hatred, but trying to hide it. 

Marinette would have been scared, if Lila hadn’t been dealing with Plagg instead. 

Marinette went home, Tikki and Adrien talking to her from her collar. 

“I don’t know. Plagg was successful with the first two tasks, but I don’t know how he’s going to turn Lila over to the good side.” Marinette mused. 

“I don’t know if he has to. The condition is to just get her to leave me alone. He said he was doing some Pavlovian Jedi mind trick on her.” 

“Well, I sure hope it works. Speaking of, where is Plagg?” 

Adrien’s ears flicked. “He left pretty suddenly after class. I didn’t see him go. Hopefully, he went back to the mansion.” 

“Do you want me to call him?” 

“No, I trust him. He’s got things under control.” 

“Glad to hear it! Ready for snack time?” 

“Oh heck yes!” 

—

Lila had to actively stop herself from stomping all the way home. Frustration rolled off of her in waves, and she mildly wondered why she hadn’t been akumatized yet. 

Adrien Agreste was the most annoying person she had ever met. And oblivious too! He never picked up on any of her subtle hints to get him to shut up! She really didn’t want to be rude, because his friendship looked great on her, but wow. No wonder he didn’t have any friends. No wonder Gabriel was so protective of him. If he wasn’t cute...his personality was like a wet sock. 

And he was weird. Weird mannerisms, weird speech pattern, just weird. Hopefully she could either get used to it, or Adrien would get a clue to stop being so obnoxious. 

Finally, she reached her apartment. 

“Home mom!” She called. 

There was laughter in the kitchen. Her mother had a guest. While not uncommon, there was just a hint of dread that hung in the air. 

Lila walked to the kitchen, only to see Adrien sitting at the table, talking to her mother! How?! How did he beat her here?! How did he know where she lived?! What the hell was he doing?!

“Adrien?” Lila gawked. 

He rubbed his head awkwardly. “Sorry for popping in uninvited. I just...I was worried about you! You’ve been akumatized twice, and I didn’t want it to happen again since you were fired.” 

Lila’s face paled as her mother gave her a stern look. 

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do, Missy. I didn’t know you were modeling. And you never told me about being akumatized!” 

Adrien gasped. “Oh no! She didn’t tell you? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know that was a secret! I won’t say anymore!” 

“Any more?” Mrs. Rossi asked. “There’s more?” 

“Adrien.” Lila bit, in warning. 

“Well...I mean, you knew she was meeting with my father right? Something about being his muse?” 

Mrs. Rossi looked horrified. “What! You were talking to a grown adult man?! Were these visits supervised?!” 

Lila opened her mouth to answer, but Plagg beat her to it. “I don’t think so. Father is a very private person.” 

“Lila Giselle Rossi! You are sooo grounded! No offense to your father, Adrien, but meeting up with an adult man, unsupervised? And to what, be his muse? What does that even mean? It sounds gross!” 

“I swear nothing happened! He just wanted my opinion-”

“On what? What reason would he have to ask a 14 year old’s opinion?”

Plagg winced and looked at Lila. “I’m so sorry, Lila. I came here to help, but...” 

Lila shook with rage. Her mother was a complete pushover and believed everything she said. Now Adrien had sewn the seeds of distrust in her and she wouldn’t get away with any white lies ever again. 

“You’re dead,” She mouthed at Plagg. 

“Adrien, thank you for coming here and telling me all of this. I’m very grateful. But I think it’s best if you head home now. Lila has some chores to do.” 

“I understand, Madam Rossi. Again, I’m really sorry...I just wanted to help.” 

“Oh don’t worry, you did. This is for Lila’s own good.” 

He sheepishly looked to her. “See you tomorrow?” 

Her eye twitched. “Yeah.” 

And Plagg swiftly walked from the apartment, concealing his evil laughter until he got to the door. 

—

The next day at school, Marinette, along with Tikki and Adrien in her bag, arrived at school just a few minutes before the bell rang. 

Plagg was sitting at the front of the room, wearing a Pikachu onesie, and looking absolutely devastated. Nino sat next to him and had a hand over his face, doing his best to conceal whatever emotion he had. 

Everyone else in the room was avoiding them like they had the plague. 

Alya spotted her and came quickly, looping an arm through hers and escorting them out into the hall. “Girl, big news. I know you love Adrien, so this is going to be a blow. But here’s the thing...Lila told us this morning that Adrien came to her house yesterday and told her mom about her modeling job. Apparently, her mom didn’t want her working, and got upset that Lila lied. Adrien’s been insisting that it wasn’t on purpose, but everyone is kind of pissed at him anyway.” 

Marinette said nothing, but bit her lip. She knew that this absolutely was on purpose. 

“I’ll leave your actions up to you, but people are pretty mad at Adrien. Just letting you know.” 

“Who’s side are you taking?” 

Alya scoffed. “None. I’m staying out of this. Both people are in the right. Obviously Sunshine just wanted to prevent her from being akumatized. He was with her all day yesterday. It’s admirable, really.” 

“It is.” Marinette said with a smile. Though she was smiling for a completely different reason. There were no akumatizations anymore. Everyone was safe now. 

“We better get back in there, class will start soon.” 

So they returned. Miss Bustier was in, and ready to begin the lesson. 

Then Plagg raised his hand. 

“Yes Adrien?” 

“Before we start class, I want to say something.” 

“Go ahead, Adrien. The floor is yours.” 

He stood, and looked to Lila in the back of the room. “Lila, I know I apologized yesterday, but I’m really really sorry about outing you to your mom. I had no idea she didn’t know about your rendezvous with my father. I was just really scared that you were going to become akumatized, and I didn’t want that to happen. My friends are all important to me, and losing you would be like ripping out a piece of my heart. Could you ever forgive me?” 

Marinette glanced Nino’s face, which twitched to hide a smile. Then she looked at Lila, who looked calm, but her hands were balled into fists. 

After many breathless minutes, Lila smiled slightly. “I understand, Adrien. Of course you’re still my friend. I treasure you too! I’m sorry I got so mad.” 

“Hugs?” Plagg raised his arms. 

Lila could pretend to be happy and calm, but the paling of her skin could not be hidden. “Hugs!” 

Plagg brought her in for a squeeze, and the class ‘aww’ed at their make up. 

Except Nino, who let out the tiniest snort. 

Marinette flicked open her purse to look at Adrien. He mimed a gagging gesture back. 

And then Plagg took those last couple steps and joined Lila on her bench. No one tried to stop him. No one spoke up and said, “hey, maybe you should give her some space anyway.” 

They just all let poor, socially awkward Adrien push boundaries and take his seat. Because he had apologized so earnestly for trying to help. And she had forgiven him. So everything was fine now. 

Right?

As the lesson started, Marinette paid attention to the teacher. But occasionally, she’d hear the faintest whispers of Adrien’s voice (Plagg’s voice now). 

“...so it’s commonly believed that the Nord’s came from Atmora with Ysgramor, but they believe that they settled Skyrim, so they’re kind of racist to everyone else. But also, the Empire came in out of nowhere and tried to upheave their way of life, and even told them which Gods they were allowed to worship. High King Torygg was playing cordial with the Aldmeri Dominion, and some of the other Jarl’s didn’t like that. So Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Whiterun shouted him to death. Just like the Dragonborn can. Though it’s never explained why he knows how to do this. So this started a whole civil war…” 

Marinette chanced a glance behind her, and noticed that Lila had her head in her hands, and she looked absolutely miserable.

[bigmeatymudcrabchitins]

A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society

[talldarkandroguesome]

18th of Morning Star, Morndas

I tried my best throughout the night to try and keep myself hidden from passersby. Not that there were many, lucky for me. 

I kept second guessing myself, then deciding I should go to the Cathedral of Webs. Then I feared it would anger the Earl and his short temper. I know how big an intrusion it would be.

And yet, what choice have I now?

So I tried to teleport to the marking spot, but my concentration just did not seem to be making it happen. I would try and fail, then rest for a moment against the trunk of a tree.

Many times I found myself dozing off, then be startled awake and horrified at my slumber. Stamina potions were only of so much use.

My body was in such rough shape it took me all night. When the sky began to lighten I knew I had to get myself to focus no matter what.

I heated my dagger with my flame cloak and then held it to the back of my arm, not long enough to leave a permanent mark, but enough to send searing pain. 

I was able to focus my energy on the pain for a while and then, into the spell, with the pain bad enough nothing else would break my focus.

After several attempts, I arrived, hitting the cold stone floor of the Cathedral’s main hall. A location I recognized with glee. The familiar feeling, the scent of incense and oils and a faint scent of dried blood.

A woman came up to me and asked me who I was, my entrance having startled her.

I realized I was still in my disguise, so I began to pull away the outer wrappings and wipe the makeup from my face as I stood and explained that I was an old acquaintance come to see the Earl.

She led me down the familiar corridors and to the entrance to the Earl’s chambers. She rapped loudly upon the door and the echo could be heard from within, resounding across the walls.

I could hear the annoyance in the slap of slippers against marble. I knew he would be angry. It was hardly the ideal return I should have liked.

When the door opened and he began to speak, to ask who dared to disturb him at such hour, I threw myself to his feet and gave my apologies.

He huffed that, for Spinner’s sake, I should have more dignity. That this was even more bothersome than my usual antics.

I raised my head and explained that I did so hate to interrupt like this, but tha life was in danger and I wished to ask if it would be possible for me to make a very big offering, not necessarily at this moment, it could be after there is a moment of time to spare but that I would be even further indebted to the Earl if he could take pity on me and grant my request. The entire time I tried to explain, I could feel my body begin to trembling and so I tried to speak quickly, keeping my arms clutched to my chest.

With a belabored sigh, the Earl waved his hand in my direction and bid the woman give me a bed and that I was to bother him at a more reasonable hour.

I made my thanks short, so as not to give him cause to change his mind, and could hear his grumbling about my fascination with his nest as he closed his door. I am surprised that he would not understand the draw that his nest has, given his direct communication with our Prince. There is nowhere else on Nirn that I can think of where a nest has such a direct and constant ability to speak with our Prince.

I followed the woman to one of the communal rooms. She said nothing, even as she showed me to a bedroll and then turned to leave. I was grateful, honestly. I did not have it in me to speak. I looked around the room at the beds full of sleeping Altmer. My body tensed, my heart began to race.

I knew if I did not rest that I would hardly be able to present my case to the Earl. And so I dragged my bedroll over to a corner where I could see all the rest of the occupants without even having to turn my head. Then I used the last of my strength to create a splash of webbing above me, akin to a lean-to, but made of summoned spider silk. I curled up around my soul, the gem holding it still tightly strapped down to my chest.

For a long while I simply sat and listened, learning the music of the breathing patterns the rest of the room’s occupants created. I knew I could never fully trust members of a nest, particularly one I was not a part. It occasionally happens that members will turn on each other, let alone someone they do not yet know.

Any time someone rolled over, or snoring stopped, or a noise came from outside the room, I slipped a hand down to my dagger’s handle

The webs are hardly a great protection, but at least they provided something that would give me a second of warning. If someone wanted to get at me they would have to destroy the webs, giving me just enough time to wake up and teleport behind them.

Luckily, the others slept very soundly in their own beds. And none even noticed me until they began to wake up around midday. By that point I was already awake and I could hear them whispering about what I could possibly be doing there and what was the web doing there.

At least, that is what I put together. I hardly understand any Altmeris, but there are many common root words, so that I was able to grasp the idea of their confusion.

I told them I was a guest and I pulled down the webs and burned them in my fire as I thanked them for a place to rest.

My speaking to them seemed to only create greater distrust. I must admit, I had hoped to recognize some familiar faces, but at least in this room I saw none.

They had shuffled off to break their fast. And I must formulate my plan of action.

[fireintheforest]

Behind the Blue: chapter 4, part 2

There were scorchmarks from magic in the hallways and in one door, and when Saufinril came back he was limping, visibly moody and with a bump and ugly bruise on his shin. He walked past the people that were gossiping in panicked whispers, past the echo of Mama Fro’s commands for calm and the subsequent protocol of the case, past the scorches on the walls left behind from his magic misses, until he got to his room and closed the door behind himself. The shin protested from the strain of going upstairs by sending pulses of pain down Saufinril’s leg, earning a groan from him. The wall where he’d fired first had an ugly smear (hope it wasn’t permanent. If it was, he’d have to hang something or fix it before Rialas saw it). A wave of dread and panic went over him. The intruder had tried to take his grandmother’s earring and Casil’s hunting knife, what did they manage to take? He immediately started to go through his things, counting and looking at each one for damage.

Meanwhile, down in the kitchen, Rialas was half sitting, half laying at table laid out with a typical Bosmeri breakfast of eggs, broth, slices of meats and bowls of insects. He was not the only one around looking displeased for being awoken so early, but unlike most people who would have never have dared to take out their bad mood on him, he had no similar restrains towards other people. Stabbing an egg with his knife and ignoring how bad manners such action showed he pulled the steaming bowl of broth closer and pointed to the closest poor soul with his egg-stained knife.

"You. Go. Get that dumb kynd of mine here. Now."

The lucky winner to deliver the message, a young orc with wild black hair and plenty of piercings on his face, went upstairs to the fourth floor until he got to Saufinril’s room and poked his head on the doorway. The young Altmer was sitting on the ground, breathing deep, a deep scowl on his face and his jaw clentched, his left knee up, his left elbow on the knee to support his head, which rested on his left hand that was clutching his hair tightly. His gaze was lost and had a light mist on his eyes. The right leg was straightened, letting the torn pant leg show the bump and the now eggplant-colored bruise.

Muraz poked his head on the doorway and simply said, "Soo...Rialas wants you. Not sure where Lillandril is so watch your back."

Saufinril softened the scowl, put his hands in his head and exhaled, closing his eyes. His hand wandered to his earring, which luckily he still had.

"Thanks" his tone was flat, but he tied his hair back while getting up (careful with the hurt leg!), took a glance around the room and then walked down to the first floor to the table where Rialas was eating. Rialas stared at Saufinril as he saw him first starting to approach, holding the delicate broth cup in one hand, taking a delicate sip.

"Morning, Rialas." Saufinril put his hands behind his back, waiting for his elder to talk first. Muraz was right, he hadn't seen Lillandril anywhere. He was probably holding himself above in the ceiling, waiting to ambush him or something. He didn´t dare look up in case it was true. Rialas didn't take his eyes off Saufinril, nor did he say anything. He only stared, mismatched eyes, narrowed like arrowheads, showing above the grey rim of the bowl. Saufinril, though he didn't say anything, didn't look at Rialas directly either. He just waited. Rialas set the bowl on the table with great care, then hit the knife deep in the table, so it stood there.

"Explain."

"Someone broke into the Den, to steal one's belongings, and one woke up when it happened. One chased the thief and followed them outside but lost them around the bar near the stream."

"Not. That." Rialas snarked. "I am not fool. I could hear your shouting."

"One was chasing him"

"Yes. Astonishing. You told me that." Rialas rolled his eyes and Saufinril stopped himself from doing the same. "And I said it is not what I wish you to explain."

"Well, that's what happened, one yelled at them to stop multiple times while one was chasing them. One will pay back to fix the damage in the Den, one promises"

Rialas closed his eyes slowly in an eerie gesture that his husband was often observed to do. "Not. That."

Well then I don’t know what the FUCK to tell you, now, do I?, Saufinril thought, his face revealing none of the irritability that was scratching the back of his neck and head.With expression and tone of voice that spoke of effort of restraint as great as balancing eggs on knife edge, Rialas spoke.

"I wish you to explain how you could make such a ruckus, and not bring back the head of this thief."

Oh. Right. This is Rialas we're talking about. Technically, Sau explained why, but the volume was so low, it might as well have been a mutter. Please don’t ask me to repeat it, please dont ask me to repeat it, please d-

A cough came from the doorway. Lillandril stood, arms folded, leaning against the frame. “And when you have explained that, you can explain quite how a penniless and destitute urchin such as yourself plans to find suitable recompense to fix the aftermath of your antics.”

Saufinril closed his eyes. Ah, there it is. The ambush. Saufinril took a step back and to the side to not give Lillandril his back.

"One will find a way, one has found jobs here before and..." he paused, seemingly remembering something, "There's a job that was proposed to one yesterday by a frequent client. It's in Evermor and one will be gone for a bit but it's very well rewarded and one can pay you both back"

Rialas snorted, "I do not need paying back. In money."

Lillandril’s eyebrow twitched. “Frequent client?”

"Well then how does one need to pay you back?" Great. Both parents are displeased. "From the Guild, he's come to the Den for a while."

“That hardly inspires confidence. Especially when considered alongside your track record where men and Mer are concerned.”

Rialas, too, clicked his tongue. "Clearly you need to work more shifts if you don't realize just how many people there are here from the Guild"

"One knows, one knows. It's this Dunmer, his name is Toivon. He's come around some times and last night he told one of this job and the cut is 4000 septims so...."

The eyebrow twitched again. “Dunmer?” Rialas raised both of his eyebrows, looking bit more awake and less grumpy. "The one with the little monkey?"

“Monkey? Oh do tell one that this one’s bad taste has not extended into the realms of pets as well? The last thing one wants or needs is an Imga as a son in law.”

Oh. Right. He has history with Dunmer.

"It's not like that- wait, monkey? No, one is not- an Imga, really? That's offensive" Saufinril said

Rialas looked affronted "I would never call Imga a monkey" he huffed

“One quite agrees. The Imga may well be pitiable and at times disagreeable, but they at least try to better themselves. To equate them to Dunmer besmirches their efforts most assuredly.”

"Point is, one- it's not that kind of agreement." Immediately after saying that, Saufinril seemed unsure, "It's, it's a distraction. In the sense of help for a heist."

"Oh? Tell me more." Rialas said, eyebrow arched, leaning forward to his elbow and pulling his knife off the table with practiced ease. “One agrees.” Lillandril narrowed his eyes slightly. “Tell one more.”

Rialas shuffled over on the fur covered bench to allow his husband space to sit down next to him. Lillandril moved to the bench, keeping his eyes trained on Saufinril as he sat down next to his husband, one hand reaching up in an almost absentminded way to wind fingers through Rialas’ hair. Saufinril seemed to just look more uneasy, but then he exhaled, "It's in Evermor, it's stealing a jewel during a party and they needed someone to provide a distraction while a key to the vault or box (one doesn't remember which) is taken. It's just one night, then one gets paid and one is back here. It's a high society party and with the payment one will pay for the damages."

“High society?” A faint smile played at Lillandril’s lips. “You?”

"One knows. He suggested one pass as an Artist but...that's, well near, it's not...after this break in one doesn't have much choice"

Rialas leaned over to practically flop on Lillandrils lap as he said, "Don't be so judgemental. Any Altmer can fool their way through in man society. I am more worried about the proving distraction"

"Aren't we all." Saufinril muttered

“One would be more concerned he takes you as an example in that regard.”

Rialas grinned, showing rows of sharp teeth. "Have you considered that this is awfully convenient?" Saufinril stayed silent for a second, then gave a shy nod. Lillandril made an agreeing noise. “What precisely do you even know about this Dunmer?” he asked

"Not much." Saufinril sat opposite them and passed a hand through his hair. He’d just dismissed his gut instinct as paranoia, but now… "By the Nine, you think he..."

“One thinks one asked you a question. You recall from your studies, one presumes, that one expects full answers.”

Rialas snickered and reached up to caress Lillandril’s jawline, looking at Sau like a child watching his favourite shadow theatre play.

"One knows- he's from the Guild, he comes here often with either a Nord or a Redguard or another younger Dunmer, his name is Toivon, that's it. He's very private and we've only talked a handful of times. The first time one ever saw him here was the night of the fight one had in the Den some years ago, with an Imperial."

“Quite the endorsement.”

Rialas chuckled and spoke at Lillandril in Bosmeris in a singsong voice "Somebody’s going to get kidnapped…"

Lillandril turned his head slightly to his husband, switching to Bosmeris himself. “If he thinks one is traipsing north to rescue him because he can’t say no to a sunken grey face, he is sadly mistaken.”

A bite of irritation nibbled at the back of Saufinril’s head. He’d lived with them in Valenwood for years and they still spoke Bosmeris in front of him, as if he couldn’t understand it. Even though he managed to not roll his eyes at them again, he slipped out a snappy "One is not getting kidnapped. And one didn't sleep with him. Nor one plans to."

“You very rarely plan it. If people planned it, it would be rather dull.”

"Kynd. Use the brain poor atta has tried to hammer in you yes?" Rialas laughed, still petting Lillandril’s jawline, "This person you know nothing about offers you easy convenient work. Away. Oh only you can do it. And then this little thing happens. So you feel like you have no choice" Rialas laughed. "It’s so convenient it's hilarious."

"Fine but to be fair, you are a better candidate for it, anyone is and one told him" Saufinril replied.

Rialas preened and chuckled. "So why exactly did he need you hmm?"

"He said the Breton eat up anything Altmer. One suggested you, serah, but..." he eyed Lillandril cautiously, "he said the Bretons look for something younger."

The eyebrow twitched again. “Ten generations of supreme lineage, to be insulted by a Dunmer. One should curse his name immediately.”

Rialas laughed. "And why was I rejected? Because I am not Altmer? Like men could tell the difference."

Oh by the Nine, why.

"Something about...you know-yeah, it was that. That it was perfect, you were perfect, but not Altmer"

“Oh? Whereas one is Altmer but not perfect? Too ... old?”

"He acknowledged you have experience and are an Altmer but...yeah"

“Hm. So it’s his charm and grace that is tempting you north?”

"Assuming this is a ploy to get one kidnapped, one has gotten out of situations like this. One escaped the Isles and crossed Tamriel with just 20 years of age. One has broken out of jails in Cyrodiil. One's got this. And if it's a true, actual job, one has the money to fix this at once versus all the jobs and time one would need to get it paid. It's not his charm, it's money"

"You're not going anywhere before we meet this Toivon.” Rialas said as Lillandril added a “You escaped the Isles and crossed Tamriel to be attacked by Dunmer, break into one’s home, and require one’s assistance and tutelage.”

"...but one escaped."

“So he lacks any redeeming features? Has no true personality to speak of? The extent of his virtues goes no further than his coin purse?”

"So far?"

"I cannot believe you are leaving us for coins.” Rialas interjected

"One is going to come back! One is not leaving anybody." The temptation to roll his eyes was too big.

Then it was Lillandril who spoke, “Which would make you ... well, it’s not for one to disparage those who chose the path of the courtesan. You, however, lack those requisite skills to claim that title.”

"Y'ffre knows it is not my fault he has not learned." Rialas mentioned

"One is not going as- you know, courtesan would be a good role for the job"

By now, the older Altmer was now talking to his husband in Bosmeris, “Auri-el knows, you have tried, one has tried. The boy’s skull is stubbornly thick. He is considering running off with a Dunmer of all things.” Before switching back to Common to tell his apprentice, “If you are going at all remains an open topic of discussion.”

"It hardly counts as running off." Rialas replied, then switched to Common as well, "Courtesan? You want to be courtesan now"

"No! Well, listen if the job is real, yes. One night." Saufinril reassured. Or at least, tried to. The Den owners’ displeasure rose almost at once by Rialas and Lillandril, respectively.

"You cannot be courtesan for one night!"

“One night. Pah. No true courtesan would ever say such a thing. And you are the Altmer this boy chooses? Clearly, his judgement matches his race.”

"One wouldn't be a true courtesan, one knows! It's just pretend." Saufinril’s head was developing a shy headache and the leg was screaming with pain now.

“So you want to pretend to be a conversation - that is, a common whore - and travel the length of Tamriel with a Dunmer boy you scarcely know, to undertake a high risk theft, with little to no pre planning or understanding of the situation, context, or surroundings, all in an attempt to gather money to repay the damages done to this establishment. And you expect us to bless this - one cannot bring oneself to call it a plan – half-baked thimble full of vague notions?”

"...well, when put that way..." Saufinril sighed, "To be fair one was...well, going anyway. It's more like...one was letting you know...where...one was going?"

“Oh, was that what this was? By Phynaster, how did one not understand that?” There it was, the Lillandril sass.

"It sounds sketchy, one knows. But at least one will try, and at the first sign of a trap, one leaves. One considered this possibility, but if it's not a trap, this covers the damages and an extra. At the very least, one can try." Just like Saufinril was trying to convince Lillandril and Rialas that this endeavour was going to be ok.

Lillandril was the next one to talk, “If you have made your mind up, what precisely can we say? Plead you to reconsider? Admonish you till shame turns your mind? One thinks not. If you seek our blessing, one finds it difficult to give. Coming on the heels of a morning where one was awoken by a commotion of your making, and forced to intervene with only a bedsheet to preserve one’s modesty, one rather thinks one might be forgiven for finding this is all somewhat I’ll conceived, rushed, and dubious. If well intentioned.”

"I will never bless that idea either." Rialas spoke, "Should you wish to pass as courtesan, you need help."

“To say nothing of your overall skill set for taking to the road. You have become quite the urban creature of comforts.” He loved Lillandril but this kind of thing was annoying, his job was LITERALLY to travel around finding people and killing them. He literally just came back from the road from Kvatch anddon'tthinkofEramondon'tthinkaboutEramon-

"You need to be bigger than life. Currently you act like you’re hardly bigger than mudcrab." He loved Rialas but that was not true. At least not like it used to be, and it used to be worse. He used to be straight-up scared of Rialas.

“Whilst it is buried in the mud.” Lillandril added

"Alright, so act like Rialas." He said more to cut the list of things he wasn’t than to summarize, but Lillandril interrupted.

“No. You cannot act like Rialas. Anyone other than Rialas trying to act like Rialas is liable to be killed or imprisoned.”

Rialas smiled, smugly, “It’s true.”

"....yes, fair", Saufinril conceded

“And one’s husband is quite right. If you think you are leaving before we at least meet the fiend who is enticing you away, you are very much mistaken. If naught else, one needs to assess his skills so as to decide as to what kind of bound creature to send to watch over you.”

Fuck, he’d hoped that ignoring that part would’ve slipped out of their minds, especially Lillandril’s, "This is not a bridal kidnapping, but fair. Agreed."

“And before you think of sneaking out the city, it will be considerably mite pleasant all round if you volunteer to bring this Dunmer to us, than if one has to either send a Xivali to bring you back, or engage the Guild to speed your return.” Lillandril added.

"He's not one's boyfriend, one will not run off with him like that, one just broke up with Eramon, one is not that much of a hot mess! But alright." Saufinril added the last part before he went off in a frustrated rant.

A raised eyebrow, “You broke up with who now? Was that the Redguard with the tattoo of an anchor on his cheek?”

"You really know nothing" Rialas rolled his eyes at his husband.

"No, that was-that doesn't matter, it was one's-the Altmer one met in Lympar March a while ago. We'd broken up before and then he came and we got back together? The one you didn't like? Black hair?" Saufinril offered, trying to make that spark of recognition go off on Lillandril. Then again the mer was around his 8000s, this might take a while. Come on, how many times do you see an Altmer with black hair? He had to remember that one.

“Saying ‘twas the one one did not like hardly narrows it down. You do show a worrying fondness for trawling through the sluice of life when it comes to your romantic entanglements.” Lillandril observed. Which was uncalled for. True, of course, but uncalled for.

Saufinril passed a hand through his face, "The cocky one. Said he could do Marcie's job better than her. He uh, kind of agreed to a threesome with one without, um, one's consent." A pause, "The one that you said talks too much."

"We need to figure who you are." Rialas said, clearly following his own trail of thought. "You know everyone is different when they are working. We just need to figure out who is inside this shy little Altmer peasant."

“Oh! The screamer? Yes, him one recalls. All of the workers recall him. All of the city recalls him.” Lillandril recalled, his usual sass on his words.

"Good riddance." Rialas said. Then, "Nothing wrong with being screamer. You just need to learn to do better magic to prevent other suffering from it."

“Oh, but was so much more amusing to offer him a gag. One has scarce seen such a shade of red.” Lillandril mused

"Please. He was Altmer. You don’t go red, just... Vaguely orange-y gold."

“The point stands.”

Saufinril rubbed the back of his neck while Lillandril and Rialas talked, proving the point that Altmer turn an orange-y pink tone when blushing. So much for not thinking about him, but to be fair he’d brought him up first. Rialas chuckled and rolled comfortably on Lillandril’s lap like a supple, seductive snake

Lillandril continued, “Regardless. Anything must be an improvement over his wailing. Even a Dunmer. Perish the thought.”

And then Rialas tried it: "Well if I recall didn't you say you once-"

“No one did not.”

"That's not what I remember hearing..."

“You are a notorious fantasist.”

Rialas purred, "I know. And you enjoy it."

Lillandril then turned to Saufinril: “So when shall we expect to meet your co-conspirator? Dinner tomorrow evening, perhaps? One believes that the ribbon dancers are booked for tomorrow evening. The patrons will hardly notice our absence. And one does believe that one spied chef bringing in a rather fetching looking box of sea urchins earlier. We can serve them.”

"Does that mean we will be eating Altmer food?" Rialas asked

“If this one is to play the part of a courtesan, he needs start his remedial studies as soon as possible. Including his table manners and dining choices.”

Rialas huffed. "As long as it is Pact compliant."

"One can ask him, sure" Saufinril just had to wait for the blush to lower before going out to the north exit to tell Toivon today about this.

[therunawayscamp]

Kylmia 'av Russawel Glathemath 'ye Varlaire-Admanenthar 'aba Alaxonfeld-Gaendral Adonire Heculius Lattalor-El, known as Lady Kylmia to her friends, enemies, and everybody in between who couldn't spare ten mintues out of their day to pronounce her surname, was a refugee from the Summerset Isles. So Sham had said. R'khan was inclined to believe her, although he had never before known a refugee who was not only in possession of a mansion, extensive gardens, and enough money to throw a soirée for all the nobility of High Rock, but who had also avoided being murdered by the Thalmor.

The circumstances of the Scamps receiving an invitation were somewhat suspect, too. Shamilia's family in the Isles were a mongrel assortment of half-bloods, whose only claim to fame was their merchant ties, and the upper echelons of Altmer society were unlikely to pay them any attention -- least of all their runaway daughter and her unsavoury associates. A party was a party, however, and if exiled nobility felt inclined to amuse themselves with the antics of sailors, the crew were glad to oblige, particularly when Sham threatened to bludgeon the fingers of anybody who denied her the chance to hear news about her family.

Impressively, they were being given a run for their money. Springwater wine flowed freely from a crystal fountain in the centre of the mansion's hall and trickled through the warm, golden candlelight. Servants were placed at strategic points around the room, each one holding a silver and glass ewers, cut to perfection, the silver shaped into vines and flowers, and glowing to the brim with metheglin. Somewhere there was the smoky smell of Crystal Tower Whiskey, although this was more discreet and Braskan had been spotted doing his utmost to deplete the supply.

Guests Lady Kylmia particularly approved of were eventually guided through the hall and into an adjoining lounge, hung on every wall with fine silk tapestries, all obscured by a fine pink mist and a general haze of debauchery. Naked golden bodies stretched out beside sweating grey skin, slick fur and sparkling scales, and that was only what was on display, what hadn't been hidden behind the drapes. A few of these remarkably friendly individuals pressed themselves against R'khan as he entered the room himself, but he slipped past them and aimed for a pair of double doors on the opposite wall, held open to the stars and the moonlit garden.

He had only been in the lounge for a minute, only the time it took to push through the pulsating, writhing crowd, but he breathed in the night like a drowning man. There was music somewhere distant. It became more distant still as R'khan strolled past the marble bowls full of living flowers, past the couples hidden in rose bowers, around a vast, dark pond, and down a corridor of shrubbery, until he reached an orchard. It was full of apple trees. They were still and quiet, undisturbed by winds or the music. And he was not alone.

The flare and hush of someone lighting a roll of hackle-lo gave him away. R'khan stopped beside a tree, then eased. Only one person would bump his head on a low-hanging branch and curse in such a distinctive Solstheim accent.

'All right, Vi?'

There was a thump as Vilayn turned his head and succeeded in knocking an apple to the ground. Like R'khan, he relaxed when he identified his companion, and ambled down the alley of trees to join him. When he drew level he held out the hackle-lo, which R'khan took, and produced a second for himself.

'Right enough,' he said, and sighed out his first drag on the hackle-lo. R'khan watched the embers light up the smoke.

'Didn't think you'd be out here. Where there's debauchery, you ain't usually far. Don't tell me you're shot away already.'

'No, but Lady Kylmia did invite me to snort moon sugar off a mirror while her admittedly rather handsome cousin sucked my--'

'Vi.'

'--and a very pretty Bosmer tied up my hands and--'

'Vi.'

'--me from behind, but when she suggested it I just felt... tired. Old. How long are we going to keep asking Vilveriah for more time? How long do we keep doing this?'

R'khan puffed on his hackle-lo a few times, then bent down to pick up the fallen apple. It came up wet with dew, which showered over his sleeve as he tossed it in the air a few times.

'Vilayn.'

'What?'

'You don't snort moon sugar.'

'That was the other reason I said no.'

Lady Kylmia wouldn't miss one fruit. R'khan pocketed the apple and chose to savour the rest of the hackle-lo rather than reply immediately. Vilayn did the same, and a companionable silence, broken only by an occasional rustle of leaves or sigh of smoke from between their lips, closed in around them.

When the hackle-lo was finished and everything was dark, when his face was hidden, R'khan said,

'Your answer is forever. There ain't no fate worse than death.'

'Not even carrying on after everyone else is gone? The Admiral. Your boy. Casethar and-- and Hazil.'

R'khan would have answered. Definitely. The words were on the tip of his tongue, of course they were, about to be spoken at any second, when the sound of somebody else crunching through the grass distracted him and forced them out of his mind, saving him the trouble.

Both his head and Vilayn's turned towards the noise. A few seconds later, Sham stepped into the moonlight. She was dressed for a party, sailor slops discarded in favour of a silver gown, carpentry tools swapped for an equally lethal array of hairpins, boots for silk slippers. The latter sank into the earth when she came to a stop.

'What are you doing out here?'

Even her voice had changed to suit the occasion. She had returned to her old accent, the haughty tones of an Altmer to whom the mightiest of the Daedra were considered part of the great unwashed rabble, and it was hard to drop it at short notice.

'Smoking,' said Vilayn.

'Mebbe I could ask you the same question,' said R'khan. Sham paused, then leaned against a tree, kicking off the slippers and digging her toes into the dirt.

'If you must know, captain, I asked Lady Kylmia about my family.' She turned her face upwards to look at the sky. The moonlight brought out more of the grey in her skin than the gold. 'They're gone. Nobody knows whether they escaped in the night or whether they were rounded up by the Thalmor. They just... disappeared, not long after I left, and nobody's heard anything about them since.'

'I'm sorry, lass.'

It was rare for the captain to offer sincere sympathy, and its emergence now was spoiled by a crash from the direction of the house and the sound of somebody stomping through the rose bowers, throwing something in the pond, and approaching the orchard. Vilayn lowered his hackle-lo and looked up sharply. Sham ignored the sound.

'Does it matter, though?' she asked, her lip curled and sour. 'Really? Even if they made it out, they would have been killed somewhere else. You heard about the Night of Green Fire, right? All the refugees in Sentinel, dead. And I've known it all the fucking time, haven't I? I just didn't want to believe it, so I didn't fucking think about it. They're dead. All of them.'

If it was rare for the captain to offer sympathy, it was even rarer for Sham to admit any weakness or sentimentality. She stood, shoeless, trembling, with her hands knotted into tight, angry fists. After decades of cramming these thoughts away into the depths of her psyche, they were all trying to erupt at once, and the only thing stopping them was deciding which to start with. She looked as if a single touch would cause her to explode, or shatter, or fold onto the ground and sob.

And then Braskan arrived. He walked into a tree, bellowed an incoherent insult at it, and stank so strongly of whiskey the apples withered on the branch. It was wonderfully, gloriously normal.

'Ah, wha's ya fuckin' s'wits doin' out in th'fuckin' dark, ya fuckin', fuckin'... s'wits? I's lookin' fer me shipmates and all a' ya's gone an' fucked off!'

The change in Sham was instant. Braskan's total ignorance of the scene playing out before him did what no amount of words and consolation could have. She grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a shake, leaving her arm slung around his neck.

'You're the fucking s'wit, you s'wit! Came all the way out here and you ain't got any booze for us?'

'Nah, they’s all on th’skooma, isn’ they? I ain’t inta tha’ shit. I’s got fuckin’ class.’

He paused to belch, which gave Sham an opportunity to jump in again. Although she addressed Braskan, she stared at R’khan and Vilayn, daring them to mention her momentary failure.

‘Never used to bother you in Oblivion’s Gate.’

‘Aye, but tha’ don’ figure now Hlen’s gone, do it? Things jus’ ain’t the same these days. They jus’ ain’t the same.’

Before a third person could join the melancholy, Sham punched his shoulder, then kicked him in the leg for good measure. The last of her  stamped down the last of her worries and fears were stamped down out of sight.

‘Then go find the kitchens while they ain’t looking.’

‘They ain’ got no more booze, anyway. Finished it, din’ I?’

'Guarshit, you just don't want to share it. Bet you I can get a drink soon's I'm in the door.'

'Not if I gets there firs'!'

There was no particular hurry to try and beat Braskan, who, with no outside interference, looped around a few of the trees several times before stumbling towards the exit of the orchard. Sham took a few steps barefoot, stopped as if she was going to say something, but never turned around and never spoke a word. R'khan watched her shoulders lift as she took a deep breath, and then she was running, laughing at Braskan, hauling him forwards by the scruff of his coat.

The air had changed. It was hot and humid outside, despite the sea breeze and the darkness. Vilayn stamped his hackle-lo into the ground and picked up Sham's slippers.

'We'd better go back too. Make sure they don't break anything too expensive.'

After a pause, R'khan nodded. They walked through the gardens in silence, leaving the orchard, the pond, and the things they couldn't say behind.

[littlegalerion]

Loretober Finale

I’ll be absent from my blogs Friday through Monday, as it’s my first wedding anniversary this Halloween!

So I’m going to go ahead and finish Loretober in advance.

🎃👻💀

Oct 28th: Festive

Trechire is a total holiday nutcase. She loves decorating for every single celebration, even if she’s aware she’ll hardly be home or no one is coming over. She also will change her attire to be a little more festive, though not overly so. If she has time, Trechire will happily attend holiday events. When her children were young, she would always push aside other matters to instead make sure her children thoroughly enjoyed the holidays.

>>>>>

Oct 29th: Trick

Hirchire has far too much fun with his shapeshifting abilities in terms of pranks. His favorite is taking the form of a songbird or squirrel, pretending to be totally wild yet shyly approaching a few excited citizens out for a stroll, hopping up onto their hands, and then giving them a good zap of lightning magic before hurrying away while laughing. It’s landed him in serious trouble a few times, as multiple regions started turning out patrols for “concerning daedric antics.”

>>>>>

Oct 30th: Treat

Something very warm and fuzzy for the Galerion family: Trechire does love to try to make pumpkin pastries, very sugary ones, during autumn months. It started when she was young, when eating was difficult so Caafire and Vanus would try to “bribe” her into eating anything, even if it meant a sugar coated diet. She never ate an entire pastry, but she would take the most bites out of anything pumpkin based. So, years later, it became a family tradition that Trechire would visit with her parents and bake pumpkin pastries for Witches Festival. Fennorian and Rinyu got to enjoy this with their grandparents and mother too. After Caafire and Vanus passed, the tradition continued, and Trechire now has Sunnabela and Kirr who try to bake instead. Sunny has no talent for it, bless him, but Kirr is actually quite gifted with sweets.

>>>>>

Oct 31st: Legend

Trechire Galerion

The events of the Oblivion Crisis were the last citizens of Tamriel ever saw of Trechire, the famed Vestige. There are a lot of myths and legends as to what happened to her. Some say the fall of the Mage’s Guild cut her to her core, and was the final shove into madness of the Isles for her. Others say she ascended to godhood, which was long overdue considering her exploits. There are some altmer who will falsely claim to be her descendants- wanting the fame of both Vanus and Trechire Galerion in their lineages. Lycan packs still whisper about Trechire, the only lycan to have faced their master and won her freedom.

Of course, those who know Trechire know the truth. She followed her husband on his path into the Isles, and remains by his side even now. She works to further treatment towards the mentally ill in Tamriel, and she always is vigilant over her children. For once, she can look upon the legends of herself, and can smile, knowing that the truth is far better than she could have ever hoped for.

Aithilo Raamando

Aithilo embraced his demigod nature, and watches over Tamriel with patience and optimism. He is one of the last friends from the olden days of Trechire, and the two are very happy to still have one another to talk to. He is forever at the beck and call of his daughter, wanting to make up for lost time, and make sure she knows she will never be without his support ever again. His true lineage was never revealed to the public, but he instead is still spoken of as the son of Divayth Fyr, which explained away his godly abilities.

Rinyu

The Tharn family name was lost to the ages, the bloodline lost as well, dissolved into various noble families outside of Cyrodiil, or slain the day Jagar was exposed. Rinyu remains the only solid Tharn left, but he has no intention of ever speaking his father’s family name aloud again. He is just the Listener, guiding both the Dark Brotherhood and the Volkihar Clan as a collected and perceptive leader. And at long last, he married for love, and he and his wife adopted two daughters to raise within Skyrim. Rinyu is still present in his mother’s life, of course, as well as his brothers’. Fennorian and himself still meet for some midnight trail rides. While they both still miss Bastian, Inigo has become the new third to their party.

As for Hirchire, Sunnabela, and Kirr, their lives have yet to pass into legend, as the future ahead is uncertain.

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 2: Wrong - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah and Fayrl’s teleportation from Oblivion has gone horribly, horribly wrong, and they have to figure out what is going on. 

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: G for general audiences.

First Chapter - Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 2: Wrong

The pair was suddenly intercepted by a bright light, bright as sunlight, and both of them appeared on the edge of a forest path overlooking a field. Fayrl gasped, unused to such sudden methods of transport. A skirmish unfolded in front of the disoriented pair, and soldiers dressed in blue fought soldiers in red and gold armor of a style similar to that of the Empire.

Ma'zurah looked around with wild eyes. This place smelled wrong. It did not have the same faint hint of of alien-other that the realms of Oblivion had, and it did not have any of the ashy scent of Vvardenfell. Instead it smelled like pine and fresh water. “By the maddened mane of Sheggorath! Where in the Four Hells are we?!”

Fayrl was beginning to think maybe he had made a poor choice in this gamble. At least before Ma'zurah knew where they were. Now? Now they both were unsure. “I have to admit, your words don’t offer much comfort.”

Ma'zurah ignored him and tried and failed to cast an intervention spell. She thrust her finger through a different ring on her necklace and closed her eyes, attempting to activate the telepathy enchantment imbedded in it. Finding no result, she tried a second. Desperate, she put both on at once. “Julan? Shani? Where are you? Please!”

That was somehow far more disconcerting to Fayrl than simple ignorance of their current location. He glanced around. He thought perhaps he could get close enough to one of the soldiers find out what language they were speaking. It should certainly help. He looked around until he spotted a soldier nearing them. Perhaps he could ask the man. The man was in armor, and there were only a few places in Nirn he expected to see armored men like this. He was surprised not to recognize the armor, but it seemed a little like something an Imperial might make. Perhaps it belonged to a mercenary group.

The battle was apparently going poorly for the soldiers in blue. Many of them had fallen, and the rest were surrendering on their knees to a man in a high gold helmet with a bright red crest of plumes.

Ma’zurah ignored her surroundings, nearly hyperventilating as she tried on ring after ring, hoping to contact someone, anyone! Her eyes started to glaze over.

The soldier that Fayrl had been contemplating spotted the two newcomers and shouted alarm and moved to restrain Ma’zurah. Ma’zurah barely struggled, already beginning to withdraw into herself. Everything was wrong, and she was all alone! Nobody was answering her, and she just couldn’t function!

The soldier’s warning brought eight more soldiers running in their direction. Fayrl cursed his luck and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He was suddenly behind the solder attempting to restrain Ma’zurah, dagger at his throat.

“If you value your comrade’s life, you will let me and my companion go!” he called to the oncoming soldiers. His demeanor and tone of voice were suddenly deeper, commanding; there was a pull to his words that was filled with enchantment.

The soldiers closing in on them paused, but two soldiers in much lighter armor rushed forward from the group clustered around the surrendering soldiers in blue. They wove a green spell in their hands and shot it off toward the pair.

Fayrl reeled backward, pulling his hostage off balance and using him as a shield to cover the both of them from fire. The man slumped.

“By Boethiah’s left tit!” Fayrl cursed, “That usually works! Fetching hot-heads!” He laid a hand on Ma’zurah’s shoulder. “If you can use magic to shield yourself, I can draw them off.”

Ma'zurah’s glazed eyes snapped into focus and she took a defensive stance, drawing a summoned mace from seemingly nowhere. She took a step backward to stand next to Fayrl and spoke in fluent, if archaic Dunmeris, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I will be of much help against this many opponents, and I think my other half might be in shock. Perhaps we can reason with them.”

Fayrl had no time to worry about what sort of possession or whatever strange mage phenomena had just occurred before him. He had a limp man in his arms and a group coming his way, two of them mages.

“Well, I tried using persuasion and all I managed was this limp human shield,” Fayrl explained, “So if you have an idea, I’m listening.”

Fayrl surveyed the formation of the men. The man he had was a decent enough shield for now and he could make the man take on one, maybe two of his fellow warriors if need be. But that still left three quarters for the two of them to fight. And there was not good enough cover to get close to another without giving his enemies an opening to attack him. “I don’t know how much they will listen,” he muttered.

The commanding officer strode forward. “What in the blazes is going on here? Everyone. Stand down.” He turned to the pair. “Who are you people?” he demanded.

Fayrl let go of his hold of the man and whispered in his ear for him to stand up proper for his commanding officer. The man did so, staying close beside Fayrl.

“My dear sera,” Fayrl began with a flourished bow, “we are but two travelers who got lost on our way through the mountains. If you would be so good as to tell us where we have managed to wind up, we are more than happy to change our course and head towards our destination without any further incident.”

“The border crossing has been closed for the time being,” the commander barked. “I don’t know how you managed to get past my garrison, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us for questioning. If you come quietly we will allow you to keep your gear, but you will need to surrender your weapons. Is that clear?”

Faryl looked to Ma'zurah to see if he should obey or if they were going to run. Ma'zurah met Fayrl’s gaze and let go of her mace. It disappeared into the aether. “This one does not know where we are, we need more information. If Fayrl thinks he has a better plan, this one is open to suggestions.”

Fayrl considered this and removed his sword and dagger. “You seem a man of your word. I submit,” he told the commander, handing over the weapons to the soldier beside him, and then putting an arm around him. “Lead the way.”

Ma'zurah removed an ebony dagger from her cloak and also surrendered it. She walked up next to Fayrl and asked in a low voice, “What did Fayrl do to the soldier? If he is hurt, we may have trouble.”

Fayrl grinned and shook his head. “I merely persuaded him to do as I wish. He’s kind of handsome under that mask, don’t you think?”

The man beside him smiled.

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrow, but said nothing and followed the soldier to an empty cart.

The newly captured prisoners in blue were also escorted over with their hands tied and seated in the various carts. After much delay, the field had been cleared, and the carts were prepared to leave. Fayrl gave the man besides him a parting kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear before he moved into the cart with Ma'zurah.

Once in the cart, he slid himself between two Nords, practically sitting upon both of their laps at once. “Oh, pardon me, my friends. I suppose I did get a touch of that spell after all.” He made himself comfortable between the two of them.

Ma'zurah snorted at her companion’s antics and continued to fiddle with her necklace of rings, slipping on each of them in turn.

The Nord man besides Fayl began grumbling about randy grey-skins. This did not dissuade Fayrl; in fact, it only made the man his new target.

Fayrl leaned over and began to tell the man exactly all the sorts of things he could in fact do to the man, if he were so inclined. A flush rose to the man’s cheeks as Fayrl’s voice dropped even lower. His hand landed on the man’s thigh, making the Nord squirm.

Ma'zurah’s ears twitched forward slightly and she laughed and glanced around. To her right was a mountain of a man, gagged and dressed in fine steel armor and bear skins. Across from her, Fayrl was practically sitting in the young Nord’s lap. On Fayrl’s left was a Nord who looked somewhat out of place among the armored prisoners in the other carts. He was leaning away from Fayrl.

Ma'zurah’s eyes glowed briefly as she took in each person. The gagged man next to her grunted and glared.

The commanding officer rode past the cart behind Ma'zurah, shooting Fayrl a sharp look in the process. Fayrl smiled at the officer and gave him a look promising him an opportunity if he should want a turn himself.

Up ahead, another rider called, “General Tullius, sir! The Thalmor wish to speak with you!” The General grumbled and and urged his horse forward.

Fayrl bristled at the mention of the Thalmor. All the sour memories of decades of espionage, close misses, and on one occasion a three day capture and torture rose to the surface. The Thalmor were a particularly annoying variety of Altmer, even more self-aggrandizing than normal Altmer.

He shook the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on his entertainment for the ride. He scanned the faces in the cart. He noticed the gagged man. Something about the features of his face looked familiar. It took him a moment. Then he realized why. The Thane in Windhelm, what was her name?

Mera. Mera… Stormhelm? Something like that. It was the eyes. Maybe this was a sibling? Perhaps cousin? He lay partially across the man on his other side so that he could get a closer look at the man with the gag.

“What happened to you, my friend?” Fayrl asked. “I suppose you said something you should not have. Perhaps you have a particularly skilled tongue? Or do you simply speak only of dirty, naughty things?” The gagged man seemed even more upset by Fayrl’s closeness than by Ma'zurah’s eyes.

The Nord across from Ma'zurah had apparently had enough harassment. “Watch your tongue!” he snapped. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim!”

Fayrl laughed. "As far as I know, your hold has pledged to follow the Skald King. Have you decided to forsake Joruhnn?” He turned towards the supposed king. “Thane Mera would not be pleased if she found out. I take it you are related.”

He noticed the strange looks from those around him. Deciding to ignore the stares, he rolled onto his back on the floorboards of the cart and began to sing. It was a popular Pact song, “Three Hearts as One”. It was one of the few songs that was always a hit no matter where he performed.

Ma'zurah turned to the Nord across from her. “This one was unaware that there was tension in Skyrim. Where exactly are we?”

The Nord gave her an anxious smile and glanced around. Spotting the stone walls of a fort ahead, he craned his neck to get a better look. “That is Helgen…” He turned back to her, apparently determined to deter more unwanted advances by appearing occupied. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Velod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in… Funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

Fayrl listened in as he continued to sing. Juniper mead sounded very nice. Having another drink would certainly make him feel better about the ridiculous situation he was in now.

Ma'zurah nodded to the young Nord. “This one lived in the Imperial City for six years. Then she got arrested for a crime she did not do and was deported to Morrowind.” She made a face. “This one does not trust the Empire so much after that.”

As Fayrl sung, those listening to him seemed to relax slightly. The soothing sound of his voice felt like a caress. Though the song was hardly lewd or romantic, Fayrl’s voice lent a quality to it that alleviated tension.

The young Nord nodded absently, still staring ahead. He caught sight of the General conversing with a pair of Altmer dressed in black and gold robes. “Look at him! General Tullius, the Military Governor! And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this.” He shot a glare at Fayrl.

The cart rolled through the gate and an officer walked up next to it. “Get these prisoners out of the cart!” she barked.

The ragged prisoner who had thus far been silent stood, and hesitated. “Why are we stopping?”

The young Nord gave him a scathing look. “Why do you think? End of the line.” He stood and urged the other man forward. “Let’s go, we shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.”

That seemed to send the ragged prisoner into a panic. “No! Wait! I’m not a rebel!” He turned desperately back and gave the other Nord a pleading look. “You’ve got to tell them I’m not with you! This is a mistake!”

The larger man pressed his lips together and continued trying to move forward. “Face your death with some courage, thief.”

Ma'zurah blinked at his apparent stoicism. She hadn’t realized that the Empire executed their surrendered captives.

The Captain moved to address the other carts. “Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!”

Fayrl did not like the sound of this. These men were going to the gallows or some similar fate. He started to worry about his own fate.

Ma'zurah shared a glance with Fayrl and stood to get off the cart after the gagged man. Ahead of her the young Nord grumbled. “Empire loves their damned lists…”

His grumbling was cut off by a young officer with a sheet of parchment calling, “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.” The gagged man glared at the officer and stepped forward.

Fayrl shifted and listened to the various exchanges in turn, as he fell to the back of the group. Ulfric was Jarl of Windhelm? No, that wasn’t right. Did Mera’s family member seize power with this band of rebels? Was that why he did not know about this?

“You don’t think we are to join these men, do you?” Fayrl asked Ma'zurah quietly in Dunmeris.

Ma'zurah gave a hesitant glance back at Fayrl. “Ma'zurah hopes not,” she replied in the same language. She stepped back to lean closer to Fayrl. "If it starts to turn that direction, Ma'zurah can cast invisibility on Fayrl.”

“I would be grateful, my friend. I pray to the Three we will have no need to make use of your skill.” Fayrl slipped a vial into her hand. “In case we are separated and you need it, this is a potion that will put others to sleep. Don’t let it get on you.“

"Thank you.” Ma’zurah tucked the vial into a pocket.

Fayrl glanced around, taking an assessment of their surroundings. “And I assume you can summon a blade? If not, I have several knives I can offer you.”

“Ma'zurah has a mace always at her disposal, and they can never disarm this one fully.” She unsheathed one claw in demonstration.

There was a sudden shout from the front of the group. “No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” The ragged prisoner made a break for the gate.

“Halt!” the Captain called after him.

“You’re not going to kill me!” The ragged prisoner ignored the Captain and kept running, but underestimated how difficult it would be to run with bound hands. When the Captain called for archers, he fell not even halfway to the gate.

Fayrl took a deep breath and hoped that wherever the dead man’s soul went, he was more at peace there.

The Captain gave the rest of the prisoners a searing glare. “Anyone else feel like running?”

The young officer with the list noticed the pair at the back of the group. “Wait, you there… You’re unbound? Step forward. Who are you?”

Fayrl heard the call towards them, but pretended that there must be someone else and turned to glance towards one of the other prisoners. He was certainly not going to acknowledge that it was directed at him. He did not like the energy here. He did not trust what might be in store for them.

Ma'zurah looked at Fayrl and stuffed her fist over her mouth to stifle a laugh. The young officer glared. “No, you! The Dark Elf and the cat!”

Fayrl continued to look around. “A Dark Elf with a cat? Where might this good fellow be?” he muttered under his breath for Ma’zurah’s benefit.

Ma'zurah sighed and stepped forward. “This one is Ma'zurah. We were told that we were here for questioning by the General there.” She nodded at General Tullius near the gate, still arguing with a Thalmor officer.

The bound soldiers seemed very nervous about the situation taking place. If they were meant to go to their execution, Fayrl realized, this disruption could mean the wavering of their courage in the face of death. Noting Ma’zurah’s compliance with the officer, he decided to drop his own act.

“Oh, I see, you meant us. Please forgive me, my good sir.” Stepping towards the man, Fayrl gave a deep and formal bow. “My name is Fayrl Indoril of House Indoril. My companion and I were lost while making our way through the mountains. My husband is currently working in Whiterun for a small shop. I am afraid we made a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in the middle of some sort of conflict. I assure you, we bear no grudge for the violence directed towards us. But your superior officer thought it best that we explain our situation in a more formal manner. I expect there is a room for this purpose?” Fayrl looked towards the stone buildings nearby.

The bound soldiers murmured among themselves. They seemed to be very interested in this story. The young officer looked taken aback. “Captain, what do we do? They’re not on the list, and the Dark Elf sounds somewhat important.”

The Captain motioned the pair forward. “Let me get a look at the two of you. Step forward!”

Fayrl gladly slid up to the woman and gave a large but less formal bow. “Hello, Captain. I am Fayrl Indoril, of House Indoril. I don’t believe I caught your name, however.”

The Captain made a sour expression. “Captain is fine enough for our purposes, elf.”

Fayrl played light annoyance. “That hardly seems proper, but if you insist, Captain, then I shall address you by your title alone.”

Ma'zurah rolled her eyes and stood a half step behind Fayrl, keeping an eye on General Tullius.

“You,” The Captain said, pointing to Fayrl, “have rank which I would like to verify in a moment. But first, your cat companion, what is her relation to you?”

Fayrl looked to Ma’zurah and smiled. “She is my sister-in-law.” He stepped closer to the Captain. “I love my dear husband, he is certainly handsome, but I must admit, I was sorry to see that I choose the less attractive sibling,” he said with a sly smile and straightened back up.

The Captain only appeared more confused.

Ma'zurah gave Fayrl a piercing look. “Fayrl had better watch himself or he might offend this one’s dear ‘brother’.”

Fayrl winked at her before turning his attention back to the Captain. “Now, my dear Captain, I believe you had some pressing questions for me?”

The Captain leaned in close to Fayrl’s face, scrutinizing it while trying to appear intimidating. It didn’t work; even if Fayrl had not been a master of spinning stories and creating disguises, he was telling the truth about his identity–a rare enough occurrence–so there was nothing to cause him worry.

The Captain cleared her throat. “First, tell me, who is the head of your House?”

Fayrl laughed. “As if I would not know my uncle Tanval’s name!”

The Captain leaned in closer still, their faces nearly touching as she tried to make Fayrl uncomfortable.

“My good sera,” Fayrl said with a wicked grin, “if you are looking for that sort of 'proof’ I am happy to comply if it will speed things along, but I hardly think these games are necessary.”

The Captain withdrew immediately. “Second question,” she said brusquely, and stopped.

Fayrl motioned for her to continue.

The Captain thought for a bit. “When was the last diplomatic meeting between Morrowind and the Empire?”

Fayrl tilted his head. “I’m a man of the Temple, not of politics. Honestly, I was surprised to find such a large group of Imperials so far north-east. I had not thought there was enough armed men to spare in the war for this. But again, I am not a man of politics, I leave such matters to the Grand Council.”

Ma'zurah looked alarmed and stepped forward. “Erm… What war is Fayrl talking about? The last Ma'zurah heard, the Emperor’s health was failing and there was some sort of question over succession, but certainly no war! Has something happened?”

Fayrl raised an eyebrow. “He has passed. Further, he had no heir and the country has been at civil war for many years over the succession.”

The Captain took a step backwards. “Are you both insane? The Emperor is alive and well, and long may he reign!”

Fayrl turned to her in shock. Something was very, very wrong with all of this.

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait… but… the Emperor had two heirs… Was their association with Jagar Tharn ever proven?”

The Captain bristled. “I see what is happening here. Using the history books to put a little joke over on the Imperial Captain, hm? Well, we don’t take too kindly to this. Drop the act or you go to the block.”

Fayrl took a step backwards. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” replied the Captain. “Truth, or the block. Now.”

Ma'zurah’s tail puffed and her eyes narrowed. “No,” she told the Captain. “You do not get to threaten this one. This one did not defeat Dagoth Ur and kill her own gods-damned wife to avenge Sotha Sil only to die in a miserable cold stone keep in the arse end of Skyrim! Ma'zurah is getting someone who has some authority here!”

Ma'zurah stomped in the direction of General Tullius, placing a bubble ward around herself in case the Captain decided to try to have her shot like the thief.

Fayrl’s head spun. Some of the names that were being spouted Fayrl had never heard of, those he did know, he could not understand the relationship of the names and the events. What he did understand was that Ma'zurah was angry and walking away, leaving him to defend himself against the Captain and any soldiers she summoned. He needed to think fast.

The Captain called for guards to intercept Ma'zurah. Three men rushed between her and the General, their weapons drawn. “Stay back, mage!” one of them yelled at her.

Fayrl didn’t know what was happening. It was as logical as a dream to him. He couldn’t concentrate so he acted on instinct and threw his arms around the Captain’s neck, bringing their lips together and using the Lover’s Kiss, one of the powers of his birth sign to paralyze the Captain.

The Captain did not move. He had prevented her from calling for any more guards at least. The ability always left him dizzy and exhausted. It was always a struggle not to pass out afterwards. He willed himself to stay conscious as he looked back to see how Ma'zurah was doing.

Ma'zurah made it most of the way to the General before the three soldiers intercepted her and stood between her and her destination. “Move! Ma'zurah is getting someone with authority!” The soldiers merely brandished their weapons. She bared her teeth at them and shouted over their heads. “General! Is this the kind of hospitality we can expect from the Empire? This one thought that we were to be questioned! Not executed!”

The commotion and raised voices drew the General’s attention. He stepped forward. “What’s all this then? Captain, what is the cause of all of this chaos?”

Fayrl smiled sheepishly as he held onto the paralyzed Captain.

Ma'zurah made a sweeping gesture behind her and lashed her tail. “This wafiit of a Captain here decided to threaten us with execution!”

Fayrl steadied himself as best as he could and stepped forward. “I must apologize for the state of your Captain, General. She threatened us and I… well, I am sure you can see for yourself. Fear not, she will be back to her usual self in just a few minutes.”

The General pinched the bridge of his nose. “Men, stand down.” He appeared burdened enough without this newest interruption. “Does anyone know the story about how these two ended up here?”

The Thalmor woman behind the General stepped forward with hands clasped behind her back and a smug look on her face. “Well well, Tullius, It seems you don’t have this situation quite as under control as you had thought,” she gloated. “It would simply be in the Empire’s best interest that you comply, and allow the Thalmor to deal with Ulfric.”

The General did not even turn to meet her look. “Oh yes, Elenwen, I am sure that would not turn Ulfric into a bloody martyr. This here is the best way to get the Nords to accept his honorable execution.”

Ma'zurah threw her hands in the air in frustration and walked back in Fayrl’s direction.

Fayrl was not sure where they might be that the Thalmor and the Imperials would be working together against the Nords, let alone to try and get their compliance in some matter. This whole day just continued to get stranger and more confusing. He was beginning to believe that his body was somewhere in Sheogorath’s Tongue and that all of this was a Daedric illusion. Nothing here made any sense. Clearly he was hallucinating.

“Oh, certainly not.” The Altmer continued smoothly. “The Thalmor know how to deal with Talos worshipers, and we have the prerogative. The White Gold Concordat clearly states such.” the Altmer towered over Tullius, practically leering.

“Yes, you Thalmor and your precious Concordat,” the General sighed. “Can we set this aside so I might take care of the matter at hand?”

Fayrl turned to Ma’zurah. “Are we still in the Shivering Isles?” he asked, as he watched the bickering between the Altmer and the Imperial General.

“Ma'zurah does not think so, it smells much different there. This smells like Mundus. Ma'zurah is worried though…” Ma'zurah stood next to Fayrl and watched the proceedings with furrowed brow.

“Oh certainly! By all means!” said the Thalmor. “You won’t mind if I escort you, I’m sure!”

“I am sure that you will find some justification to accompany me regardless of my answer. So by all means,” the General replied, moving past the three men standing at attention. The Thalmor followed Tullius primly.

“I don’t know if that is a relief to hear or not,” Fayrl said, watching as the mismatched pair approached.

“If what is a relief?” asked Ma’zurah distractedly. “And what are the Thalmor?”

“That we are not in the Shivering Isles. At least if we were there I would have an excuse for all this lunacy.” Fayrl sighed, looking at the Thalmor, and lowered his voice even further. “To answer your question, the Thalmor are a group of Altmer that root out things that their organization does not enjoy and persecutes everyone who displays those things. They are the epitome of Altmer superiority complex.”

“Ma'zurah only heard tribal tales in Elsweyr, all the Altmer in the Imperial City and Morrowind seemed mostly civil…” she replied with a frown.

“For the love of the Divines, someone please explain why a Dark Elf and a Khajiit are here?” the General barked irritably.

Fayrl smiled and gave a polite and formal bow to the Imperial General and the Thalmor in turn. “As we have explained, several times now, my companion and I were lost in the mountains, and when we found ourselves out of the mountains, we were attacked by a group of soldiers, then brought here to be questioned.”

The General looked at Ma’zurah for confirmation. Ma'zurah shrugged. “That is really all there is to it, we are not even sure where we are or how we got to Skyrim.”

The Imperial man looked at them as if they were idiots. “Lost in the mountains? Where were you headed when you got lost in the mountains?”

“Uh… Morrowind…” Ma’zurah answered hesitantly. “Ma'zurah takes it we have missed our destination by a long way, then.”

The General nodded tiredly. “You certainly have.”

Fayrl brushed a stray wisp of hair behind his ear. “If you would be so kind, we are happy to leave you to whatever Human business you have going on here, we just need to be turned in the correct direction.”

The General opened his mouth.

Whatever the General might have said was lost as an uncanny roar like the call of a distant sabercat amplified to an enormous degree echoed in the distance.

Fayrl’s head snapped in the direction of the sound. He had never heard anything like it. “What in Oblivion was that?” The sound shook something deep within him. It was a primal sort of fear. He had rarely felt such a deep terror in all his life.

The fur on Ma'zurah’s tail and the back of her neck stood on end. The roar stirred something in her that she did not know how to respond to. She wanted to fight with teeth and claws, and run away, all in the same impulse. “Ma'zurah would like to leave!” she called. “Are we free to go, General?”

The echoing roar came again, closer this time. The bound prisoners shifted and muttered.

The General ignored Ma’zurah. “Men, on alert! Everyone at attention!”

Fayrl sorely missed his blades. Who had his weapons? He needed those and he needed them now. “General, we can tell you are preoccupied. If we could get our confiscated belongings back, we are happy to take our leave. I am sure we can find our own way back to Morrowind.”

The General was too busy barking orders to reply. A black shape with huge black wings appeared above the treeline, approaching fast.

Ma’zurah gestured to Fayrl. “Come on, they are not paying attention. Ma'zurah saw them put the things in a chest on the cart.” She began moving in that direction.

Fayrl hurried after her. “Whatever that is, it is big and I do not like it. The faster we can get out of here, the better!”

Ma'zurah scrambled onto the front of the cart. The horse snorted and shifted uneasily. Ma'zurah ducked to check under the driver’s seat. A small locked wooden chest chest lay there. “Fayrl, can you get this open?”

Fayrl grinned, “I certainly can.” He moved forward, pulling two long hair ornaments from his hair and inserted them into the lock. After a few seconds of clicking pins, the lock came open. He pulled out the contents and presented Ma’zurah with her knife. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” She tucked her knife into her robe again. Just then, the massive black shape landed on top of the central tower, making the earth shake. Screams rose from every corner of the fort. The horse began to bolt, cart still in tow.

Fayrl had only enough time to brace himself as the cart began to take off. “B'vek! Is that a fetching Dragon! By Boethiah’s tits! What is going on in this crazy place?!”

The Dragon spewed fire at the Imperial soldiers, hopping off the tower to land in the courtyard and snap them up. It roared something that sounded almost like speech. It sparked something in Ma'zurah that she couldn’t quite identify, but she was too busy hanging onto the cart for dear life to figure it out.

“Let’s hope this horse knows where in Oblivion it’s going,” yelled Fayrl above the clamor, desperately holding on to the cart, “because I cannot reach the reigns from here and I want to get as far from that Dragon as possible!” He closed his eyes and offered a prayer to the Three, then realized he didn’t need to hide his prayers in front of Ma'zurah, so he said the Chimeris prayer again aloud. Hopefully it would give them both fortune enough to survive.

The Dragon was entirely too busy eating soldiers to notice the escaping cart. As they cleared the gate, Ma'zurah saw the gagged man from their cart, Ulfric, make a break for the keep out of the corner of her eye. Then they were on the bumpy mountain path, in danger of tipping with even the slightest turn.

Fayrl knew a song that soothed guar, but he had no idea if it would work on horses. Still, they were going too fast on this bumpy road and anything was better than nothing at this point. He took a deep breath and, softly at first, began to sing the song. It sounded rather like a Dunmer lullaby, but there were whistles and trills interspersed.

Ma'zurah hung onto the cart by digging her claws into the wood, and worked her way to the reins hooked to the front of the cart. She grabbed them just as the horse seemed to come out of its panic.

End Notes:

Ta'agra Translations: Wafiit = idiot

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

The song Three Hearts as One can be heard here.

Lore and characterization for Ma'zurah significantly inspired by the White Senches race mod.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

[isirumarin]

Summoned Souls

Episode 2, Bladebinder

Isira, Rumarin, and the wolf-dog Rontu set out down the mountainside together. Ice cold wind slashed at them through the trees. It would be a very cold night indeed. Isira considered herself lucky to have found shelter without rude nords and without having to suffer in an inadequate camp.

"That's a nice.....dog." Rumarin said accusingly as he watched graceful Rontu cut through the snow silently, the large wolf-dog's bright white fur blended effortlessly in the snow.

"He's my best friend." Isira smiled.

"WHAT?! I thought I was your best friend.." Rumarin playfully lamented.

Isira laughed again at his absurd antics. She hadn't laughed this much in a very long time. "We will see, Master Rumarin." She smiled at him warmly and he returned in kind.

Unfortunately, the moment didn't last. A menacing scream pierced the air and morphed eerily into a terrifying yowl. A whoosh and a hum filed Isira's ears over the growling. She was so disoriented that she only just realized she had been knocked to the ground. The giant cat tearing at her fur cloak and pack. She kept herself from screaming, but whimpered under the weight of the great cat. It then flung her onto her back and she saw Rumarin fighting it with luminous swords. She had never seen such things, but instantly knew what he had meant earlier: bound weapons! She rolled to her feet and cast a protective ward over both of them as he spun around like an acrobat and finished the cat off. They both breathed heavily in silence for a few moments. Rumarin sent his swords away and offered his hand to her. Isira didn't even notice that she had sat down in the snow.

"Thank you... where's Rontu?" She whispered. She was too spooked to call out for him, for fear of other predators in the twilight. "Are you alright?" It was Rumarin's turn to ask. There was no joking in his voice now. He inspected her face and turned her gently to look at her tattered bag and cloak.

"Yes... I'm okay.." she whispered..."oh! my things..." she muttered, stooping to pick up bits and baubles, supplies, food, and herbs that had been strewn about during the cat's attack. Rumarin helped her pick up her things and wrap them up in a bundle with the remnants of her cloak. "Let's get to the stables." He said solemnly. "I'm sure Rontu will follow our scent there."

"True." Isira rubbed her temples. "He is always such a coward."

Rumarin smiled to himself with his ever characteristic smirk, for he could be a coward sometimes too.

When they arrived at the stable house, Isira was surprised to see an older Altmer couple there, running the enterprise, and they seemed just as surprised to see Rumarin return from adventuring with an Altmer she-elf. Rumarin explained that they would be staying the night and departing in the morning.

Ulundil the hostler, didn't outright say anything but he did ask Rumarin outside for a word, leaving Isira inside alone with Arivanya.

"So", Arivanya chirped as she offered a seat to Isira, "You and Rumarin are headed out together to the college? He did tell you that his....robes are less than authentic?" She chortled, thinking herself sneaky. "Yes, he did." Isira laughed softly in kind, amused. Arivanya seemed genuinely shocked. "Rumarin? Honest? He must have definitely caught some disease in those ruins causing him to be infirm. The Rumarin I know would lie about the color of the sky as you stand next to him under it!" She scoffed.

"He seemed very healthy to me when he was killing that sabercat..." Isira trailed off into thought as she remembered the frightening experience. She was surprised as well. She had underestimated him by virtue of his fool's temperament... but he was no fool. He was a hero. He saved her. She felt herself blushing and suddenly remembered Arivanya sitting across from her. Arivanya's eyes were wide, and her mouth was open. "I'll get you some warm tea." She finally said getting up.

The two men came in together, first Ulundil with a large venison haunch, and Rumarin after, with a large bundle of wood for the fire.

Isira didn't know why, but she felt embarrassed, and hid behind her mug as she sipped the wonderfully fragrant herbal tea.

"You had a harrowing experience." Remarked Ulundil. "We will get you good and fed. You are welcome to stay here with us tonight, and before you set off, we will set you up with some supplies. The least I can do for you since you are taking this layabout off my hands." Ulundil added gruffly.

"Thank you for your hospitality and generosity." Isira nodded respectfully.

"Ari, help me a moment would you?" Ulundil and Arivanya went outside, leaving Isira and Rumarin alone.

Neither of them said anything for a long while. Rumarin bolstered the fire, stooping in front of it, carefully placing logs in their correct places for maximum effeciency. Isira watched him. Sipping her tea. With the last sip she set the mug down. 'Nowhere to hide now.' She thought. 'Why do I feel like hiding anyway?' She felt strangely warm and began removing her fur hood and woolen cloak. The fur cloak would have to be repaired. She fidgeted with the tatters, thinking about how close she came to death that day.

"I can fix it for you." Rumarin said softly, with his proper Summerset accent. "One of many talents." He looked at her.

"I'm sure." She smiled. "I underestimated you and I'm sorry."

"Psshhhtt!" Rumarin waved a hand. "Don't get carried away. I'll have to live up to....expectations.." He said drearily.

"I owe you my life." She said solemnly, looking down at her ripped cloak.

"Now, now. It's my job to be dramatic." He said quietly, standing up. "But if you insist, one meal a day, plus dessert. As long as we live." He stretched his arms behind his back, looking down at her with that mischievous smirk of his.

Isira laughed. "Very well then."

[fireintheforest]

Negotiations

Ganra should be here by now, Saufinril mused, making his anxiety and excitement increase. He’d rented a private room at an inn, where he was at right now. The only furniture in it was the table and chairs and the big window that allowed him to see the side of the inn (probably a room for private reunions), the docks and the people walking around Anvil. Whenever he thought he saw a glimpse of golden blond hair, he’d stand up from his seat and sharpened his gaze to see if it was Ganra. It never was. What would he look like, anyways? The last time he saw him he was 19, and on the same night he finally left his house. It’s not like he was going to change his face completely. But he was still curious.

Footsteps approached the room and the voice of the innkeeper came along. Saufinril turned to the sound of the noises, was it heading his direction?

They were, oh Mara they were. He could feel his heartbeat increase drastically. And that’s when the door opened. A grown mer’s voice with Saufinril’s same accent thanked whoever had guided him, and that’s when Ganra stepped in the room. The Imperial lady left them alone, Ganra closed the door behind him as Saufinril stood up. Neither brother moved while they took in how much their sibling had changed in 32 years.

He was so…buff. And taller than him for some 2 or 3 inches. He still had the elegance of the race, but he also had the straight back and neutral demeanor of a Warrior, which undoubtedly all the men here saw. For Altmer standards, his brother had developed a lot of muscle. But the heart shaped face that was their father’s was still there, as were the eyes everyone said were like his, emerald green, but for him had always been a dark yellow. Ganra looked older, definitely freshly turned 51. The goatee was new, and the hair was shorter than the last time he’d seen him, but it was him. It was his little brother. The first thing that escaped Saufinril was a smile, imitated by his brother, then both went to each other.

“Look at you!” Ganra exclaimed with a voice deeper than the last time Saufinril had heard him as they hugged (too tightly but the years called for it). Ganra lifted Saufinril some inches from the ground while still embracing him, “You’re so thin!”

“Hey hey, ground. Ground. I’m your older brother, come on.” Saufinril protested. Ganra put him back down and they both broke the hug. Saufinril looked up to Ganra and smiled again, “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It is! Look at you, how have you been? Where have you been this whole time?” both brothers headed to the table where the wine and food awaited.

“Hoo, where do you want me to start?” Saufinril asked, serving Ganra, “I’m good, I’ve been living between Skyrim and Valenwood for a while.”

“You mentioned you were heading to Valenwood after today. What even is there?”

“My patron, his business. I travel back and forth with him. I did have to ask him for a day here to meet, and afterwards I continue south. But look at you, you enlisted? When? How did they even let you come?”

“I did, last year. Not too long ago. It’s been going well, mother and Mithras are very happy with this choice, and I am too.” Ganra watched as Saufinril pressed his lips lightly and passed the drink to him before serving himself, “Thank you. Well, what is this patron? What does he do?...why are you not spouting ice randomly?”

“Because I grew up. I wasn’t going to be the same little Finn that one day couldn’t do magic and the next was setting the kitchen table on fire.”

“You’re not my brother. The real Saufinril is a menace with his magika.”

“Fuck off, I’m 52. I had to control that sometime.”

“How did you control it?”

“Eh,” Saufinril waved his hand vaguely, as if it was an insignificant detail, “a lot of practice, reading endless amounts of tomes at night, day, during slow business hours, a lot of times where I thought I had it right and then electrocuted someone. I think being busy helped. It stopped happening around the time I was 30.”

“That’s good.”

“Thanks.” The silence fell between the brothers for some seconds before Ganra asked, “So, this patron. You didn’t answer me, what does he do?”

“Mm.” Saufinril finished the sip of wine and swallowed, “He has business in Skyrim and Valenwood. A store and a bar, respectively. He’s like a tutor to me.”

“Since when?” the tone of Ganra’s voice made Saufinril turn to look at him.

“Hm?”

“Since when is he a tutor? You had tutors back home. And you had Mithras. Why is he the one that helped?”

“I don’t know, Ganra.” Saufinril lied, “I just know it did. He has a lot of experience, he’s travelled Tamriel, he’s seen and lived a lot.”

“So?”

“So, he has knowledge that maybe those tutors or Graywatch didn’t have.”

“At the time.”

“Or at all.”

Ganra observed his brother take another drink. He observed their mother’s factions in him: the high cheekbones, the narrow jaw, the overall face structure so similar to Kusunna’s, the effect broken only by the blond hair and the emerald green eyes.

“Now that your magic is…stable. Will you come back?”

Saufinril immediately began to choke on the wine, putting the wine glass down and coughing. Ganra rolled his eyes but patted Saufinril’s back.

“It’s not that bad, come on. Your patron will understand. What do you do with him, anyways? Whatever you do, you can get a much better position in the Isles. You can enlist to train as a Battlemage, even, like Gilan. You can-” Saufinril held a hand up, stabilizing again before turning to his brother.

“Gunny,” he cleared his throat, “one is not returning to the Isles.”

“What? Why not?”

“Why would one? One is happy here.”

“Because it’s not your home. Your home is in the Isles. And don’t talk to me with ‘one’, I’m your brother, not some stranger.”

“Well, I think I know where my home is. And it’s here.”

“Not with your brother?” Ganra asked, looking and sounding genuinely hurt, “Or your mother or Mithras?”

“It’s not that, Ganra,-”

“Then why don’t you return?”

“Bec-”

“What is there here that you don’t want to be with your family? Do you not love us?”

“Ganra, of course I love you. You’re my brother.”

“Then why is it so hard for you to come back?” Ganra demanded, slamming an open hand at the table. The glasses clinked and Saufinril involuntarily tensed up, then glared at Ganra, who was glaring back.

“Keep your fucking goblin antics down.” Saufinril hissed, “I have my reasons.”

“Which are?”

“Mine. That’s what they are.”

“What could possibly be more important than us? Is it this tutor, this patron?”

“I-partly, yes.” Saufinril admitted, “There’s not much back there for me. Listen, here I make good money, I have a job, I have my social circle, my patron-”

“Everything you described, Saufinril, you have back in Cloudrest. Your old friends? Remember them? They’re back in Cloudrest. You can get a better job, you can get more money, you can find a wife and get married and have children,” Saufinril avoided Ganra’s gaze and shuffled in his seat, “Like I said, you can enlist and become a Battlemage. You can have your own business and not work for some patron. You can be back with your family. Us. Mother, Mithras, me.”

“Ganra, I said no. I am not returning to the isles.” Saufinril stated.  Ganra leaned back.

“This is unbelievable. After everything that’s happened with mother and Mithras, everything they went through and everything you put us through, you won’t come back? After everything both mother and Mithras did for us?”

“Watch your tongue.”

“Why? I was there, I saw it.”

“You didn’t see anything, otherwise you wouldn’t be talking like this.”

“You’re just so comfortable living in Cyrodiil, right? Having everything handed to you,” Ganra stood up, slamming his hands at the table again, “You’re so selfish. You didn’t have to watch Mithras lose nights of sleep trying to figure out how to prevent the invasion from killing everyone in your hometown, you weren’t there when we all thought he was going to die and mother couldn’t handle losing another husband.”

“No, but I wish I had.”

“Unbelievable, you never even visited or-or contact our parents! You weren’t there, you weren’t there for me! You have no filial duty, you don’t care!”

“I could say the same about you!” Saufinril now stood up, “Why are you only coming over here after thirty-two years? Huh? And what about mother? She could’ve come. So much for being my ‘family’.” He air-quoted the last part, “You all are a bunch of hypocrites that only care about what others will say, so don’t come to me talking about family when you don’t know what that means! Mother hardly knows what that means!”

“You just don’t want to take any responsibility. You’re ungrateful and a coward! A vagabond! You have no respect for all that your own people, your own family, has gone through! I shouldn’t have to beg you to come back to your family if you really loved us!”

“Is that so? You’re delusional, Ganra. You choose to call an egomaniac control freak your father when we both know we’re not his sons and our real father would’ve never done anything that he’s done! You’re an ignorant and an idiot! But go! Keep your fucking cult to Graywatch.”

“You’re pathetic, did you know that?”

“Oh, fuck off Ganra. Do you even know what kind of mer he is?”

“Yes I do, because we grew up together, Saufinril. I thought that meant something to you.”

“I thought the same.”

Another bout of silence fell. They both kept the hard stares on the other until Ganra shook his head and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?” Saufinril asked.

“Far from you. I’m going back home. I don’t need this.” Ganra turned to Saufinril, “I don’t need to hear you disrespecting my parents and everything they’ve done for their country and their children. Especially for someone that wants a mediocre life, and that clearly doesn’t want to be around me.”

No. No this couldn’t end like this. He hadn’t seen his little brother in 32 years, was he going to let this meeting end like this? All the anger he was feeling melted. That’s not true, Ganra. He wanted to follow him, to pull him into a hug and say he was sorry, that he was going home if it made him happy, that he never meant any ill to happen to him after all these years, that he just wanted to stop feeling so trapped and alone… but his ego was what planted him in place and shut his mouth. Ganra opened the door and left. Saufinril sighed and passed a hand through his hair.

[fireintheforest]

Behind the Blue, chapter 12

Toivon left around the same time Saufinril did and headed directly to the gates of the city, stopping only when he found a horse tied up outside the barbershop two blocks from the exit. It seemed like his owner either didn’t know how to tie a knot or was too drunk to tie it properly, because the reigns “suddenly” came loose and the animal was “mysteriously” free. And who was Toivon to let a horse lose in a city? Terribly irresponsible. Maybe a galloping run to Emmanuel’s estate would tire it and make it less likely to escape.

He crossed a forest and arrived at the pond behind the estate, which he could see on the other side, rising above a hedge wall made of stone, trees and lanterns. Toivon tied the horse securely to a tree, covered his face and walked around the pond, straight to the manor. The darkness of the night gave him cover, but it wouldn’t be permanent or absolute. Grabbing to the edge of the fence and helping himself with the stones of the wall, he pulled himself and was ready to pull himself into it when he noticed the tall walls of bushes in fancy, funny patterns.

A fucking labyrinth. Cute.

He dropped down and walked around, calculating until he guessed he’d passed the labyrinth and was at the side of the house. Taking a deep breath, Toivon carefully set his feet and hands on the stones that protruded out of the wall, climbed it, ducking at the hedge and slowly peering inside. His calculations were correct: he was facing the side of the manor and there were no signs of guards in this side of the property. Toivon climbed in, dropping softly on the grass, and stayed in a crouched position for some seconds. He could hear movement on the back, and some instruments warming up. He was still on time.

Sorcise had told him to hide behind the milk room, by the kitchens. If memory served him right, it was relatively nearby. His movements were slow, quiet, as he inched bit by bit to the shed that rested next to the bustling kitchen. Smells of meat and sugary pastries filled the air, servants and cooks running in the kitchen: take this, clean that, prepare the sauce, where is the whipped cream, take these buns, pour the jellies, where is the cake? Too busy decorating to see the figure shadow around the property. And he waited. He’d never worked with Saufinril before, but damn did he hope the Altmer could do what he had to.

It felt like eternity when Sorcise finally appeared to the back of the milk room and handed him the small, copper key.

“Room is up the kitchen.” she whispered, “Emmanuel never seemed to think there’d be something wrong with letting vines grow. So long as you climb from the right side and you climb fast, you’ll get to the balcony in no time. I’d tell you to hurry, though.” And with that, she returned to the kitchen. Bingo.

Key tucked safely in his pocket, Toivon snuck to the right side of the kitchen window and started climbing. Sorcise had a point, though, what kind of ridiculously easy deal was this to climb using vines (sturdy ones at that, Daedras’ sakes Emmanuel, a little security consciousness?), open a chest, get a rock and get out? He was getting paid well for this, he mused. On he climbed. Now and then the music and bursts of laughter from the party floated over, going on and on during the night. The balcony was on the third floor, and he was reaching it soon. He vaguely wondered how tough these vines were to be so stable under his weight and pull, but nonetheless he was grateful.

When he reached the balcony, he grabbed the edge and pulled himself up and over, landing well. But he looked inside the room, directly at the other figure dressed in dark colors, kneeling at the side of the bed, arm stuck underneath looking for something. The figure turned to look at who had just arrived at the balcony, freezing momentarily.

“I don’t think so.” Toivon muttered. The stranger stuck his arm deeper under the bed, so Toivon ran to him and kicked him away. The kick threw the second thief away, who now pulled out his knife and ran to Toivon, swinging the knife to try and bury it. Toivon grabbed the stranger’s wrist to stop the knife, but the stranger then threw a punch at Toivon’s nose. A sharp pain flooded his face as did the tears on his eyes from the impact, and the next attack Toivon felt was an elbow straight to his cheekbone. Still he clung to the knife-holding hand, and instead grabbed the stranger’s shoulder and ran, pushing him against the wall. The stranger let out an “oof!” but still grabbed Toivon’s neck while applying force, still trying to dig the knife at him.

Toivon put pressure back, pushing the knife away and the stranger to stay against the wall. He had to inmovilize this asshole before doing anything with the chest. He stepped forward and kneed the stranger between his legs with all his force.

“HGGRK!” the stranger gasped, doubling slightly. Toivon brought the knee down and then back up with force, this time aiming to the diaphragm (which was closer to him, courtesy of the doubling-over stranger). The gasp let him know it worked, so he risked letting the stranger go. He crumbled down in a heap. Toivon kicked the knife to the balcony and ran to the bed, crouching down and sticking his arm underneath. His hand pat around like crazy, feeling only the hard wood. He didn’t want to lose sight of the stranger that was curled up mere feet away but this was a big matrimony bed and one peek underneath would show him exactly where the chest was to grab it.

Fuck it.

He looked under the bed wildly, and found the chest on the other side of the bed. He stood up and climbed on top of the bed, ran and landed on the other side, stuck his hand, grabbed the chest, pushed the key in and turned. The key didn’t turn with his wrist.

“What?!” he whispered. The stranger huffed, standing up. This wasn’t the key. No matter. He pocketed the key, took the chest and straightened up, taking off as the stranger stood up. The stranger began to run at Toivon, tackling him and shoving him straight to the closet. Toivon hit his side first, accidentally letting the chest fall from his grasp, so he landed a punch on the stranger’s brow. The stranger, however, grabbed his head and pushed it to the closet brusquely, then released him and lunged for the chest. Toivon grabbed the stranger’s shirt and pulled him back, throwing himself to the chest, but the stranger was the one to now shove a hand to Toivon’s face and reach for the chest. Toivon bit the hand hard, the stranger letting out a curse. The stranger then shoved Toivon again to the closet and ran to the balcony, with Toivon hot on his heel. At a final effort to keep the stranger from taking La Zadine inside the chest, Toivon wrapped an arm around the stranger’s neck and pulled, choking him. The stranger was forced to stop, falling and only being able to get back on his feet because Toivon refused to fall to the ground.

The stranger released the chest, which fell to the ground, as he took both hands to Toivon’s arm, trying to pry it open. Toivon walked towards the balcony, keeping the competition away from the chest, but the stranger stomped on his right foot hard. Toivon’s mistake was to soften his grasp: the stranger broke free, grabbed the front of Toivon’s shirt and slammed his head against the balcony. The impact immediately rang in Toivon’s head, pain searing on his side and for one second the world seemed to blur. The stranger released Toivon and reached for the knife Toivon had kicked a minute ago. The knife!

Without thinking, Toivon threw himself at the stranger and pushed him against the balcony banister. The stranger grabbed Toivon’s throat again, but before he could sink the knife to Toivon’s side, Toivon grabbed the stranger’s shoulders and shoved him with all his force. He felt the pull of gravity, he felt the stranger’s body continue, and he grabbed the first thing he could to make sure he wasn’t falling. He wasn’t, but the stranger’s body was no longer in front of him. The stranger let out a yell, then a sickening crack below, then there was silence. He’s in the ground. Like, below. Ohh shit.

No time to dwell on that right now. He looked around and saw the chest lying on its side, unmoving. Toivon went to it and pulled the key yet again, trying it.

“Come on, come on you stupid thing.” He muttered to himself, “Come ON.” But it was no use. He sighed in frustration, looking around. Maybe the real key was in the room, it had to be somewhere. People usually hid it in a drawer or a music box or-

Then there was a high pitched, feminine scream. Fuck. He took the chest and looked at his surroundings. With that biological alarm yelling her head off, the grounds were off-limits. And guards or people would be called quickly. He had to get out. If down wasn’t the way to go, then up it is. Or even…he eyed the door. If Emmanuel was amidst the party, it’d take some minutes for people to see the body, guess it’d fallen from the balcony and then have Emmanuel run to check on his jewels. If he played his cards right, he could sneak downstairs and get to the garden from there. If he went to the roof he’d have to wait until the whole buzzing of the manor ended and he’d risk detection in the morning.

He went inside the room, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway, closing after himself. He followed the noise of music to a stone staircase, always keeping to the borders and moving slowly. Laughter and clapping came from the left, where a big amount of light came from as well. To his right, relative silence and cool air, but also the sound of the woman screaming. He had to move fast. Crouched, he peered to his left. People were in a circle clapping to a mime’s antics, accompanied by live music. But it was just a matter of time for the music to stop and the woman to keep screaming. Toivon seized the chance and ran to the right, straight to the front gardens.

The sound of fast approaching footsteps made him immediately duck behind a cone topiary, in time to see an Altmer run to the inside of the house. Toivon waited a second, peered around the corner, then took off and climbed the hedge, dropping on the grass on the other side. And from there it was a dash to the pond, around it, back to untie his horse and get in.

“Go!” he slapped it, and the horse galloped to the forest, back to Evermor.