#arith sendrul

[oxalisvtesblog]

I'm sorry you had to see that. Magister Gothren's really quite charming once you get to know him.

Ralasa's gone to great lengths to discredit me, you see. My muthsera knows this. If I succeed, he'll see that I am the fitter servant!

My master has a kind and gentle disposition

Muthsera Gothren expects unwavering obedience, but on the whole, it's been a delight.

I know he's treated you poorly, but isn't his candor refreshing?

Now that he's finished grieving for that harpy, Ralasa, I mean. He even paid me a compliment! Something like, "I suppose you're not totally useless." It's a start!

Ok so, why isn't there tons of slash with these two? There's literally nothing.

[morrowsword-archive]

{x} @valenwccd

    There was a war waging within Arith, and it was painted upon his face. Teldryn couldn’t begin to know the beasts that tore at his fellow Dunmer, what horrors he’d seen that played out now in his mind’s eye. But he knew the man was in pain, traumatized. He’d seen that look plenty enough time to know that much, even if he did not understand the context.

    “Hey,” he softed, a hand reaching out to tightly grip Sendrul’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He hadn’t meant to trigger such a reaction in him, to reopen old wounds. He took a breath. “I believe you, Arith. You’re a good elf. I shouldn’t have asked.”

     It was true; he’d pegged the mage as an upstanding person from the start. But necromancy… That was something Teldryn had a hard time approving of, mostly because the ones he’d encountered previously had all been hostile and vile characters, and the idea of someone’s body being resurrected and forced to do things against their will left a bad taste in his mouth. But Arith was not like them. He should not have judged him based on the actions of others.

[knifearr-blog]

fancy post eventually incoming but uhhh muse list

old boys : arith sendrul, assistant to and mouth for magister gothren hadran, slave trading, skooma dealing, gambling ring leading werewolf neramo, animunculi controlling dwemer scholar, MAD MAGE, pyromaniac

newcomers : adoring fan (previously a blog i can’t remember), doing his best dutheil (previously vaullted), architect for daedric princes, lich residing in coldharbour, creator of the endless stair and planar vortex grundwulf, vampiric dragonborn allied with hollowfang vampires of elsweyr sizzle sharp-stick (previously sharpstiick), lost goblin searching for the right family to return stolen armor to

[valenwccd]

— ✯ - - @dunmerc —

    “ so ? i lost something of mine out there, and i HAVE to find it again. “ the winter storm that chipped away at their fur cloaks and bit through iron armour might have been unexpected, and unwanted as well by the two of them, but it was nothing that sathol couldn’t have handled. although a century spent in morrowind under the shadow of the red mountain definitely didn’t work wonders with his resistance against cold weather, forcing the dunmer to regularly consume specially made potions until he had adapted enough to withstand the biting chill of skyrim’s climate.

   waving off the concerns of his fellow dunmer friend, sathol tightened the thick fur coat around his body and stepped out of the cavern that they had taken shelter in. “ that dagger stayed by my side ever since my first hunting trip, i’m not losing it to some shitty second-rate snow storm in a foreign land. i’m finding that dagger no matter what. “

“It can’t wait until...” Sendrul’s gaze drifted beyond his companion, back to the blizzard that raged on and blew freezing winds into the cavern, dusting the dirt at their feet with snow.  It couldn’t.  Anything dropped would be buried long before the storm calmed - in fact, considering the harsh snowfall, Arith wasn’t entirely certain whatever it was remained visible.  The longer they waited, the less likely finding things became.

The dunmer followed the other into the storm, albeit with slight hesitation at the thought of abandoning the cover of the cavern, even before hearing what sentimental value the item held.  He noted how Sathol pulled his coat closer and did the same shortly thereafter.  The cold no longer drained him as it did the living, but trudging through anything that slowed movement was (even in death) less than ideal.  Still, the mere thought of not helping Sathol - who had been so kind to him - turned Sendrul’s stomach.

“You’re not going alone,” he informed his friend, pausing at his side.  “Two of us will have better luck than just one.”