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kookaburra1701 · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday - Moth to Flame (The Wives of Shor Series)

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim This snippet rating: T Entire fic rating: E Category: M/M Pairing: Kaidan/Lucien Flavius Genres: romance, adventure, bildungsroman Other Characters: Inigo the Brave, the Last Dragonborn Status: in progress/outlining, will not start posting until at least the first drafts of all chapters are completed

Summary: In honor of Heart's Day, my WIP Wednesday is a scene from my Kaidan/Lucien Flavius romance trilogy, where Kaidan first realizes he feels something more than camaraderie for Lucien.

Contains some punctured lung gore.

First Heart’s Day, 4E 202

Heat built in Kaidan’s chest as the healing spell poured into him. He still gasped for breath, but each draught of air came easier than the last. The golden light of the healing spell lit Lucien’s face above him as his mind cleared. Kaidan could see blood dripping out of a small aperture in the wall next to Lucien’s head.

Is that mine?

Kaidan’s head swam, he knew he was in…in…somewhere dark, somewhere built out of stone, but he could not remember how he got there or why it was important. He wished the ground would stop tilting, he felt like the whole room might slide off into Oblivion.

Over Lucien’s shoulder Kaidan could see Inigo and Pascale’s faces watching him, barely visible in the gloom.

When he opened his mouth to say he was fine, coughing wracked his frame and a few flecks of pink foam splattered across Lucien’s face.

Pascale disappeared from view.

I just need a rest, and I’ll be fine…

Lucien’s expression remained fixed, a small line between his brows that Kaidan had learned over the course of their travels meant “I am concentrating very hard.”

Pascale appeared over Lucien’s shoulder again and said something– at least, Kaidan presumed she said something, he could see her lips move and Lucien responded with a curt nod but the words weren’t audible over the damned ringing that filled Kaidan’s head.

The warmth faded as Lucien removed his hands from Kaidan’s body and took the proffered blue potion bottle from Pascale’s hand.

A wave of coldness swept in where the warmth had been; Kaidan could feel it settling around his heart as black clouds closed over his vision. He felt as if he was trapped in a deep well, the image of Lucien taking a long pull from the vessel above him small and faint. Kaidan knew he should breathe but the effort of inhaling was too much.

Come back, don’t leave me!

Golden light exploded around him, driving back the darkness and cold. In contrast to the previous gentle heat, this was a wildfire, burning its way through his body. Lucien’s face was suddenly close to his, filling his vision, as big as the sky. Kaidan thought his heart would erupt out of his chest as his pulse thundered in his ears.

It’s too much!

The energy flowing through him was like a bolting horse, and the look in Lucien’s eyes told Kaidan the flow of magicka was out of his control. Kaidan was like the vessel at the lower leg of a siphon, inexorably drawing the magicka from Lucien’s reserves. He could hear Pascale now, she was yelling at Lucien to stop.

There was a dizzying feeling of vertigo, and for a moment Kaidan could see himself. He was lying on the dirty floor of an ancient Nordic crypt in a pool of his own blood, lips pale and eyes sunken, and his hands– no, those were Lucien’s hands– gripped the front of his armor. Inigo was trying to pry them off and was yelling in Lucien’s –Kaidan’s– other ear.

Deep inside Kaidan’s mind he felt a sudden snap as tension he had never been cognizant of was released, and in an instant he was again looking up at Lucien from the proper perspective as he drew a deep, shuddering breath.

And then another.

And another.

The heat of the spell receded, but the bitter cold did not invade this time, and it was only as his breathing returned to normal that Kaidan realized he had previously only been gasping like a landed trout. His pulse was slowing to normal.

“I think…I think that’s done it,” Lucien said, giving Kaidan a wan smile before his eyes rolled up and he pitched forward in a limp heap over Kaidan’s body, completely drained of magicka.

There was no discussion needed to decide to turn back and make camp at the entrance to the tomb. Kaidan made as if to carry Lucien’s insensate form but one look from Inigo (and the realization that his legs barely had the strength to carry his own weight back out to the free air of Skyrim) and he allowed Pascale to take his pack in addition to her own as Inigo scooped up Lucien and they began to pick their way carefully back to the surface.

Lucien had roused enough to accept another magicka potion and drag himself into his bedroll (though Inigo had to help him with his boots) by the time they returned to the antechamber of the tomb. Pascale rigged a makeshift alarm by carefully placing several empty wine bottles (courtesy of the former occupants, bandits judging by the pile of discarded coin purses in the corner) inside of a fire rune on the other side of the door. Kaidan wanted to help, but he could only sink slowly to the ground and try to not topple over as dramatically as Lucien had.

That night as he tried to find sleep, Kaidan turned the experience over in his mind, worrying at it like a dog with a bone. Lucien was aggravating in the way that only relentlessly optimistic people who had never experienced a day’s hardship in their lives could be…but he had also set about learning the skills necessary to survive on the road in a harsh land like Skyrim with nary a complaint. Lucien blurted out his thoughts, often inadvertently insulting others with his observations…but he was also just as effusive with admiration and compliments.

Kaidan rolled over and cracked one eye open. In the glow from the rocks Pascale had heated in place of a smoky fire he could just make out a mess of golden hair peeking out from the opening of Lucien’s bedroll.

You were close to death and half-mad with pain; how can you be certain of what you felt?

The images in Kaidan’s mind of the moment Lucien poured too much of himself into the healing spell were confusing and indistinct.

The emotions were vivid and raw.

Kaidan had never thought of himself as particularly likable. He had decided to be content with being respected. Keeping companions (especially paying patrons) at arm’s length had been working fine for him, and he was satisfied with it.

He was.

But in that instant Kaidan saw himself through another’s eyes, and felt another’s affection, longing and grief directed at him, something had shifted.

He did not know what to do with the warm spot that remained in the center of his chest where Lucien’s hands had been pressed just a few hours ago. Kaidan told himself it was just residual magicka burn.

It would go away by the morning.

He was sure of it.

#wip wednesday #fic wip #tesblr #the elder scrolls #skyrim #Lucien Flavius #Kaidan 2 #romance #Kaidan/Lucien Flavius #skyrim fanfiction #kb writes #fic: the wives of shor

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scullysexual · 4 years ago

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My Teacher Is Diana Fowley

Someone on ao3 asked for Diana Fowley to be Emily’s school teacher so here we are.

- - -

The afternoon had turned into a disaster. Arthur wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep. The only thing he wanted to do was wail.

Scully was trying everything to calm him down; rocking him, bouncing him, putting him down, picking him up. Nothing seemed to work.

Arthur had proven to be a lot more difficult than Emily. She was a perfect little baby in comparison.

Between trying to study and tend to her son’s needs, the clock at ticked and time, regrettably, became less of a priority.

Arthur had just settled in the downstairs crib because he refused to settle elsewhere. Scully had finally gotten him to eat, finally gotten him to sleep when the phone rang and the wails began all over again.

A trail of profanities slipping from her mouth, she leaves Arthur- telling him she’ll be right back and heads for the phone.

“Hello,” she answers trying to keep her voice as calm and neutral as possible. Really wants to find out who just disturbed her baby.

“Hi,” says a woman who Scully guesses is not older than herself. “It’s just Emily’s school calling. We were wondering what time somebody was going to pick her up. She’s been sat on the bench…”

Fuck.

The receptionist’s words trail off as Scully looks towards the clock. 3:52. She was supposed to pick Emily up.

“Mrs Mulder. Are you there?” The woman’s voice calls her back.

“Yes, sorry. Um…her father will pick her up.”

“Thank you. We’ll let Emily know.”

They say they’re goodbyes and Scully puts down the phone. She’s forgotten how many times she’s got distracted and forgot to pick Emily up from school.

It used to be Mulder’s job. A morning person naturally, Mulder usually requested the morning shift at work but after an incident happened, his bar duties were taken away and his hours changed to afternoon or night shifts leaving Scully to feel like she had to do everything on her own until dinner time.

“Mamaaaaaaa!” the one-year-old screams and Scully sighs. Picking up the phone and dialling Mulder’s workplace.

As it rings, Scully calls back to Arthur.

“I’ll be back in a minute, baby.”

But Arthur doesn’t understand.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He places the glass, now dry, onto the rack. They have him in the back, washing and drying dishes on a smaller pay check, all because he stopped some man from assaulting some poor woman.

He’s still surprised he was punished for that. Guess the safety of their costumers isn’t a priority here.

He picks up another glass, gives it a half-assed dry, and puts down on the rack with the others.

“Oi, Mulder!”

Mulder looks towards the back door that leads to the staff’s lunchroom. John stands in the doorway, a phone receiver in his hand, holding it towards Mulder.

“It’s your missus.”

Mulder frowns, tossing the towel down and walking towards the phone. It wasn’t like Scully to ring him in the middle of the day.

“Scully, what’s up?” he asks once the receiver is to his ear.

I need you to pick up Emily from school, her voice on the other end tells him.

It was almost 4pm. Emily should’ve been picked up 25 minutes ago. What has Scully been doing?

“I can’t,” he tells her. “I’m at work.” She knows that, of course, she rang here.

I know but Arthur’s been a nightmare all afternoon and I hadn’t looked at the clock and the school rang me and I’ve only just got him settled downstairs, and I need to study for the tests on Friday…

She was getting flustered. His new hours were taking a toll on both of them.

“Scully, it’s okay,” Mulder says, attempting to calm her down. “Is your mother around?”

She’s out of town visiting Bill Jr.

His own parents had moved out of state, Samantha was god knows where. It was really down to them now.

Mulder sighs. If Scully had been having issues with Arthur all day- which he doesn’t doubt she has- and she’s just got him settled, moving him would just start it all up again and he was ten minutes away versus her thirty minutes.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll see if I can go on break early.”

Thank you, Scully says. Then adds. I’m sorry.

“Hey, don’t be. You’re doing better than most.”

Frankie isn’t happy that Mulder needs to go. He’s huffing and puffing even after Mulder tells him that it’s his daughter.

“You’ve got thirty minutes,” Frankie says, effectively telling Mulder to piss off. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

They’re not excuses, Mulder grumpily thinks as he grabs his jacket and leaves. She’s my kid.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She’s organising the exercise books into alphabetical order. Something to do while she waits rather than a need to.

“Does this happen often, Emily?” her teacher asks. She was new, only having taken on her class last Monday while her original teacher went off to have a baby. So far Emily liked her. Most kids have to sit in reception until their parents come and get them but Miss Fowley had saw her and took her back to the classroom.

Emily shakes her head. “Not really.”

Her mom was usually good at managing time, being ready at the gate for her, usually accompanied by a crying Arthur.

“Well, it happened a bit when I was in second grade,” Emily tells her, placing the last book on the shelf. “But only because they were in college then and sometimes they would be learning when school finished.”

Tuesday was the day, Emily remembers. That would be the day where she knew she had to sit in reception while a free family member came and picked her up. Usually it was Grandma or Nana Teena but sometimes it would be Sam though she never looked happy about it.

Emily would sit hearing the staff talk. Feeling small and clutching onto her bookbag while she would hear them say things like ‘This is why teenagers shouldn’t have kids’ and they were ‘irresponsible’.

She never thought about her parents age until last year when her best friend Callum had asked her how old her mom was and Emily said she was twenty-three. Her teacher said she wasn’t allowed to talk about her mother’s age after that.

“Don’t you feel forgotten, sometimes?” Miss Fowley asks.

It’s just a question, Emily tells herself and she shakes her head.

“I have a little brother. He’s only one and he’s a hand-full.”

Miss Fowley seems surprised at that.

“Wow. You are a big sister.”

Emily smiles awkwardly. After the incident last year, Emily made it a goal to not talk about her family- her parents ages or the gap between her and her brother.

“Well,” says Miss Fowley. “You’re dad will be here soon.”

Emily smiles in response, starting to feel forgotten after all.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He knocks on the classroom door of room 4E. Through the little rectangular window he can see Emily talking to, what he assumes, must be her teacher. The teacher turns around and Mulder feels his stomach drop.

Jesus fucking Christ, no.

Diana Fowley. Diana fucking Fowley walks towards the door. Diana fucking Fowley is his daughter’s teacher.

How the fuck did that happen?

Does she know? Surely she must know. Emily has their surname, she’s probably seen Emily’s file, saw FOX MULDER and DANA SCULLY listed under ‘father’ and ‘mother’. Of course she knows.

The door swings open and Mulder keeps his eyes averted.

“Hi,” Diana says, her voice warm and friendly. Oh she knows.

“I’m here to pick up Emily,” Mulder says choosing to focus behind Diana and at his daughter. Emily is picking up her backpack from the floor.

“You ready?” he asks Emily wanting nothing more to leave and not have an awkward conversation with Diana.

“I’ve been ready since 3:35,” Emily answers coolly.

Mulder smiles guiltily in response.

“Emily was telling me about her little brother,” Diana says looking and smiling at Emily. Mulder looks at Diana then but that had been a mistake as her eyes move so they’re both looking at each other at the same time. No looking away now.

“I didn’t know you had another kid, Fox.”

Emily eyebrow shoots right up at the mention of Mulder’s first name. Mulder’s eyes flick towards his daughter and Jesus Christ kid, don’t choose this moment now to look like Scully.

“Er, yeah…” Mulder says his eyes darting back to Diana. “Um…he’s called Arthur. He’s one.” Mulder swallows. He should leave. He only has 30 minutes before he loses his job. He really has to go and surely Diana has a home to go to as well.

“Emily mentioned. Well, I’m Miss Fowley,” Diana says as if Mulder didn’t know that. Oh, he knew that. “I’m Emily’s new teacher.” She holds her hand out.

Mulder doesn’t bother to ask what’s meant by ‘new teacher’ he can ask Emily about it in the car while he also asks her why she didn’t think to give him a heads up before this.

Mulder takes her hand, shaking it in a pitiful handshake.

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” he says ignoring the way Diana looks at him. “I’ve wasted your time already, we should really go.” He drops Diana’s hand, taking Emily’s and heads down the corridor. Diana shouts something like See you tomorrow, Emily! but Mulder ignores it.

Once in the car does he feel like he can breathe. Diana Fowley. Why is she here? She said he was moving to Washington DC. Why is she here?

And why is she Emily’s teacher?

“Do you know Miss Fowley?”

Mulder turns to Emily who has spent the last five minutes staring at him.

“What?”

“She called you Fox,” Emily says. “Mom doesn’t even called you that.”

Mulder puts the car in ignition.

“Yeah, I know her. We went to school together.”

Emily hums and Mulder knows she has more question.

“Go ahead, Em,” he says preparing himself for Twenty-Questions. “Ask.”

“It doesn’t seem like you like her.”

“It’s complicated.”

“How?”

Mulder sighs.

“You said I could ask,” Emily says.

Yes, he did. And Emily deserves answers.

“You ever see kids be picked on in school, Em?”

He looks over to her, sees her nod her head.

“Well, sometimes that can carry on past Elementary school. Sometimes those kids don’t grow up, sometimes they still be those same people they were then.”

“Did she pick on you?”

No, Diana didn’t. He was too busy getting his ass beaten by the boys to also become a victim of the girl’s too.

“No. She picked on your Mom, though.”

Emily looks surprised at that. “Really?” she asks.

Mulder nods.

“Why?”

“Well, she was smarter than them. They didn’t like that. It showed them up.”

“Them?”

Mulder smiles. “Bullies come in packs, Emi,” he says. “Three, four against one.”

A Bully is never on their own.

“I never noticed that,” Emily says. “But she’s a teacher now. Doesn’t that mean she has grew up?”

“Probably,” Mulder says. “But these things stay with you. They effect you even when you’re older, too.”

And hopefully you never have to experience that.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She at the door with hugs and a string of I’m sorry’s falling out of her mouth.

“It’s okay,” says Emily moving out of Scully’s embrace to put her bag down. “Dad told me about Arthur and about your test.”

The test she’s about to flunk because her drain doesn’t want to retain information anymore.

“I have a new teacher,” Emily tells her.

“Really, who is she?” Scully asks as she starts clearing the textbooks from the coffee table.

“Diana Fowley.”

That was not a name Scully was expecting to hear.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Why is Diana Fowley teaching our daughter?”

Mulder just wanted a sip of orange juice. The bottle almost to his mouth before Scully appears in the doorway.

“And you better use a glass for that, too.”

Mulder groans. It’s his orange juice. He doesn’t remember agreeing to sharing it with the kids. But he goes into the cupboard and grabs a glass anyway.

“I wondered the same thing,” Mulder answers, pouring the drink into the glass.

“Have you seen her?”

Mulder nods. “Seen her, spoke to her-“

“Why did you speak to her?”

Mulder looks at her. “Because Emily was waiting in the classroom.”

“She normally waits in reception.”

He puts the juice back into the fridge. “Yeah well, Diana sees herself as Emily’s saviour.”

Scully tenses. “Why?”

“Emily told me that Diana asked her if she felt forgotten when nobody picked her up on time.”

“What did Emily say?”

“That she understands why.”

It broke his heart a little to know somebody asked Emily that and Emily’s reply to. Emi tried so hard at being perfected, understanding situations meanwhile the kid can’t even rely on somebody to pick her up from school on time.

“I’m gonna quit the bar job,” Mulder says.

There’s panic in Scully’s eyes. “What? No, you can’t.”

“They keep fucking me over there.”

“It’s our only income.”

“I’ll find another job. One where the hours are better and I can pick Emily up from school on time.”

“Your hours were fine before you decided to be a hero.”

Apparently everyone’s under the impression he should have let that girl be assaulted.

“What if that girl was Emily?” he asks and watches as Scully falters. “Would you think I was being a hero then?”

No answer.

“That place stinks anyway,” he adds.

“Will they let you quit?”

They wanted to get rid of him from the start.

“Oh yeah,” Mulder says, certain.

Scully sighs. “Fine.”

Mulder cocks his head to the side knowing that the whole Diana Fowley thing was still eating Scully up.

“Hey,” he says grabbing her attention. “Don’t worry about Diana. Emily said she was only taking over while her original teacher is on maternity leave. I think this is just a placement.”

Mulder hoped it was just a placement. He didn’t look forward to teacher-parent conferences anyway before that teacher became Diana Fowley.

- - -

I’m always happy to accept prompts in this universe. If you have any just send them to me. @mypanicface

#abif prompt #emily au #my teacher is diana fowley #i write

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nikkutendo · 8 years ago

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Haters gonna hate regardless, just love what you love.

#rpg #ova rpg #besm #big eyes small mouth #dungeons and dragons #d&d #d&d 4e #dice #role playing game

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adventuresofninnaly · 5 years ago

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19th of Frostfall, 4E167

Ninnaly’s mother , Inghilde Djorindottir was a young Nord who was an exceptional jeweler. In her early 20′s, full of life, and wanting to experience the world. But was stuck on her parents farm, until people started to take interest in her jewelry, in the northern region of Cyrodiil, close to Skyrims border. This day Inghildes family loaded up their carriage with the last of their remaining stock for the last fair in Bruma for the year. A day Inghilde looked forward too, because she could always dream that the man of her life would stand before her in her stall.

And that day, would in fact, be today.

Arkiss Aedoth, an Altmer that had long ago abandoned his home, because the nationalistic viewpoints of his family was horrible. He wanted peace in all of Tamriel. So he set out to create his own path, a path that perhaps could in the future lead to peace. He found himself joining the Imperial Legion as a battlemage. His garrison, on their way to Skyrim, had a much needed break for buying supplies and repairs in Bruma. Bruma at the time of their arrival had a fair that sparked the interest of Arkiss. He couldn’t figure out exactly why, but he needed to go.

As Arkiss walked around the fair, he truly enjoyed himself. He had some coin saved up, and could buy something nice for himself, or perhaps a beautiful girl he thought. He came to a stop at Inghildes jewelry stall, and was browsing the intricate rings and necklaces. Admiring the work and materials that were used. Among the necklaces lied an amulet of Mara, the goddess of Love. It was made from gold, inlays of ebony, and in the center of it was a pearl. Red as blood. It was perfect, he thought. A perfect gift for a future wife!

Inghilde watched the legionnaire as he browsed the jewelry. Great, she thought. Another soldier here to haggle, for some girl he probably never will see again.

Arkiss tried to remember how much gold he had left. Since he mainly ate the rations provided, rather than buying overpriced food in each and every settlement, he had saved a lot of coin.

He raised his head to speak with the woman in the stall. Their gaze met, and something sparked in the air. Time stood still, as two souls that belonged together, had finally found each other.

Arkiss tried to speak, trying to say he wanted to buy the necklace from her. But he only made a fool of himself. His mouth had dried, and every attempt to speak sounded more like a hoarker, which in turn had made Inghilde start laughing hysterically. Inghilde also tried to say something, but it turned out she also was at a loss for words. Which they both laughed at. After they’ve calmed down, they agreed to meet the day after the fair.

21st of Frostfall.

Much had happened after their meeting. He left the Legion the next day after saying good bye to his friends, his brothers in arms. But not before promising that they would be invited to his and Inghilde’s wedding.

They rode to Inghilde’s home making small talk on the way. Inghilde telling him how much her parents looked forward to meet him!

They arrived to the farm before it was completely dark. Arkiss began to fear they would react with disgust, since he was an Altmer.

But no, her mother Ingeld, greeted him with open arms, and immediately made Arkiss feel like he belonged. Her father Ragnor, on the other hand, looked furious. He stood from his chair, and sighed loudly. Calming his expression. “I thought he would look more handsome.” he said loudly, with a big smile and walked in to give them both a big hug.

Arkiss almost passed out.

16th of Sun’s Height, 4E 169.

Over a year had passed since he asked for her hand, and she happily said yes. Arkiss woke up as the first light shone bright through the window. He glanced over his shoulder, watching carefully not to wake up the pregnant, but still beautiful Inghilde, who still slept peacefully beside him in their newly built house, spacious and bright. Perfect for the two of them to start a family of their own. The house lay on a hill just a stones throw from the farm.

They made good money on Inghildes jewelsmithing and his own magic skills he learned from the Legion. They could give their children a good education, and even save some gold for them when they are grown up and ready to leave home.

Arkiss had already decided on a name, if it were to be a girl, she would be given the name Ninnaly, taken from his mothers side, before his family got involved in politics. It supposedly meant “Nirn’s Peace”. But it could also just be made up, and mean nothing, but he liked it. If it were to be a boy. He would be given the name Orman, after Ingeld’s grandfather. He was apparently a descendant of Ysgramors Five Hundred Companions.

20th of Last Seed, 4E 169. Orman was born.

fast forwarding until Ninnaly is eventually born

4th of Frostfall, 4E 174.

Ragnor and Ingeld paced nervously outside the house as Arkiss opened the door, with a tired but happy look on his face. “Please come on in!”

Inghilde had given birth to a healthy baby girl, that they both had hoped and longed for.

In the master bedroom laid Inghilde, tired but alive. And resting in her arms laid Ninnaly. Ninnaly’s older brother Orman happily jumping around, exclaiming that he would to EVERYTHING to keep her safe. Although loudmouthed, he had a heart of gold. Ninnaly opened her eyes, and smiled widely towards her brother.

21st of Mid Year, 4E 180.

No one except Orman saw what happened to his sister during a game of tag. And no one would believe him. Ninnaly became so enraged that her eyes grew black as the night. He didn’t know what it meant, and as no one believed him, they wouldn’t give answers. This day, he knew. He HAD to keep her safe, whatever he did, whatever it may cost.

Date unknown (Note from Orman)

I managed to get my sister so mad, that someone else came forth. the reason for his sisters glowing eyes, and her temper. She was not alone in her body. There was something else residing in her, a daedric presence. If I could get in contact with a Vigilante of Stendarr I could maybe help her. There’s also the probability that the Vigilante may kill her on the spot. The risk is to high. Maybe... I should become a Vigilante of Stendarr. Then I can help my sister without the fear that someone would hurt her....

Date unknown (Second note from Orman. Presumably written sometime in 4E 184.)

IT IS DONE! I managed to capture a Daedra. I bound it to a soulgem. And the spell from fathers books worked, so I could open a gate to Oblivion. And with the help of the soulgem with the daedra in it, no other daedra saw me. They were completely blind to me. Thank the Divines for Altmerian magic. The Daedric prince I spoke to made me a deal. In exchange for ridding my sister of the deadra in her, he would come for me in 5 years. High price, but it’s worth it. For her. For Ninnaly.

End of part 1.

Link to Part 2 coming soon.

#skyrim #backstory #fictional literature

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tastesoftamriel · 7 years ago

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The birthday (a long tale by Talviel)

"Lass, just trust me on this", he said, as he lifted me into a carriage and blindfolded me. "Hmm, I do and I don't, but I don't see myself as having any choice in the matter." I grumbled, still annoyed that our honeymoon had been ruined by work, Daedric princes, and more work. I did my best not to sulk or hold it against my new husband, but our once in a lifetime opportunity to relax and enjoy each other's company and nothing else had been tarnished by his inability to leave work alone for a couple of weeks, and I was generally sour since reaching Cyrodiil. Brynjolf begged me to trust him to make things better, so I sighed and thought nothing more of it. At best he would get me a birthday cake, and at worst we were probably going somewhere to train more youngbloods on how to pick locks. Either way I felt deflated, and sat in silence for most of the carriage ride.

Occasionally I'd sneak a peek out beneath the blindfold. I recognised the odd bit of scenery from my previous travels, but nothing remarkable stood out. Trees, Ayleid ruins, more rolling green plains that were untouched by winter's grasp. Brynjolf would catch me now and then, and smack my hand away from the blindfold, admonishing me for trying to spoil his carefully planned surprise. "This, lass, is going to be the best birthday of your life. I promise." I couldn't help but smile. Most romantic gestures were lost on me, but I did my best to maintain an air of cheer to mask my apprehension. I was never the best at being on the receiving end of surprises.

After a day or so, the rumbling wheels of the carriage halted, jerking me into wakefulness. Brynjolf told me to wait as he paid the carriage driver, and helped me down onto firm ground at last. I took a deep breath, trying to figure out where we were by smell. Flowers, herbs, and various tree scents wafted over me. And something else. Sea salt perhaps? Guiding me gently by the hands, Brynjolf helped me crunch up a gravel path. "Ready, Vi?" He said, sounding as excited as a child on New Life Festival. "I guess? I'm just glad to be able to stretch my legs after all that sitting." I yawned, standing on tiptoes and raising my arms into the cool air. "Alright, here we go." The soft suede tumbled from my eyes at long last, and my eyes ached momentarily in the bright orange sunlight that had started its slow descent over Cyrodiil. I squinted until the shapes around me focused, and gasped. A beautiful villa expanded in front of me, its great oak doors beckoning inside with cheery candles glinting from chandeliers. A large garden sprawled on either side of the gravel path we stood on, blossoming with fruit trees, exotic flowers, and to my delight, a herb garden.

"Bryn, this is fantastic! Where are we?" I beamed in awe, taking in my surroundings. "We're in your new home, lass. Welcome to Nightingale Manor, north west of Anvil." My jaw dropped and I tore my eyes away from the house and garden to stare at my husband agog. "Don't jest with me Brynjolf!" "I'm not, I swear it. I've got the property deed in the strongbox upstairs, signed in your name. Happy birthday, my love." He smiled, pulling me close to kiss me on the top of my head. I grabbed him and planted a kiss on his sweet mouth that always smelled of cinnamon and cloves, my eyes starting to tear up embarrassingly. "I honestly don't know what to say. Oh by the Nine, Bryn. I don't think I'll ever be able to top this for a present!" I spluttered, unable to believe my eyes and ears, and feeling guilty about being so testy towards him over the past few weeks. "It's not a competition, Talviel. But come on in, just wait til you see the place." He grabbed me by the hand and I stumbled after him, giggling giddily.

We stepped into the main hall, warm and inviting as firelight glinted off the polished wood panels that covered the floors and walls. Looking up, a beautiful frescoed ceiling showed scenes of country Cyrodiil. A young Imperial man emerged from behind a door to greet us, carrying flutes of sweet dessert wine and taking our coats. He introduced himself as Barnabas, my housecarl. Excusing himself to attend to our luggage, Barnabas nipped outside as I sipped my wine and walked around, unable to believe my eyes. "Bryn, I honestly don't know what to say. It's a dream, owning a place like this. What in Tamriel possessed you to drop septims on a villa?"

"Well, it's rather a long story. About three years ago, one of our marks owed us a lot of money, but as usual, didn't have a coin to her name. All she had was a large house in southern Cyrodiil, she said, and it was ours if we let her off the hook. Delvin, damn that old bugger, agreed to the arrangement without ever thinking of sending someone to check on the place. Of course, when we finally did get someone down here, it was an absolute mess. Half of it had been burned and looted when Anvil was hit in the Great War. The garden was a mess, the rooms were fit for only a skeever to live in. Nocturnal knows I chewed Delvin's head off for that, but I held onto the deed anyway, figuring we could probably sell off the land one day. That is, until you came back." Brynjolf explained, leading me out a back door onto a marble veranda overlooking the sea, sparkling beautifully in the late afternoon sun. "Before I even proposed to you, I thought that this would be the perfect wedding gift, somewhere to disappear to on our honeymoon. But of course, there were delays here and there by the crew I'd hired to fix the house up, which is why I had to...detain you in the Imperial City. Truth be told, this is my first time looking at the place in years, so I'm glad they didn't make a fool out of me in fixing it up. It looks wonderful, and it's all for you, lass."

I set down my empty wineglass and buried my face in Brynjolf’s chest, blubbering uncontrollably. I'd been awful to think he was intentionally spoiling our honeymoon when all of this had been unfolding behind my back. Ever since I was a child on Beggar's Row, I longed for a big house with a lush garden or even a vineyard, where I could see the ocean. As a young thief, I used to say I was going to own a mansion of that sort one day, which the others used to snigger at. But Brynjolf always took me seriously, when we would sit at the Ragged Flagon and count out my earnings. "Each piece of gold you earn here is going to get you that dream one day, lass." He used to say, both encouraging my desires and motivating me to work hard for the Guild. Never did I think that he remembered my words after all these years, and had turned them into reality.

Behind us, I heard someone clear their throat. "Sorry to interrupt, but dinner is served, Sir and Madam." Barnabas said, beckoning for us to follow him down a small staircase into a secluded alcove framed by trees and overlooking the sea. A table was set in the middle of the alcove, and a bard was playing her flute in the corner. More and more magical by the minute. "You didn't think I was going to let you cook on your birthday, did you?" Brynjolf smiled, as I awkwardly sat and the food and wine began to flow. "I'm not used to being cooked for, or being given any sort of luxury really." I smiled, digging into the cheese and onion tart that had been served as the first course. Pretty good- I would have to ask Barnabas for the recipe. Brynjolf and I didn't say much for a time, enjoying the food and the atmosphere of our very own home. The sun was swallowed by the ocean by the fourth course, and billions of stars came out to play in the velvety night, as torchbugs and luna moths flitted through the tree branches.

By the final (tenth!) dish, I was so full I could have melted in my chair and fallen asleep at the table. Brynjolf helped me up and suggested we explore the villa some. We made a lap around the property, admiring the garden and how well the outer facade had been restored after the War. Creeping vines had begun to cling to the trellises and walls, giving the manor a rustic countryside charm. An empty animal pen had room for chickens, a couple of cows or sheep, and maybe a pig. A roomy sheltered stable around the corner could house Roach and two other horses comfortably. The vegetable garden had been arranged so meticulously my heart sang, eager to try the produce for myself. We went back inside, but Brynjolf insisted we save looking around the house for the morning.

Guiding me down the stairs to the basement, I was delighted to find a large hot pool in a spacious side room, surrounded by little candles. A bottle of Surilie Brothers Vintage 188 (my very costly favourite) was chilling in an ice bucket, and fluffy white towels and soaps were laid out. Brynjolf and I stripped each other naked slowly, sinking into the hot water as we made love. I floated on my back in the pool, smiling with my eyes closed. "Darling, thank you." I murmured, as Bryn wrapped me in a towel and carried me all the way up the stairs on the second floor to our bedroom. "The pleasure is all mine, lass. With the way you used to talk about your mythical dream home, I found myself wanting to be there too, with you. And here we are, finally." Stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind us, he rolled me onto the bed, dropping the towel. There was a small Jubilee Cake, my favourite, on the table at the far side of the chamber. I groaned, both out of appreciation, and not being able to eat another bite. "Come on lass, just a little slice, for good luck." Brynjolf cajoled me, waving a fork heaping with cake in my face. I whined about my aching belly, and without warning, I was met with a faceful of cake.

"You're going to pay for that!" I cackled, wiping whipped cream from my eyebrows and rubbing a fistful of cake into my husband's red beard. "Great, we're going to need another bath, not that I'm complaining. Come at me, you're never too old for a cake fight." He laughed, and in minutes the cake was decimated and he was licking cream from my breasts while I moaned on the floor with pleasure. Giggling like teenagers, we streaked down the stairs back to the bath, washing off the mess. Finally falling into the soft feather bed as the last candles guttered out, I curled up in Bryn's lap, resting my head against the sturdy shoulders I knew and loved and trusted with all my heart. "I love you, Bryn. Thank you. Thank you so much, for everything." "I love you too, Vi, my little stone of Barenziah. Happy birthday, lass."

#fic #fanfic #tes #the elder scrolls #brynjolf #cyrodiil #geek #nerd #games #gamer #gaming #romance #chapter 26 #long reads #long post

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yeoldontknow · 8 years ago

Text

Hero: 5

Author’s Note: This chapter is brought to you by delayed NYC subway trains, a bored Kat at a baseball game, lunch breaks at work, and one brief NYC heatwave. I hope you enjoy yet another political, PCY POV chapter. I find I enjoy changing the perspectives and shaking up the writing style slightly. Hope you enjoy! <3 Song for this chapter: XIII - mr. kitty Genre: Vampire!Chanyeol; thriller; horror; suspense; drama; eventual smut Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Rating (this chapter): R Warnings (this chapter): graphic depictions of blood; swearing; vomiting Word Count: 4,861

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CHANYEOL

The night always surprises him, how vibrant and electric it is. Even as a human, he preferred the darkness and felt at peace in its cold embrace - much like being held by water. When he feels introspective and bitter, he thinks this is why death eluded him. He'd made a home of the shadows, so all encompassing and whole, that there was nowhere left for him to go - nowhere else his soul could belong; rejected by the afterlife into the arms of night.

It's fitting, he thinks. He died with the sun, during a sunset so violent and red for a moment it appeared his blood had spilled into the sky. The dusk encased him and wrapped him in stars as he withered beneath a tree, soaking the grass beneath him until even the leaves above were dripping with his stain. Sometimes he wishes the tree was his grave, his ashes its roots.

He was ready to die, welcomed it with a smile bordering on ecstatic as he drank the light of the moon like milk, but it refused him. The eyes of his maker greeted him like a ravenous void, with a blackness so full of thirst and chaos for a moment he thought he'd passed through a dying star.

He died, ready for an empty eternity. But then, he lived.

And the galaxies above welcomed him with distant and open arms. He'd wept at the sight, a true vision of all the life gleaming under cover; glimmering and waiting to be touched, kissed, and known. It made him feel small. It made him feel the true meaning of awe. He thought he'd been chosen. He thought he'd become a god.

Tonight, the skies are anxious. Tonight, the skies are cowering under his hard stare and the sight makes him crack his neck to release a fraction of the tension spreading itself along his spine. He knows it's his reckless indignation tainting his sight. Truthfully, he shouldn't be out. Truthfully, he's being careless. But in times of war, he likes to be one step ahead of the opposition - and even though it hasn't officially been declared, he can smell it on the wind and he finds the stench offensive in its simplicity.

When he reaches Jin-Soo’s club, he waits in the alley around the back and starts to feel damp. His skin becomes moist with anticipation and remembrance - this used to be his office. Pressed against tepid brick and sick with a hunger caressing the lines of savagery, he would linger in alleys just like this. He fed on the weak and the drunk, the drugged and aroused - it didn't matter. They all bled so beautifully.

The meeting point is stereotypical, he knows this. Forced to wait in the filth and squalor seeping from the trash and into the street, he's aware this is done with purpose. This is regarded as his full potential, this is what Jin-Soo thinks of everyone but himself - everything a worthless nothing, easily forgotten and easily replaced. Some nights, Chanyeol agrees and thinks perhaps the world would be better if everything burned. Tonight, though, it's an insult directed at him and the arrogance of it makes his fangs itch.

The watch on his wrist tells him he's been waiting for five minutes and he impatiently grits his teeth. There was never a set meeting, his presence is uninvited and likely unwelcome, but he knows that it is felt. It looms in the dark, outside the reach of the street lamps and is sensed with a magnetism akin to doom. His presence is felt and it is being ignored.

Chanyeol is many things, many brutal things soaked in blood and dripping in gun smoke, but he is never tardy and finds that waiting, different from the patience of hunting, is a trivial habit singular only to humanity. He fondles the vile in his pocket and his fingers gently slide over the wooden bullets pooled next to it. He allows himself a brief reprieve and imagines putting one between Jin-Soo’s eyes. The inherent satisfaction of it makes him thirsty in a way that causes a smile to pull at his lips. It's not the first time he's allowed himself to wallow in the fantasy, the vision of it forming graphically in his mind more times than he can count. He was always happiest with bodies collected at his feet.

A metal door on the side of the building swings open, revealing a tall, muscular man in a well-tailored black suit. After a quick glance around the alley, he brings his attention to Chanyeol and nods with a heavy grunt.

‘About fucking time,’ Chanyeol hisses. He looks past the bodyguard and sees no other men, no back up.

Gliding towards the door, he gives the man a once over as he passes through with a cocked eyebrow. The guard is dressed in a way he finds completely unnecessary, crisp suit clean and pressed and expensive. He pauses just beyond the threshold and smirks.

‘Big man hooked you up with Tom Ford but couldn't get you backup?’

‘Follow,’ is the curt reply.

Chanyeol rolls his tongue over his teeth at the blatant disrespect, but says nothing. Now is not the time for gutting the help.

They walk silently down a corridor, likely only used by the maintenance staff given the buckets and mops with red stains woven through cloth, and turn a corner that leads to the kitchens. He eyes every single person quickly as they pass, exhaling quietly through his mouth and ignoring the way the smell of human food makes his stomach churn in disgust. The scent is thick and synthetic, the purity of raw muscle soiled by butter, and oil, and wine, as if these things somehow improve the taste. He normally doesn’t feel this way, but the scent of the human and the lack of fresh blood has turned him into a primal thing and he relishes slightly the feeling of being unpredictable.

He counts two concealed weapons, observing the outline of the barrel in the back pocket of one chef and in the apron of the other; possibly Sig Sauer P228 given the size and length, though he can't be sure. To anyone else, they would appear comfortable and careless - giving away their tells like they were inviting bloodshed to their doorstep - but he knows this is all merely an illusion.

Everything is an illusion, and Chanyeol has always been far too perceptive for his kind. They want him to know they are armed, safety off and trigger finger ready without pause. They want him to know they are lethal and that, to them, loss of life is insignificant and happenstance.

He smothers a chuckle in his throat, acknowledging these pretenses with a roll of his eyes. He’d have them outnumbered and overpowered in seconds.

They pass silently through another hallway, yellowed and peeling beneath the harsh fluorescent light, walls lined with stickers of bands and sharpie markings of drunks professing love and loathing.

J <3 A 4E

Marcus is a fucking cunt!

Lives are painted on these walls, smeared into the concrete with haphazard nonchalance, and Chanyeol reaches a hand out to touch them as he passes, grazing each with his sharp nails as though he were grasping at throats.

The guard pushes on a solid black door which opens to the VIP terrace of the club interior, leather chairs and plush couches lined against the wall across from tables pressed tightly along the railing. Immediately, they are assaulted with a throbbing, electronic bassline and the sheer volume of the sound makes Chanyeol’s ears ring slightly as his hearing adjusts. It’s the first thing he notices, before the onslaught of human desire.

It surrounds him, taunts his senses in a come hither whisp beneath his nose, strong enough to make his steps falter from the force of it. The club is in heat and everyone is succumbing to the pull, pawing at one another in dark corners and against the bar. He smells the spit, the sweat, the dripping sex of the women and the strained breathing of the men. His senses are haywire, a thirst rising in his throat so wet and greedy he starts to salivate. He absentmindedly runs his tongue along his lips before gaining control of his synapses and strides blithely across the terrace towards a table nestled in the back.

Jin-Soo is lounging in his chair, legs languidly stretched out and crossed at the side of the table. He presides over the patrons of his club, stoic and immobile, a red straw dangling from his lips as he chews it with a tense jaw. He watches over the dance floor with a detached sort of interest befit for a gargoyle, and for a moment Chanyeol sees him as a monument, a statue to be vandalized and dismantled.

As he approaches, Jin-Soo catches the movement from the corner of his eye and, briefly, a scowl toys with his features before smoothing to a placid, albeit vacant, expression. Waving in an awkward, slightly forced motion, he points to a chair that Chanyeol has no desire to take. He'd rather pull out his collarbone, he'd rather gnaw through the veins in his neck, but instead he stands next to the chair and bows.

His body shudders in protest at the action, a proper greeting being offered when none is given in return breaks a millennia of rules and propriety. There's no room for politeness here, that much is true given how Jin-Soo is looking at him, but Chanyeol has played this game enough to know that everything is a test, a challenge of his willpower. He’s played this game before and he will play it to the end, even if it means burning out what's left of his soul.

‘Chanyeol. What a pleasant surprise,’ Jin-Soo says, glancing back at the floor below and making a point of not looking at him when he speaks.

‘I figured a chat between men was in order,’ Chanyeol says, straightening to stand. His fingers are aching to crack, to claw, to tear at something as pliable as flesh.

Jin-Soo nods to the guard who places a hand on his shoulder and turns him, crude and full of discourtesy. He wonders if this man knows he is a sire. He probably does. He probably doesn't care.

‘Arms up,’ he says, pointedly.

The guard’s hands roam over Chanyeol’s body with purposeful force, rough and indelicate, searching him for weapons, drugs, or money.

‘Does this mean you're buying me dinner?’ Chanyeol asks, feigning innocence with wide eyes.

The guard says nothing but his scowl hardens, apathetic and cold.

His actions are intimate and slow, and Chanyeol clicks his tongue as his hands round and press against his ass. He gives the man a dirty smirk when his fingers find the barrel of the HK USP 45 Match tucked between his trousers and back.

‘Find something you like?’ Chanyeol whispers, puckering his lips and blowing a kiss.

‘You can get this when you leave.’

He tosses the gun onto the table, and it lands with a loud clatter.

‘Be gentle with her. She’s a rarity,’ Chanyeol says, lowly.

Hands move to the front pockets of his coat and he moves his torso at a slight angle to graze his hip bones against wandering fingers, watching the way the man’s mouth settles into a frown of frustration. He stifles a laugh, relishing how uptight and by the book the guard is. He must be new. The bullets are found quickly, and for a moment he can tell the guard considers taking and burning them, but without a magazine to load they are effectively useless.

He drops his hands and nods at Chanyeol before turning to reach for the gun on the table. Chanyeol studies his back and the way his coat awkwardly drapes along his ass, sighing with a roll of his eyes.

‘You should keep your knife in your breast pocket,’ he says casually to the guard as he pulls out his chair. ‘Harder to notice and easier to reach.’ He gives the man a wink as he gracefully settles in his seat, painting an expression of mild-mannered boredom on his face.

‘He’s clean,’ the guard says as he takes the gun and leaves. Chanyeol shakes his head minutely, glad to be rid of him.

‘Do you have your entry fee?’ Jin-Soo asks, finally bringing his eyes to him and addressing him properly.

Chanyeol reaches into his pocket, pulling out the vile and setting it in the table between them. There's a brief pause during which they both stare at the small glass, glistening with liquid. Coloured lights bounce and refract along the glass in rhythm to the music, giving it an otherworldly glow.

Eventually, Jin-Soo reaches to take it, breaking their visual stand off, and thumbs the cap slowly while looking Chanyeol directly in the eye. He brings it to his nose and inhales, deep and erotic, eyelids fluttering as the scent of Chanyeol’s venom settles in his stomach.

He watches with dead eyes and starts to feel violated. He knows this is the point. He knows this is the true meaning of payment, the offering of something not easily parted with.

Jin-Soo caps the vile with a satisfied cough and places it in his breast pocket, right next to his heart. ‘I’d offer you a drink, but my supplies were interrupted,’ he says, implication tarnishing his polite tone.

‘Gin will be fine,’ he announces, sounding almost nice, and he remains impassively calm as he watches Jin-Soo raise his eyebrows in minor surprise.

And it's now that Chanyeol has to force himself to forgive the disrespect and the judgement, looks them over with a casual shrug of his shoulders because now, now is when his resolve matters most. This isn't the time to be petty or playful, this is strategy and an infiltration of defenses so slow and absolute it will be too late before anyone notices the collapse.

As Jin-Soo snaps his fingers, motioning to a bartender, Chanyeol is locking pieces of himself away and pushing his hungry parts into corners made of iron. His focus is becoming narrow and he is silencing all his distractions: his anger, his thirst, the exhaustion, the ache in his joints. He's shutting down and focusing on one thing and one thing only: to swallow and to survive.

A glass of gin on the rocks is placed in front of him, and he forces a grin as he regards the shadows it casts. His fingers idly run along the rim and he brings his eyes to Jin-Soo, who watches him expectantly.

To his right, a woman is dancing with...someone. A stranger. Her boyfriend. It doesn’t really matter, but Chanyeol can smell her. He’s getting whole mouthfuls of her sweat and perfume, the sex of her consuming the atmosphere, and this is what he focuses on as he brings the glass to his lips. Her scent mixes with the alcohol in a bewildering away, the pleasurable aroma souring slightly until neither she nor the gin are recognizable.

He opens his throat and swallows.

All at once his body is at war, tearing and ripping itself apart from the inside and rejecting the gin with such strength he feels his muscles constricting with a visceral quake. He’s being lit on fire, alcohol mixing with bile to become something atomic, and he feels his veins throb in an effort to maintain control.

In his mind he is screaming, a bloodcurdling howl so violent and agonizing his bones resonate with the sound. In his mind he is dying, the last of his strength dissipating under the burn of the drink and he thinks he'd like to sleep and sleep and sleep. In his mind, this is suicide.

He refuses Jin-Soo to the pleasure of witnessing this, his features serene and confident as he purses his lips to feign the smooth warmth of a good drink. Placing the now empty glass gently on the table, he blinks and he smiles.

‘Jinzu,’ he says, tongue taking the excess with a curl in his upper lip. ‘Sweet.’

He has thirty minutes, at most.

Seemingly convinced, Jin-Soo relaxes into the back of his chair and looks out once more at the floor below.

‘You said you wanted to chat?’

‘Yes. If I may, I’d like to get right to it.’ Chanyeol follows Jin-Soo’s gaze and settles on a woman with hair so red and thick it looks as though she is made entirely of blood. ‘I've never been one for...dancing.’

Jin-Soo nods almost imperceptibly. ‘It's why I chose to deal with you.’

At this, Chanyeol turns and leans forward across the table. He’s accosted by the smell of Jin-Soo’s cologne, in his nose and his mouth, and it makes him sick, makes him want to cut out his tongue to forget the flavor. ‘I believe I chose to make a deal with you. You understand?’

His tone is menacing and sharp, effectively releasing himself from the shackles of propriety. All his pieces are set delicately on the chessboard and now he’s free to be ruthless.

‘You make it sound as though you had a choice,’ comes Jin-Soo’s arrogant hiss.

‘I don’t deal often. I find the necessity of others to be finite.’

Jin-Soo clenches his jaw and turns slowly to peer at Chanyeol with narrow eyes. ‘Am I meant to be moved?’

‘People lie,’ Chanyeol says, holding his stare and suppressing a gagging cough. ‘They manipulate what is and what was to match their mood, their whim.’

‘I thought you didn’t like dancing, comrade.’

‘The most precious thing a man can have is his word. You gave me your word,’ he whispers, yet he knows Jin-Soo can hear him. ‘You gave me your blood.’

His words are sharp and calloused, fire to the iron of Jin-Soo’s indifference and now Chanyeol can see it. He can see the urge grow from Jin-Soo’s neck and climb into his teeth, settling in his mouth in a white rage, blinding and pure. He wants to show his fangs and he knows he cannot.

‘I think you’ll find, Chanyeol,’ he growls, ‘you gave me the same.’

‘Yes, mine was given freely out of honor and respect.’ He leans back in his chair with a flick of his wrist, partly being dismissive, partly trying to shake the spasms out of his tendons. ‘Yours...well, was I meant to ignore the halfling attempting to chew her way through my gate?’

He settles his cold gaze on Jin-Soo and waits. He's being blunt and he's being dangerous, but the bile is rising in his chest and it seems dangerous is the only option left.

Jin-Soo cocks his head, calculating all his options before speaking. Chanyeol half expects to die. ‘You’re making a bold statement, comrade. I hope you’re comfortable with the consequences that come with it.’

Leaning forward, Chanyeol places his hands beneath the table and claws at it, scratching in one long slow movement until his nails are buried deep. He’s cutting away at the wood and the pain helps release some of the anguish, a brief, violent distraction. It's enough for him to focus on speech. ‘I hope you’re comfortable being the man who broke a blood deal.’

‘You have no proof.’ His syllables are cruel, accentuated as though he were speaking to a misbehaved child and filled with disdain.

Chanyeol simply sits and purses his lips into a slight pout, a look he knows to be taunting. Jin-Soo is equally as wrathful as he, conniving and smart and violent, and the only way for Chanyeol to get the truth is to smoke him out: either by patience or by bullet. Jin-Soo assumes there is no proof and, while he is right, Chanyeol is astute enough to plant the seed of doubt.

They sit this way for several moments and, for a time, Chanyeol thinks the force of his hands might break the table in two. Eventually, slowly like ice frost dusting over grass, Chanyeol sees Jin-Soo question himself, a flash of doubt in his eyes before it retreats and hides itself away. This simple refraction of light is enough for Chanyeol to know he has won.

‘I have your venom.’ Jin-Soo says, breaking the silence.

‘I have your second.’

‘Yes, I imagined he hadn’t wandered far,’ Jin-Soo says, running a finger along his lips. ‘And how is he?’

‘Rotting.’

Jin-Soo pushes himself forward and, to the unaware or ignorant, this would look almost friendly. He comes to lean close to Chanyeol, like he's ready to share something personal and private, offering words only to Chanyeol in confidence. Instead, his voice is ominous and aggressive. ‘Did you come here to threaten me on my territory?’

He chuckles. ‘I’m unarmed. I’m hardly threatening.’

‘Did you come to re-negotiate?’ Jin-Soo demands, tapping a finger on the table.

‘Now, now,’ he says, smoothly, ‘I’m not in the business of negotiating war.’

‘Then you shouldn’t be dealing in blood.’

The words are tossed into the air like steel dice, a harsh gamble on Chanyeol’s reaction. They are nothing but contempt and mockery of his ability to manage his coven, and the oncoming storm of bloodshed.

‘You misunderstand me,’ he retorts, leaning forward with nothing but malice in his chest. ‘I don’t negotiate in war because it is never about business meetings, it’s about men dying. I think you should expect to bleed before you make promises you can’t keep.’

‘I’d watch your tongue,’ he spits. ‘You’re on my territory. I’d have your fangs before sunrise.’

Chanyeol thinks of the new guard and the armed men in the kitchen. He thinks of Jin-Soo’s money and his clean shirts. Everything is pretense, and he doubts Jin-Soo has ever personally bled a man for business before allowing himself to watch their world fall.

He thinks of the melting sensation in his stomach and the way his insides feel as though they are in a state of decay.

Even on the edge of death, Chanyeol would have their jaws ripped clean before they even touched him.

‘But wouldn’t that spoil it, just a little?’ he says, brightly. ‘All the fun we’re having?’

Again, Jin-Soo remains silent but he watches Chanyeol in a way that is too calculating to merely be sizing him up. Already, he is plotting and preparing. Already, he is planning the first scar he will leave on Chanyeol’s coven.

‘I think I’ll take my leave, comrade.’ Chanyeol rises from his seat with an airy sigh, and dusts his hands on his trousers. To the naked eye, it appears he is smoothing nonexistent creases. Really, he's wiping the wood out of his nails.

‘A wise idea, yes.’

They regard each other cooly before Chanyeol bows, chewing the insides of his mouth to stop himself from retching as he faces the ground. Coming to rise, he smiles before exiting the way he came.

In the hallway, the guard is waiting for him. He hands Chanyeol his gun and, even though he wants to run and push himself into the night air before his body caves in on itself, he remains nothing but the image of calm.

It takes four minutes for Chanyeol to make it to the dockyard several blocks away.

It takes two more minutes for him to move himself away from any wandering eyes or city lights.

And then, in the secrecy of night and with only the moon to watch him, he bends over and vomits violently onto the pavement. At full strength, he would have taken the drink with glee. He always loved gin, though prefers it sloe, and for a moment he mourns the rich flavor of the sake mixed drink. But he was hardly at full strength, and this meant that anything other than pure, human blood, would make him feel as though he was being skinned alive.

Forcing the delay of rejection has caused his body to go into overdrive, soul fire turning his bile into an obsidian mess. The force of his heaves sends ripples through his muscles and his chest, and he has to grip the dockyard rails to keep himself from falling.

It’s then that he notices his hands are sweating and blazing red. The poles of the railings are glowing and bending under his hands.

He is a molten core and he is smithing the iron into chaos.

With the black stains of is insides still dripping from his mouth, he runs and runs and runs until the coven gate is in view. Before he is in reach, he can smell her - the human, his hero. He’s still several hundred feet away, but he thinks he could hear her heartbeat for miles, a tether and lure to his dying heart. It’s calm and strong, evenly paced and it’s clear she is either with Yixing or has been fed. There is no fear, just the strong aroma of healthy, human blood coursing vitally through delicious flesh.

When he reaches the gate, he presses his back against it, opting to keep his hands off the first line of defense so as not to damage it. His presence is felt immediately, and it slides open against his shoulder blades in a hard massage.

Hands hold him and touch him, this time reverently, and he’s aware he’s lost consciousness because when he finally opens his eyes, finally becomes cognizant of his surroundings, he’s back in his bunker, but his breathing his shallow.

Jongdae hovers above him, barking orders, and still all he can smell is the human. He’s nothing but a jumble of nerves, the desire to feast on her causing his chest to lift itself from his bed and he roars, miserably and desperately, in a state of true starvation.

Minseok holds him down, and he yelps at the cold rush along his arms. It’s obvious he’s regulating his fever, and he can make out Junmyeon as he sits quietly in a corner, generating a cool mist in the air, although he is blurred and merely a phantasm of tranquility.

After a time, Yixing rushes to his side and Chanyeol can feel him stroking gently at his consciousness. He calls out to him in joy.

Hello, old friend. We have used too much of you these last days.

Yixing is screaming. His eyes are red and dry, and Chanyeol could cry at the sight. He’s burning the very heart out of Yixing and turning him to ash, his mind and heart nothing but an inferno of grief consuming all good intentions.

Realizing that even the supernatural will not heal their sire, Jongdae leaves and almost immediately returns with a plastic sack in his hands. He tears it open with his teeth and thrusts it againsts Chanyeol’s mouth, pulling his lips apart with his thumb.

The blood cascades down Chanyeol’s throat like a balm and he groans in sheer delight. He’s utterly ravenous, starved within an inch of his sanity and he drinks and drinks until all that’s left is the taste of plastic. Another is offered to him and he takes it, greedily, consuming it with all the urgency as though it were a beating heart held between his hands.

When he finishes, he finally has the strength to speak.

‘They’re mobilising,’ he gasps, tongue wet and heavy in his mouth. ‘The kitchen staff are armed. I imagine it’s the same for the other three clubs. He’s preparing defenses and expecting retaliation - he’s even got new body guards.’

‘Do we know his intent?’ Minseok asks, lips blue from his cold.

‘I imagine it was planned,’ he coughs, referring to the deal. ‘He has something that makes him confident. He was too collected, arrogant but in a different way.’

‘We need a mole. Someone on the inside,’ Jongdae suggests, ripping off part of his shirt and handing the cloth to Chanyeol to wipe his mouth clean. ‘And we need to move Sehun’s initiation forward. He’ll be valuable.’

‘Yes,’ Chanyeol agrees. ‘It will have to be tomorrow. We can’t spare the time.’

Momentarily, he looks at his hands and scowls at the way the pallor of death has turned his flesh to chalk.

Jongdae nods. ‘I’ll inform him. Should we allow volunteers for infiltration?’

‘No,’ Chanyeol says, sharply. ‘No volunteers.’

He’s slaughtered his way through history, and knows that any mole is usually the first to die. His men, his brothers, are too valuable at this moment to send off alone - especially when their blood supply has been reduced so significantly. He needs them all here, even his foot soldiers, their skills perfectly refined for war.

They all have gifts, many supernatural and many more simplistic, but none are as perceptive and human and unassuming as one he has witnessed three times across two days. Only one will be overlooked and underestimated, and now, for the first time, he’s glad to be inconvenienced.

Yes, he thinks he will have use for the hero after all.

#park chanyeol x reader #chanyeol x reader #exo scenarios #kpoptrashtag #exo au #vampire!chanyeol #vampire!exo #zhang yixing #kim minseok #kim junmyeon #kim jongdae #exo ff #exo #exo fanfiction #park chanyeol fic #my heaven and heart #park chanyeol

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vvardenfellcat · 7 years ago

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4E 10, High Rock

A massive splash broke the relative quiet of the morning forest, startling a mass of birds that shot up into the canopy with alarmed cries. The source of said splash shot up out of the water, spitting out liquid before barking out in Jel.

“<Missed! Get it!>” A black Khajiit sprang from rock to rock, eyes on the massive fish that was going to be their next meal if he had anything to say about it. He could see the tear in the tailfin where Jeer’s spear had nicked it when it sprang out of the shallower waters, scooting upstream in an attempt to escape. J’hasi dove after the flash of scales, teeth sinking into the top of the tail, claws missing the first swipe, leaving him to get smacked right in the face with a panicking, indignant fish. The second swipe and claws held fast, the Khajiit surfacing quickly, trying to keep his mouth shut even as a mild panic fluttered in his chest at not being able to properly breathe for a few moments. Jeer caught up a few moments later, chest heaving.

“” J’hasi huffed with a mouthful of squirming fish, grabbing it more firmly with his hands before snapping its spine, holding it out for his friend to take.

“<Fen don’t miss next time.>” Jeer sighed, taking the fish by the gills, a slight smile on their face at the weight.

“<And here I thought you didn’t mind getting a little wet.>”

“” He shook his head, water sprinkling over the surface of the small river shallows before he got up, more water pouring from his sodden fur and clothes. Jeer made their way back to shore, grabbing their knife and setting to work gutting their catch, splitting it in half for the two of them to share, scale side down on the rock.

“<Come, while it’s fresh.>” J’hasi sighed, wringing out his mane before sloshing out of the water too, dropping to a crouch to pick up his half and sinking his teeth into the flesh, picking a bone out before chewing, setting to work to pick out the other bones from what he wasn’t currently chewing. Jeer bit into their half of the fish with a smirk.

“<Only hatchlings pick at their meals, Marsh.>”

“<I’m also fond of not choking.>” Jeer shrugged, continuing to eat, looking out over the river, the trees... They sighed.

“” J’hasi huffed.

“<Ff-this place isn’t nearly as dangerous as home, relax. Fhe worst is probably a bear.>”

“<What’s that?>”

“<Um...a big furry fing wiff-with teefth and claws and a nasty temper. Powerful, too.>”

“<...so like the thing you’re trying to cure yourself of.>”

“<...if you wanna put it fat way...>”

“<Can’t say I’m eager to meet such a thing. I don’t mind testing my craft, but I’d like to live long enough to improve upon it.>”

“<Fen practice your aim first.>” J’hasi took another bite of fish, a little more aggressively than needed when it jerked, as if the fish was trying to get revenge on him for catching it. Jeer finished their half, licking their teeth clean of flesh with a satisfied hum.

“<Wonder if the birds here are any good. You said we were going where there wasn’t much standing water, right?>”

“<Birds around here are too small. Not worth fhe effort.>”

“<Iunno, that one seems a decent size.>” J’hasi turned, freezing mid-chew when he saw a massive raven perched on a fallen log nearby, watching the two of them. The scent would’ve given it away if the size wasn’t unusual enough. Burning herbs, entrails...and too intelligent of a stare for just any normal bird. He stared back for a moment before dropping his fish to the rocks and darting after it. The raven startled and flared its wings before taking off into the forest. He could hear Jeer calling after him, but he was not going to let this bird go. He knew what it really was.

J’hasi was still a little tired from the fish escapade before, feeling that itch that was growing stronger night by night, one he tried to stave off by eating more raw meat than usual, one that he didn’t want to give into right now.

The itch that was the damn reason he was chasing this thrice-damned bird into the forest like a madman in the first place.

“<Marsh! Slow down!>” The enormous raven let out a caw as if agreeing, which set the Khajiit’s jaw on edge, baring his teeth before he dipped under another branch, then sprang off of a fallen trunk, fangs and claws bared. The bird fluttered in a panic, losing some speed, which cost it its slim lead. The moment the Khajiit caught it, it poofed into a cloud of acrid smoke that stung his nose and eyes, the two of them hitting the ground hard, tumbling to a halt. Jeer caught up a few moments later, finding the Khajiit panting, knifepoint at the hollow of a bewildered and out-of-breath Breton’s throat. The Breton panted out a laugh.

“You certainly caught me off-guard. So, is there something I can do for you? A spell? A love potion? A tonic to soothe that awful temper of yours?” J’hasi hissed.

“Cut the games. I know what you are.”

“Clearly, else you wouldn’t’ve been so determined to chase down a harmless bird.” Jeer made a confused noise behind him.

“<Uh...where’s the bird?>” J’hasi growled, ears flicking back.

“<Later, Jeer.>” The Breton smiled.

“I don’t suppose your large friend there could retrieve my cloak? It’s a bit nippy out here.”

“Don’t think so. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“<It’s naked.>”

“<Quiet.>” The Breton sighed.

“It’s hardly civilized to have a conversation like this. What if someone happened upon us? Knowing those living in the cities, they’d gossip about you two for years.”

“Don’t care. You have information I want, and you’re going to tell me if you want your throat to stay intact.” The man looked at him closely, then chuckled.

“My, my, you do have a problem.” J’hasi growled, only to yelp when the Breton moved quicker than he expected, grabbing his wrist and twisting it around behind his back, freeing himself in the process. The Breton then released him, dropping the dagger and brushing himself off, looking up at Jeer.

“Would you be so kind as to return my cloak to me? I daresay that having a conversation in the nude isn’t how I would spend a lovely morning like this.” Jeer stared back blankly.

“<Uh...what did they say?>” J’hasi rubbed his wrist, glaring at the witch.

“<Give me his cloak.>”

“”

“<Just give it.>” Jeer sighed, picking up the worn heavy fabric from where it was tangled on a branch.

“<Touchy, touchy. Are you going to tell me where the bird went?>”

“<Fhis is fhe bird, Jeer. Don’t let him have fhe cloak, it might be how he shapeshifts.>” The Breton frowned a little.

“If you’re concerned that somehow having the cloak means I’ll turn back into a bird and fly away, I assure you that I can do that well enough in just my skin. I just want my pipe is all. And some tea, if you’re willing to have some manners for five minutes.” J’hasi scowled as Jeer handed him the cloak, eyes locked on the Breton.

“You shift, I’ll do the same, and I won’t be so gentle catching you the second time around.” The Breton smiled.

“No need for that, I’m afraid. You’ve tuckered me out. I really should get out more.” J’hasi gave the cloak a small sniff, catching the scent of herbs and the like, but nothing like the cloud that had surrounded them after he caught the witch. He handed it over with a scowl, the Breton accepting it gratefully.

“Thank you. Now, have a seat. You’ve intrigued me, so I’ll be willing to talk for a little bit, provided you keep your teeth and claws to yourself.” J’hasi warily watched as the Breton sat down, wrapped up in his cloak before extracting a few pouches and a waterskin, patting around a moment before apparently finding the pocket that contained a long pipe. He tamped down some dried herbs into the bowl and lit it with a hiss of fire magic from his fingertips, waving it off once the insides were lit enough for a few puffs.

“Of course if you’re so adamant on standing, you can do that too. It’s terribly rude, I was hoping that someone like you would have some manners. Travelers from Black Marsh, I presume?” J’hasi’s ears flicked back.

“What makes you so sure?” The Breton smirked around his pipe, a curl of smoke escaping from between his teeth.

“Your large friend is dressed like someone from the inner marsh tribes, as is the dialect of Jel you’re both speaking comes from. I spent a fair amount of time in Black Marsh, sadly not long enough for my liking, but when you run across the wrong clan, sometimes a retreat is the smartest thing to do.” He beamed at Jeer.

“<Sit, enjoy yourself for a moment. No harm done, just a little misunderstanding is all.>” Jeer’s eyes widened at the Jel. Accented, but understandable. They sat down with a thump, tail curling around their legs.

“<So are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to keep sitting in the dark?>” The Breton smiled, pulling out a cup from his cloak, pouring in water from the skin, already piping hot to steep before offering it to Jeer.

“<My name is Grantham. I’m a witch of Glenmoril Wyrd, which is why your friend here took after me like a mad lupe.>” Grantham smiled, giving the Khajiit a knowing look.

“” J’hasi’s muzzle wrinkled a little before Jeer gave him a look, to which he dropped to sitting in the grass as well, fingers still curled around the handle of his dagger.

“<Could say fhat. Fhey said fhey cured me, but next mooncycle I shifted. Been looking for fhem ever since.>”

“<Names?>” J’hasi hissed a little.

“<Ettiene, Isobel, and Fallaise.>” Grantham hummed, nodding a little as he poured a cup for the Khajiit, setting it in front of him, then a cup for himself, corking his waterskin and placing it back into his cloak once more.

“<I’ve heard of them. New, relatively speaking. Imperials from Cyrodiil that learned the art. Wouldn’t trust them for an inch.>” J’hasi’s ears flicked back.

“” Grantham chuckled, smoke ghosting between his teeth before he removed his pipe, inhaling the fumes from his tea before drinking.

“<Yes, which is why you hunted me down like the wolf lurking just under your skin. Persistent. Focused. You wear it well. Better than most.>” J’hasi scowled.

“” The Breton smiled, replacing his pipe between his teeth.

“<Rejecting a blessing from Hircine himself is a bad move. But I understand not everyone sees it as such.>” The Khajiit’s ears flicked back.

“<It wouldn’t be the first time I rejected a Daedra’s ‘gift’.>”

“<Aren’t you a bold one.>” Grantham turned to Jeer-rah.

“<The tea is fine to pair with fish, my friend.>” Jeer frowned, glancing at J’hasi before stuffing the fish that the Khajiit had ditched earlier into their mouth.

“<I’m just following them. And listening.>” The Argonian picked up the tea and gave it a sniff, fans spreading before taking a sip, eyes closed. Grantham chuckled.

“<You’ll go far. It is a pleasure to meet you.>” He turned back to J’hasi.

“<If it’s a cure you want, you’ve caught the wrong bird. My specializations lie elsewhere. Hircine and I are not on speaking terms currently, and I haven’t been in contact with the rest of the coven in some time.>” J’hasi’s muzzle wrinkled, the Breton holding up a hand to stop him when his mouth opened.

“<However...I will make inquiries the next time I come in contact with them. Sniff me all you want, you’ll find that I rarely lie. Little point in it when you’re conversing with one who can smell deceit. Speaking of...>” He pulled a smaller pouch out of his cloak, sprinkling a few petals into the Khajiit’s tea before handing him the rest of the pouch.

“<Having a bit of that before bed will ease your temper. I’d suggest allowing your wolf some human flesh now and then. While most would be opposed to that sort of diet, I understand that some Saxhleel tribes practice cannibalism, so perhaps that isn’t outside of your comfort zone.>” J’hasi’s eyes narrowed.

“” Grantham smiled.

“<Learning to appease lycanthropes is part of the job. Many of Hircine’s faithful are blessed in a way as you are, and do not handle it well. A cure isn’t as widely distributed.>” The Breton smiled, taking another sip of his tea.

“<Feel free to seek out other witches if my answers do not please you. You’ll find that a great many are not as sociable as I. Especially after such rude treatment.>” Grantham took a deep pull of his pipe before looking at J’hasi more seriously.

“<Mind your temper. Even with the full moon approaching, not all witches are so accommodating.>” The Breton finished his tea with a sigh, a few more puffs on his pipe before the smoke abruptly ceased from the bowl, breathing the rest out in a curling stream from his mouth.

“<And now...I must take my leave. Enjoy the tea. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.>” Grantham pulled his cloak around himself, then a puff of smoke and he was an enormous raven once more, and now that he wasn’t flying away, the Khajiit noticed that his feathers were faintly patterned with the same markings as his tattoos. And then he flew away. Jeer smiled.

“<For a smoothskin that turns into a bird...I like them.>” A moment’s pause and the Argonian looked over to J’hasi’s tea.

“<Are you gonna drink that?>” J’hasi sighed, picking it up and smelling it, finding nothing that seemed to be poison, then took a sip.

...it was delicious.

#yay drabble time!#i fucking love this nerd hes gr8 #hes just a chill bird man who likes his pipe and tea a little too much #has some sweet tats too #grantham #bird nerd #jeer rah #jhasi drabble #vvcat

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dr-archeville · 8 years ago

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Tabletop RPGs & Me

Tabletop RPGs I Have Played Multiple Times & Would Like To Play Again

Champions 5E

Champions 6E

D20 Modern / Dark*Matter

Dungeons & Dragons 3E (Greyhawk/Oerth and Forgotten Realms/Toril only)

Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 (ditto)

Marvel Super Heroes

Mutants & Masterminds 2E

Pathfinder

Vampire: The Masquerade

Tabletop RPGs I Have Played Multiple Times But Would Not Mind If I Never Played Them Again

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 2nd Ed

Dungeons & Dragons Game (1991 Boxed Set)

Mutants & Masterminds 1E

Tabletop RPGs I Have Played Once And Would Like To Play Again

7th Sea

Alternity / Dark*Matter

Big Eyes Small Mouth

Eclipse Phase

GURPS 3rd Ed

Rifts

Shadowrun 2E

Tabletop RPGs I Have Played Once But Would Not Not Mind If I Never Played Again

---

Tabletop RPGs I Have Read Through & Made Characters For But Never Actually Played, And Still Want To Play

DC Heroes

GURPS 4th Ed

Heroes Unlimited

Mage: The Ascension

Marvel Super Heroes Adventure Game

Scion

Shadowrun 3E

Shadowrun 4E

Silver Age Sentinels

Tabletop RPGs I Have Read Through, Never Made A Character For Nor Played, But Want To At Least Once

Aberrant

Aeon Trinity

All Flesh Must Be Eaten

Alternity /Star*Drive

D20 Modern / Urban Arcana

DC Adventures

DC Universe RPG

Deadlands

Deadlands: Hell on Earth

DragonStar

A D&D (Any Ed.) Game set in Birthright, Dragonlance/Krynn, Eberron, Planescape, Ravenloft, or Spelljammer

GURPS (Any Ed.) Alternate Earth/Infinite Worlds, Technomancer, or Transhuman Space

Nightbane

Pokethulhu

Splicers

Teenage Mutants Ninja Turtles & Other Strangeness

Anything from the New World of Darkness, but especially Promethean: The Created

Tabletop RPGs I Have Read Through, Never Made A Character For Nor Played, And Would Not Mind If I Never Got The Chance To

Advanced Dungeons & Dragons (1E) (the first RPG I was ever exposed to)

Dungeons & Dragons 4E

Tabletop RPGs I Have Skimmed Through (At Best), And Am Interested In Learning More/Playing At Least Once

Battletech / MechWarrior

Blue Rose

Call of Cthulhu

Castle Falkenstein

Continuum

CthulhuTech

CthulhuTech v2 (which improves on CthulhuTech v1′s mishandling of certain sensitive subjects, its clunky dice system, and its bizarrely strict canon while retaining the wonderful artwork, fun and detailed combat, and intriguing character designs)

Cyberpunk 2020

Dungeons: The Dragoning

Dungeons & Dragons (5E)

Eon

Exalted

Fading Suns

Feng Shui

Gamma World

Icons: Superpowered Roleplaying

In Nomine

Iron Kingdoms

Ironclaw

KULT

Nobilis

Numenera

Over The Edge

RuneQuest

Savage Worlds

Space 1889

Spirit of the Century

Talislanta

Teenagers from Outer Space

Toon

TORG

Traveller

Unhallowed Metropolis

Unknown Armies

Villain & Vigilantes

The Whispering Vault

Wild Talents

and more I’m probably forgetting

Games I Have GM’d At Least Once

Dungeons & Dragons 3.5

Marvel Super Heroes

Mutants & Masterminds 2E

#about me #personal #RPGs #roleplaying games

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pitchwisenet · 5 years ago

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Nove RPG igre 07.04.2020: Velike oči, mala usta i vukodlaci na đavoljem putu

Ove nedelje čitajte o Pathfinder Beginner Box, High Moon besplatnom RPGu, Big Eyes, Small Mouth 4E i Devil’s Run. High Moon – The Great Werewolf Robbery Vukodlaci su stigli u medenu pljačku! Ili u pljačku meda. Kako god, megapopularni jednostrani RPG Honey Heist koji je stvorio Grant Hauvit, […]

The post Nove RPG igre 07.04.2020: Velike oči, mala usta i vukodlaci na đavoljem putu appeared first on PITCHWISE.

from Pitchwise.net: Nove RPG igre 07.04.2020: Velike oči, mala usta i vukodlaci na đavoljem putu

#News #RPG #Serbian #2d20 #Big Eyes Small Mouth 4E: Core Book #Devil's Run The Roleplaying Game #Fain

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legionofmyth · 2 years ago

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Mark MacKinnon of Dyskami Publishing

🙏 Thank you to Mark MacKinnon @Dyskami) for joining us for a fun conversation about Big Eyes Small Mouth 4E (#BESM), Dyskami Publishing, and, of course, the BESM Multiverse: #Anime RPG World Expansions Kickstarter! #ttrpg #ttrpgfamily #ttrpgcommunity

Big Eyes Small Mouth 4E Anime for your DnD 5E rules Core Rules & Character Creation Setting & Campaign Information Thank you to Mark MacKinnon of Dyskami Publishing for joining us for a fun 2.5 hour conversation to talk about Big Eyes Small Mouth 4E (BESM), Dyskami Publishing, and, of course, the BESM Multiverse: Anime RPG World Expansions Kickstarter! Mark is a fantastically nice guy who is…

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#anime 5e #anime role playing #anime role playing games #anime rpg #anime rpg games #besm 4e #besm 4th #besm 4th edition #big eyes small mouth #big eyes small mouth 4e #Dyskami Publishing Company #japanime games #Mark MacKinnon #role-playing game #tabletop RPG #tabletop rpg design #tabletop rpg game design #tabletop rpg games #tabletop rpgs that arent d&d

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legionofmyth · 2 years ago

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The Dyskami Publishing Fundraiser portions of the FNCS | Absolute Power RPG | #TTRPG Discussions

A 93 minute video created from the original 6 hour livestream. 📢 Our attempt to promote and signal boost The Dyskami Publishing Fundraiser one more time. See the video description for all of the details. #TTRPG #TTRPGFamily #TTRPGCommunity #RPG

Including some donations given outside of the stream, and a couple of donations directly to the Indiegogo campaign, we raised over $500 dollars. 🙏 THANK YOU! 🙏 Dyskami Publishing Game Bundle Fundraiser: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/dyskami-publishing-game-bundle-fundraiser/x/27293218#/ Join this channel to get access to Members Only…

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legionofmyth · 4 years ago

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[#30-1] BIG EYES SMALL MOUTH Extras (Kickstarter goodies)

BIG EYES SMALL MOUTH Extras & Other Kickstarter goodness. #BESM #BESM4 #TTRPG #anime #manga #tabletop #RPG #DnD

ℹ️ Segment #1 of the 27 Dec 2020 RPG DIE GEST livestream. 👍 Please take a moment to like, subscribe & share, share, share, it really helps us out. Thank you. 🕚 The full RPG DIE GEST livestream is only available to YouTube Members, Twitch Subscribers, and SubscribeStar Backers. LEGION OF MYTH LINKS • Discord: https://discord.gg/xVgVB4W • Home: https://legionofmyth.tv • Twitch:…

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tastesoftamriel · 7 years ago

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The tip of Morrowind (a long tale by Talviel)

Middas, 20th of Sun’s Dusk, 4E 207. I was in Dragonstar, Hammerfell, after spending months in Elsweyr, and was researching recipes. I had also just celebrated my 24th birthday quietly. Well, almost quietly. On the 17th itself, a courier came bounding into the inn I was staying at, and dumped half a satchel of letters in front of me while I was in the middle of grating zucchini in the kitchen. “I’ve been looking for you. Got something I’m supposed to deliver, your hands only. Got lots of messages for you!” He announced cheerily. “I’ll leave you to your zucchini. Well that’s it, got to go!” I stared at the pile of letters that I only ever got in this quantity once a year, then ignored them in favour of the zucchini. The letters could wait- zucchini balls with tzatziki could not.

When I’d finally finished cooking, eating, and helping the innkeep clean up, I took the armful of letters to my room to peruse. Most were from friends and acquaintances I had made in Cyrodiil, wishing me a happy birthday and a prosperous year. A smaller pile came from across Skyrim, and I found one from my Dunmer friend Lisandre. I set it aside, looking expectantly at the last few letters from Riften. There were three. One was from my parents, another from Keerava, and the last one was from Brynjolf. While we’d written to each other over the years I’d been on the road, our messages became shorter, less cordial, and more sporadic. He mainly talked about how breaking Nocturnal’s curse had made the Guild flourish again and how they were beginning to branch out across Tamriel. I broke the seal of his letter, expecting more of that. The familiar smell of cinnamon and cloves greeted me as I unfolded the parchment.

“Lass, happy birthday. I don’t know where in Tamriel you are, but I trust that the courier will get this to you safely. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to see you off on your last visit, but I enjoyed the time we did spend together. The Guild sends their best wishes, and we all miss you. Delvin and Vex are plotting the best way to get you to come back to us, but I know your heart is set on your career, and as I’ve always said, I’m happy for you, lass. Hope you can come back and visit us poor folk in Riften again soon, liven up the place a bit. Eyes open, and walk with the shadows. Yours, Brynjolf.”

I smiled sadly, my heart racing. Unrequited love was more of a pain than a mountain lion on skooma. I tucked his letter into the envelope I used to store all of his previous ones, that I always read whenever I missed him. Sniffling and wiping at my eyes, I turned my attention at last to Lisandre’s letter.

“Greetings, Talviel! Word on the street is that it’s your birthday, so happy birthday and big hugs from Gat and I (even though you’ve never met him)! Anyway, just writing because I’m a little bored. Back home now at Lakeview, which is nice and all but my hammer needs some blood. Feel bad about doing any adventuring around now because Gat could use the company, but I’ve been thinking of finally going to Morrowind after the new year. Slightly embarrassing, a Dunmer of my age never having been back to her own place of origin. Don’t know where you’ll be around then, but you’ve spent a lot of time there so I was hoping we could meet up. No pressure, let me know what you think. Anyway, wherever in Tamriel you are, happy birthday. Thinking of you and sending good thoughts your way. ~Lisandre”

I pondered Lisandre’s message. I was setting out the next day to Evermor, which was just across the border into High Rock, and I was planning on spending a month or so going through the region. I had also been offered good coin to cook a banquet at both Castle Wayrest the Sentinel Palace whenever I was there next, so I decided to take them up on the offer. It would take me another month to get to Windhelm, where the ship to Solstheim sailed from, so the timing would be perfect as I hadn’t been to Morrowind in some time. I wrote a letter to warn Wayrest and Sentinel ahead of time and to prepare the ingredients I’d need, then dipped my quill into my inkpot again to pen a message back to Lisandre.

“Hi Lis, thanks for the birthday greetings, and I hope you and Gat are well. Would love to take you over to Morrowind, but I’m only really familiar with Solstheim and Blacklight since the rest of the country is really just ash and small settlements since The Red Year and never really recovered from what I’ve heard, even despite the Great Restoration. I don’t think I’ll have time to explore the rest as I’ve made up my mind to head west early next year, so I probably won’t accompany you through the rest of the country. Once we’re done, I’m sure you’ll have found your feet enough to make the rest of the journey on your own! Let’s meet in Windhelm on the second week of Morning Star, and we catch the ship to Soltsheim from there. Let me know if this is agreeable to you or if you have any change in plans. Hugs, Talviel.”

I sealed the letter with wax and went to find a courier heading to Skyrim before checking on Roach and making sure my bags were packed for the morning. At first light, we trotted into Hammerfell to wait out the month. The time flew by as I cooked and learned and taught. The banquets went flawlessly and my coin pouch was close to splitting. I sketched the scenery, wandered the wilderness, and occasionally woke up naked next to someone. As Evening Star came to a close, I got on my horse and made the long trip to Windhelm. I contemplated stopping by Riften, but the thought of seeing Brynjolf again and knowing he didn’t love me made my heart break. I just couldn’t face him, as much as I wanted to.

I stayed at Candlehearth Hall, and was chatting to a Redguard at the bar when the door swung open, Lisandre tromping the snow off her boots and blowing her hands to shake off the cold. She looked through the crowd and waved excitedly when she saw me. “Hello love, give us a hug! How are you?” She called out, making her way towards me. “Hi Lisandre, long time no see! Can I get you a drink?” “Damn right you can. It’s freezing out there, I’ve always hated this city. One mulled wine please!” She called to the bartender, who brought over a steaming tankard. We toasted to friendship and talked about what we’d been doing in the past few months. As the evening wore on, she began to draw into herself, which was unusual. “Everything alright, Lis?” I asked, signalling for another cup of warm cider. “Well…not really. I should go to the Grey Quarter, see my family and whatnot. Tell them I’m going to the motherland, that should make their bitter asses happy. I don’t really want to go, but…I probably should.” I took a gulp of cider, nodding my head. “Do what you need to do. Just come back here if things don’t work out and you need a place to sleep. If not, the boat leaves at 7am sharp tomorrow so I’ll see you at the docks by 7.45 at latest.” Lisandre smiled wanly and slid her tankard across the bar. “Nah, should be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, kid. Have a good night with that Redguard woman, she’s making eyes at you.”

I snuck out of bed the next morning, the Redguard woman still fast asleep. Yawning while drinking from a bottle of potion of stamina, I made my way down to the docks and waited for Lisandre in the snow. She turned up just before seven, walking as if her satchel and warhammer weighed a tonne. “How’d last night go?” She grunted at me in reply then skulked onto the boat, sitting down and looking grumpy. “I’ll take that as ‘not so great’. I’ve brought us some breakfast.” I smiled, trying to lighten the mood and offering her some bread with cheese and salmon. “Lay off, Talviel. Really not in the mood right now.” She sighed, pulling her hood over her head and falling asleep. She slept all the way until we hit the port in Raven Rock, and she looked around groggily, rubbing her eyes. “Welcome to Solstheim, Lis.” I said, helping her to her feet as she yawned and stretched. Glover Mallory, the brother of Delvin in Riften, waved to me from the bellows as I walked past his forge. I promised I’d come by later to chat. I led her to my house, Severin Manor, which was dusty and cold. I made a mental note to hire a housekeeper, and showed Lisandre down to the spare bedroom, which I also used to store random armour, weapons, and knick knacks that might come in handy.

“If you’re still tired, have a little nap and we can explore the island later.” I said to Lisandre. “Are you kidding me? I saw a potion seller on the way here. Gonna get me a few of those stamina ones and we can start.” She removed her valuables and any unnecessary items from her person, hefted her hammer, and slapped her face to wake herself up. We made our way outside and she went to buy herself some potions and food while I caught up with Glover and got him to sharpen my sword. We met at the centre of the square, now busy with miners and a fair few more merchants than I’d previously seen, while she ate hungrily from a large kebab filled with ash yam falafel. “These fings are weally good!” She giggled between a mouthful of food, and I was relieved to see her in better spirits.

We left the town, meandering north along the coast. I pointed out the ruins of the monuments Miraak had left behind during our battle while I was taking a ‘break’ from chasing after Alduin. A few miles along, we spotted a group of hunters, shooting at a netch family. Lisandre gawped in wonder. “Are those…netches?” She asked, drawing her warhammer and clearly eager to join in the fight. “Yes, they are, but I wouldn’t recommend running in swinging that hammer. Those tentacles lash out fast with huge force, and send out a nice shock at the same time. Gonna shoot them with arrows like those hunters, and I’ll let you do the final honours with your hammer once they’re down.” I explained, stringing an arrow. We ran towards the netches as the hunters shot bravely, though one of their men was down. I whistled a call of greeting and they whistled back. I began shooting at the bull netch as they attacked the betty and calf, and I yelled for Lisandre to quickly finish them off when they splashed into the water. She nimbly leapt to action, smashing in the brains of the calf before jumping onto the back of the betty without missing a beat. Her acrobatics went unnoticed though, as the hunters had gathered around me as we made our final attack on the bull. As it groaned and fell into the water, Lisandre leapt up and smashed it several times over the head for good measure. The hunters clapped and whooped, and we all divided the netch jelly between us. “This stuff stinks.” Lis complained, jamming her share into an empty potion bottle.

Over the next four days, we made our gentle meandering way through the island, as I explained the lay of the land and my history with it. Lisandre was intrigued by Hermaeus Mora. I strongly opposed her, shaking my head. “Never, ever in my life do I want to have anything to do with that particular Daedric Prince ever again.” I shuddered, as we climbed our way north towards the Skaal village. Along the way, we plundered some Riekling camps and caves for the fun of it, happily pocketing our loot. Frea, the shaman and head of the Skaal happily accommodated us for a night, before we made our way to the giant mushroom lair of Neloth, the powerful and eccentric Telvanni mage. Before I went in to say hello and hoping that he was in a good enough mood to enchant some items for me, we stared with awe at the giant mushrooms. “That, Talviel, has got to be the weirdest thing I have ever seen.” Lisandre said, scratching her head. “Just wait til you see who’s inside, and you’ll probably change your mind.” I sighed, as we ascended the steps.

Several hours later, we found ourselves back at Raven Rock after being berated, belittled, and almost conned into being test subjects for another of Neloth’s new experimental spells (I had to drag Lisandre out through the lift portal before she could gleefully agree). We spent the night back at Severin Manor, and the next day we were ready to face Blacklight. The boat trip over took only half an hour, and Lisandre fiddled nervously with her scarf. “So, the city of my people, at last. I wish I could have seen Vvardenfell before the Red Year, behold the glory of the Dunmer before we were literally reduced to ash.” “As far as I know, time-turning spells have all ended in disaster, so this is what we’ve got now. Don’t look so glum, you’re finally on the way to the capital of Morrowind!” I punched her arm gently. We stepped off the boat, shouldering our satchels, and made our way into the city. The towering Rootspire, the seat of the Grand Council, dominated Blacklight from its centre. Dome-shaped houses like those in Raven Rock were dotted around in neat clusters. The Redoran Guard patrolled the city, which was by all means one of the most orderly places I’d ever been to in all of Tamriel, due to it having been put together as the seat of the Dunmer after the Red Year. I suggested we make our way to a cornerclub to settle in first, and Lis agreed.

We spent the rest of the day wandering the city. Commerce was good as the markets were bustling and shops of all kinds were open for business. “I’ve…I’ve never seen so many Dunmer anywhere in my entire life!” Lisandre exclaimed, looking giddy as we made our way through the busy central streets and past the Temple of Azura. “So, what do you think?” I asked. “Well…it’s a bit small. A lot smaller than I expected, really. But…this is what’s left of us, and so be it. I just hope those people in Rootspire know what they’re doing.” She said resolutely. “I know I’ll probably never see it in my lifetime, but maybe one day Vvardenfell will stand as tall and proud as it was.” “Your lifetime? You’re an elf, you’ll probably live to a thousand if you look after yourself. Morrowind will be back on its feet in no time in comparison. And for your sake, I really hope so. Anyway, now we’ve seen everything, let’s go get some sujamma.” I said, clapping her on the back. She grabbed my hand before I could turn back in the direction of the inn. “Talviel, I know I can just take Dunmeth Pass to get back to Windhelm, but…I’m not done. I know you’ve got work to do, but after tomorrow, we part ways. I know that Vvardenfell is still just ashes and settlements, but I want to see it with my own eyes. See where my people came from. Gnisis, Balmora, Mournhold.” “I get that. There’s always hope with what they’ve started in Vvardenfell probably, since they started on the Great Reconstruction, but I don’t know about the outlying parts of the region. Be careful.” I said, and we linked arms, strolling back to the cornerclub.

The next day, I woke up with a pounding head, and I knocked on Lisandre’s room door to see if she was up. “Come in!” She yelled. I stumbled into her room in my dressing robe, rubbing my eyes. She was sitting in bed, looking a little rough around the edges and sipping from a potion of restore stamina. She looked up at me blearily, before bursting out into an outrageous cackle. “What?” I asked, confused. “Oh by Vivec’s floating balls, I’m never going to pick a room next to yours ever again. Woman, you are loud!” Flashbacks of the night before came back to me, and I groaned. Something to do with a red-headed Dunmer and a lot of sujamma. Lisandre mimicked me, moaning. “Oh, yes, Daddy, Brynjolf, please, oh, fuck me, oh Brynjolf…” I covered my face, blushing so hard I thought I was going to burn the room down. “Nooo, Lisandre, stop, not funny!” “Are you kidding me? That was the best entertainment since I punched Rolff Stone-Fist in the face!” “Lis, I know he was an asshole but why on earth…never mind, it’s too early for this.” “Nope, not letting you off the hook. Brynjolf is definitely not a Dunmer name. The man you dragged into your room was definitely a Dunmer. When we first met, you said you didn’t have a beau. So, who’s the mystery Nord?” She grinned, passing me a stamina potion. I took a large swig and winced, beginning my long and embarrassing story. “Okay, so…”

#morrowind #dunmer #4e #skyrim #blacklight #vvardenfell #the elder scrolls #tes #tes blogging #fanfic #fanfiction #geek #nerd #games #gamer #gaming #chapter 10 #Solstheim #Raven rock

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tastesoftamriel · 7 years ago

Text

We know. (A long tale by Talviel)

Loredas, 3rd of Morning Star, 4E 207. I had been in Cyrodiil for months, and had explored the entire province right down to its Ayleid ruins, before deciding it was time to be back in the saddle again. I decided to cross west into Elinhir in Hammerfell, one of the most ancient cities still standing in Tamriel. Roach was skittish when she saw me approaching the stables, snorting and swishing her tail. “We’re on the big road again, old girl.” I said as I climbed onto her back, giving her a big pat and spurring her on towards the Colovian Highlands.

While I was in the Imperial City, I spent much time perusing the sections of Imperial library and the Arcane University that were open to the public, devouring as much information as I could about the world that lay ahead of me. I was not well read, having grown up poor and learning all I knew from experience or word of mouth. Poring through books and scrolls, I delighted in the wild stories, legends, and histories of every province in Tamriel from the first era til recent times. I never realised how little of the world I knew beyond my little bubble of Skyrim and the tiniest remains of Morrowind left untouched by the Red Year. With newly updated maps, comprehensive notes on each province’s cities and holds, and most importantly, the sort of cuisine I could expect, wanderlust had fully taken hold by the end of my contract at the Tiber Septim Hotel.

Making camp about two days from the border of Hammerfell, I hid under an overhanging rock as it began to drizzle, assembling a makeshift shelter for Roach out of some tree branches and a canvas sheet. The sky darkened and the drizzle quickly turned into heavy sleet interspersed by loud cracks of thunder and blinding lightning. I sighed and started a fire, disgruntled that my journey to Elinhir would be further delayed. I leaned back against the rock, warming my hands, when I head a loud plink. And again. Plink, plink. I sat up to see where the noise was coming from, when I was suddenly thrown back and felt a heavy thud in my chest. I looked down, and there was an arrow sticking right out of my vest, prevented from doing any further damage by the chailmail I wore under it. Roach whinnied and reared up on her hind legs, knocking over her canvas shelter, as arrows began to fly. I glanced around, frantically trying to find their source in the dark and heavy rain as Roach tried to break free from my hold on her reigns and bolt. I drew my sword, leaping into the saddle, and coaxed Roach into a canter into the sleet, looking for the source of the arrows.

Without warning, a figure fell from the sky with an almighty thud right in front of us, and Roach shrieked and threw me from the saddle, bolting into the night. I landed on my back, winded, and the shape leapt upon me before I had the chance to get my bearings. In the dark all I could make out was a pair of glowing red eyes. My entire body was pinned down by the weight of whatever the creature was, and I had dropped my blade when I fell. Panicking, I focused my energy to summon the Thu'um. “Fus Ro Dah!” I shouted, and the figure was blasted off me into the night. I quickly scrabbled to my feet and snatched up my sword, sprinting back towards the campfire, which would hopefully give me a chance to see who my enemy was. All was silent and still except for the ceaseless sleet, but dread clenched my heart. Something darted past at an inhuman speed, almost extinguishing the fire from the breeze it left behind. I held my sword at the ready, unsure of how I would take down something that moved like the wind. That thought didn’t remain for long though, as I was abruptly thrown against the rock wall behind me with such force I felt something crunch painfully beneath my maille. Before I could catch my breath, I was trapped in a headlock and felt the life being sapped from me. Vampire draining spell. Shit.

“The Volkihars send their regards.” The vampire growled, ripping off the scarf I had wrapped around my throat and sinking its fangs into my flesh. Unable to do anything but wriggle feebly, I prayed to Talos it would be over soon while at the same time a simmering rage began to rise in the pit of my stomach. After what felt like an age, I was dropped to the ground like a rag doll, and I feigned being passed out. The vampire, evidently sated and pleased, turned its back on me and began to rifle through my belongings, which only made me madder and I plotted my revenge silently. Remembering my lessons, I recalled that vampires were highly susceptible to fire damage. Perfect. I turned my head towards the vampire, fearing that moving my entire body would bring on another onslaught, and screamed in its direction. “Yol Toor Shul!” With a horrific screech, the vampire ignited, and began to roll on the ground trying to quench the flames. Wincing, I stood up shakily and grabbed my sword, with nothing but revenge on my mind. As it flailed vulnerably, I seized my chance. “This is for scaring my horse.” I stabbed it in the knee. “This is for using me as a feed bag.” The blade ripped lengthways through its abdomen. “And this is for touching my stuff.” I smashed my sword straight into its grotesquely distorted face, and it disintegrated on the spot, leaving behind no trace of its existence aside from a pile of dust and small flames that guttered out one by one.

I sat down heavily, dropping my sword with a clang, and touched my sore neck that was wet with blood. I hissed as a sharp pain shot through me when I raised my arm to find the source of the crunching noise from earlier, and I realised that a rib or two was broken. Crawling to my satchel, I uncorked a potion of ultimate healing and chugged it down, feeling a sense of calm wash over me as my broken skin and bones knitted over. Fearing that I may have contracted Sanguinare Vampiris, which would take hold in three days, I flipped through my maps frantically, looking for the closest shrine I could gain a blessing from as I had no potions of cure disease on hand. I swore when I realised the closest I would get would be the Chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol, which would extend my journey to Elinhir by at least another two days on horseback. Which brought me to my next problem: where was my damn horse? I hollered for Roach in vain for half an hour, before giving up and collapsing into my bedroll. Either she would turn up on her own, or I would have to find her when I was strong enough in the morning.

I was awoken past sunrise by a soft snuffling and grunting on my face. Half asleep, I swatted it away, and was repaid with a sharp nip on the hand that startled me into wakefulness. Roach was standing above me, sniffing at my face with concern. I groaned and sat up, patting her on the snout. Packing away the mess from the night before, we made our way south and reached Chorrol by nightfall. I prayed at the shrine of Kynareth, as the shrine to Talos had been destroyed by order of the Thalmor. Just to be sure, I stayed the night and went to visit the local Mage’s Guild when they opened in the morning to make sure I was definitely not infected. After getting chided by their alchemist, I left with several potent potions of cure disease in my satchel, and finally left for Hammerfell. Before I had even crossed the border though, a courier ran up to me, and I reigned Roach in to see what he wanted. “Talviel of Riften? I’ve been looking for you. Got something I’m supposed to deliver, your hands only.” He said, passing me a scroll before jogging off again. Still in the saddle, I unrolled the scroll to see what it said, before groaning loudly. It was marked with a handprint in black ink, with the words “We know.” printed under it in a neat hand. I crumpled the parchment and tossed it aside, heading to Elinhir with my mood darkened. When I got there, I sulked into the best inn I could find, deciding that I might as well rest and treat myself before the inevitable happened. The Dark Brotherhood was in contact, which could only mean that there something tied to the Thieves Guild that they wanted me to take care of, or that the vampire I had killed was one of their marks. I ordered a bottle of Colovian brandy and several items off the inn menu, relishing the first day in months I had gone without cooking something. Changing out of my damp travel clothes and sitting in bed with my tray of food, I ate just enough to line my stomach for the incoming brandy. The sooner I fell asleep, the sooner the Dark Brotherhood business would be over with.

True enough, a male voice woke me at some time in the night. “You sleep rather soundly for a murderer.” I sat up, rubbing my eyes and spotting Nazir, Astrid’s second in command, standing at the foot of my bed. “Greetings, Nazir. Thanks for moving that food tray off my lap, that would have made a huge mess if I had dropped it on the floor. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I grumbled sarcastically. Nazir looked unfazed. “Yeah, that tray was placed rather precariously. I would have put it on the table before hitting that bottle, but that’s just me.” To all the world, the serene-looking Redguard was just like any other man in his home province of Hammerfell. However, to those who knew, his red and black native clothing and curved sword, sharpened with deadly precision, were a dead giveaway that he was working with the Dark Brotherhood, Tamriel’s fabled and feared group of elite assassins. They were not a group to be crossed and had been on my back to join their ranks since I was a rookie thief, for accidentally killing one of their marks who had attacked me as I was on a bedlam job. After a lot of bargaining between the Guild and the Brotherhood, we agreed on a truce that they would leave me alone, no matter how much power they would gain with the Dragonborn in their ranks.

“Long time no see, Dragonborn. You look well. You’re lucky we’re friends, though. You have no idea how many people have prayed to the Night Mother for your demise.” Nazir said, studying his nails. For as long as we’d known, both the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood had been on friendly terms and were granted immunity to each other’s activities. Delvin was old friends with Astrid, and each year we renewed our peace treaty by meeting at each other’s respective headquarters. In the beginning of my third year with the Guild, I accompanied Brynjolf and Delvin to the Brotherhood sanctuary near Falkreath for one of these meetings. Their uncanny whispering door, the grotesque embalmed corpse of the Night Mother, and the weird mix of people who worked for the Brotherhood, especially the clearly unhinged Cicero, plagued my nightmares for months. I had always hated killing, and being around a group of people who were so devoid of humanity that they took pleasure in the act irked me to no end. Shuddering at the memory, I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

“Oh please, Nazir. I’m the Dovahkiin and an open worshipper of Talos. Obviously people want me dead, and I’ve taken care of a fair few of them with my own hands. But thank you all the same for the courtesy of sparing my life, and I promise to reciprocate by never stealing the contents of your strongbox.” He chuckled and patted his sword. “Oh, your fingers would be off before you’d be able to get anywhere near my strongbox, but I promise you won’t find anything particularly interesting in there anyway. But enough with the pleasantries. You reek of death, my friend. I salute you.” I got up to pour myself some water. “Let me guess, is this about the vampire I killed the other night?” “You have really, really got to stop killing Brotherhood marks, Talviel. It almost makes it seem like you want to join us.” I rolled my eyes and slammed my cup down on the dresser more forcefully than I’d intended. “Well, what was I meant to do, sit there and die while you took your time showing up? Thanks for nothing. I was defending myself and technically as a vampire it was already dead anyway.”

Nazir laughed and shook his head. “Kid, I don’t think you know it but you killed a Volkihar vampire, which takes a lot of strength and guile. You really should join us; you’re cut out for this work. It’s not exactly treason to the Guild to be a member of more than one faction in Skyrim, you know.” I stared at him blankly. “What’s a Volkihar vampire?” This only caused the Redguard to laugh even harder. “I can’t believe it, you mean the Dawnguard never contacted you about Castle Volkihar?” I shrugged, remembering vaguely about some legion of vampire hunters who kept trying to ply me with contracts while I was busy dealing with Miraak and Alduin simultaneously. “I simply didn’t have the time, nor the interest. Vampires are kind of…just there in the wild, Nazir. Didn’t even realise until recently that there were different kinds, but the book I read never mentioned a Volkihar so honestly I don’t know and I don’t care. I also don’t care that you and Astrid are still trying to rope me into the Dark Brotherhood. It’s not happening. Not now, not ever.” Nazir sighed, crossing his arms. “You’ve slain without remorse. Draugrs, dragons, beasts, bandits…you’re a killer, Talviel. If you’re not going to join us, the least you could do is admit it.”

I shut my eyes. The first time I had killed anything beyond pests or game was the lesser vampire that had attacked me in the Ratways when I first joined the Guild. Every life I had ever taken haunted me, weighing like a boulder of guilt over my head. As thieves, our code was that we never killed, and that suited me just fine. “Nazir, when I was five, my father took me fishing for salmon. He made me kill them by whacking them over the head with a brick, and I cried. That is not exactly a characteristic of a cold-blooded killer and I will definitely be more of a hindrance than an asset to your little family because unlike you, I have a conscience. I also suppose you didn’t get the memo, but I’m done with the Thieves Guild. I’m done with any guild or group of any sort. As long as I can travel Tamriel in peace and cook, I really don’t care what happens to you all.” Nazir snorted. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. You’re still under Guild protection, and Brynjolf has made it damn clear that no harm is to come of you. So you may be done with the Guild, but it definitely isn’t done with you.” We stood in silence for a while, stewing in our thoughts. “Well, if you knew I wasn’t going to join you even though I killed your mark, what are you even doing here? If you want compensation, I have the coin.” I sighed. “Coin is nice, but the Dawnguard has taken care of that matter. Truth be told, I’m here in part because your little kleptomaniac family asked my little murderous family to check on you if we ever had the chance. We look out for each other, despite our differing business practices. Just so happens that you killed my mark, I found you, and I get a bonus vacation to my homeland at the same time.” Nazir said gently.

I sighed, running my hands through my hair and sitting back down. “I appreciate the gesture, Nazir, really I do. But I want to put the past behind me in Skyrim. I’m tired of being perceived as some invincible warrior and master thief when all I want to do is just be alone for a while. I haven’t even spoken to anyone from home in months.” “In a way, I understand. I ran away from Gilane as a child for murder and wound up in Skyrim. I had many months to deliberate on what to do with my life, and yet I felt no remorse for my actions. By the time I reached Skyrim, I knew it was my destiny to join hands with the Dark Brotherhood. I can see you are in that period as a fugitive, running from your past, but it’s not going to disappear no matter how many bananas you pile on it.” He said. Once again, I stared at him blankly. “What are bananas?” I asked, and this time Nazir laughed so hard he doubled over and had to sit on a stool in the corner. “You’re a chef but haven’t heard of bananas? Oh, Nords always crack me up.” He cackled, tears of laughter running down his face. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen from anyone in the Dark Brotherhood in my life. “Kid, welcome to Hammerfell. Get some sleep, enjoy your stay, and for the love of the Night Mother, please ask for bananas for breakfast. We’ve talked long enough and I have other contracts I shouldn’t keep waiting.” He turned to leave, padding away as silently as a cat. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in joining the Dark Brotherhood? There are some great perks like-” “Goodnight, Nazir.” I groaned, and closed the door firmly in his face.

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