#like she's been pulled left and right between daedra for like. her entire life

[fetabathwater]

how would llonvyne react to suddenly raising ? looking after ? a demiprince. i do not know how they come into existence but what would she do

from what i know of daedric demiprinces is its normally a daedric prince/lord and another """"lesser entity""" like a mortal. or smth. i mean sheogorath considers the. demiprince of pastries as someone who could wield wabbajack but idk if theyre like. sheogorath offspring/scion or someone else's LOL. there is nothing stated for that beyond those like kind of terms.

but llon would be knocking on fa-nuit-hen's realm like hello my bloodlusting swordwielding friend, honourable prince, scion of boethiah. how did you come into existence? can i interest you in a pocket realm child. or to give me tips. (should i go and ask lord vivec?). and would literally hold up like idk the void? idk how anyone would imagine like. daedra/dremora etc as a child. do they exist? is it that much funnier to consider llon being "gifted" one as an experiment? all those pics of like holding kids up by ankles and stuff. that's llon. poking the void.

like she's the type of gal where she's unbothered by losing a soul or two, dying in the worst ways, coming back to life, being stuck in a magic induced coma for two centuries, whatever. that is FINE. but this is outside her scope of knowledge. she was just the spare she didnt get taught anything about childrearing aside from the fact that dunmer arent known for it. llon would be sliding into eyevea like hey shalidor whats up bestie btw do you have any books on what to feed daedra spawn?

[chameleonspell]

182: apology

A mushroom, its broad cap fending off the noon-day sun, on the outskirts of somewhere completely different. "I don't know what you're so upset about. You were worried about money, and it'll be far cheaper to sail from here than from Sadrith Mora. With less chance of recognition!" Julan remained silent. He leaned back against the mushroom, arms braced on either side of his neck, fingers locked together at the nape. His eyes were closed. "Listen, how was I supposed to know that was Gothren's bedroom window?"

Julan opened his eyes, but didn't focus them beyond his elbows. He drew a long, serrated breath, and held it. "You didn't want to be stuck up there forever, did you?" Julan released the breath, in something between a growl and a groan. "Honestly, I'm amazed this sort of thing doesn't happen more often in a Telvanni town, levitation being what it is. I can't believe they got so unreasonably... unreasonable about a simple..." Beyond Julan's elbows, Iriel's eyes veered back and forth, creased in worried scrutiny. Grimacing, he changed tack: "I'm sorry. I got carried away." Julan closed his eyes again. "All right, perhaps you did, technically speaking." Iriel was hunching slightly, to remain on eye level. Monitoring the results of his words, and currently far from satisfied. "Again, sorry. I'll warn you next time." He sucked his lower lip for a moment. "That is to say, I'll ask your permission. In writing, two weeks in advance. And... sorry. How's your shoulder, can I massage it, or...? No? No, I see, all right, never mind." He retracted his hand, and, after a moment's consideration, shuffled back a few paces. "It's just... I'd read about scrolls of windform, but never actually tried one. Levitating invisibly at high speed always sounded like the perfect way to travel. And it was, for, well. Most of it." He was smiling, now, gaze drifting into space. "I must confess, I've even had... certain... fantasies about..." The abrupt renewal of Julan's glare dragged him back down to earth. "Well. Obviously I wasn't going to suggest... of course not. Sorry. Never mind." He straightened up, and took a drag on the kreshweed roll-up he was twitching between his fingers. "By the way, I know you dropped that helm on purpose, so don't even try denying it." Julan finally lowered his arms. "Since when do you smoke that stuff, anyway?" "Since I needed it to reduce my stress levels from dealing with you, sweetheart. Besides, it gives my hands something to do that isn't illusion spells." Julan eyed the kreshweed, suspiciously. After a while, he sighed, and let Iriel pass it to him, though upon inhalation, he immediately choked, and thrust it back, eyes streaming. A little later, Julan said, out of what had now become a mostly companionable silence: "So. Two Dremora." Iriel's mouth quirked, before he replied: "Perks of being a Telvanni Mage-Lord, I suppose. Or just not giving a fuck about arcane ethics." "Same thing." Julan cricked his neck sideways with a wrenching pop. Ire didn't even wince, his eyes glazed and distant. "Two Dremora, though." Julan snorted. "You wouldn't know what to do with two Dremora!" "I would, you know." "Send them back to Oblivion with proper shirts on, because you're so arcanely ethical?" "...Quite." Iriel wandered out of the mushroom's shadow to survey the Tel Aruhn docks again. The ship they wanted was preparing to depart, but they thought it safest to embark at the last minute, to avoid the captain making too many awkward enquiries. The sails were still half-set, so Ire returned to Julan's side. "Last chance to change your mind," he told him. "But I really think asking the Urshilaku for advice is best. They play by the rules; Daedra don't." "Yeah." A sigh. "I just... you were right, last time we made this trip. When you said I was avoiding them. I know what they'll say, and none of it's new, but..." "I know. Don't worry. I have a plan, of sorts." Ire found Julan's hand and squeezed it. "My brain may be a jumbled mess of the fractured shards of my intellect, but it's at your service. And I have a few ideas that might work." "See, you're not fractured all the time. How's the magic?" "About the level it was when I was ten, but it's something. I suppose perh--" They froze, as a distant explosion shook the towers around them. Passers by, used to Telvanni districts, merely paused, glanced around for signs of immediate local catastrophe, shrugged and walked on. "D'you think they--" Julan began, but Iriel shook his head. "Don't think. Let's just go. The boat should be ready in a few minutes." "What's in that sack of yours, anyway?" "Hopefully nothing breakable, after what it went through on our descent." "Yeah, well. I guess anything not in it is gone for good, now." Seizing the distraction, Iriel opened the sack from Tusamircil. "Clothes, mostly," he reported. "Some of them are even yours." "Is my ash-scarf there? I've been looking for that." "No. Because you left that in my room before, and I burned it." "Wh--?! ...Oh. OK." A snort of laughter from Iriel, as he pulled out a cream silk sleeve. "Look what she's put in here! As if I'll need this, where we're going! Still, no sense saving it for a special occasion, now. I might as well wear it in the Ashlands as anywhere, I suppose." "Is my stupid noble shirt in there, too, then? Or... hey, what about my other pair of guarskins?" Iriel didn't reply. He had found the scroll. Uneven lettering on rough parchment, fastened with green twine. Julan saw his face. "Hey, are you...? Look, I know Helende said you should read it, but maybe now isn't... I mean, what if it's... are you sure you're ready to...?" But Iriel, his fingers helpless as clockwork, was already tugging on the end of the twine. To Iriel. I have began this letter four times. Each time I have wrote the wrong words so much I have ended by dropping the paper over the side. This is the last bit of parchement. My mistaiks must all have to stand this time and you must bare them. Purhaps this is rigte and best. I am sorry for my writing being so falty. I hope you may take my menings. I am at sea, 35.7 teills WTW of the Dancing Strait with our nose to the sun and the wind to our back. I have come further than I have bin in all my dawns. But even were the Argerial not with us, I would not let it prevent me now. I dont set myself wiser than the breath of our ancestors, but I am resolvd. Lightbringer knows our course. I can feel the joy of it in the wood. Befour sun rise I had seen more tears than I thouht still left these many years, but now the joy is in me too and I know the stars speak truly and the winds blow wise. It is time to leve. There was a time to stay and keep to old words, but that is ended. She said you are in Morrowind. She said she wrote you. I thouht you was in a Ciirodil jail. I asked why you was out and if they found you was innosent like I thouht. I asked when you was coming home. She said never. She said it made no matter. She said some people carry their prisons inside themselves and so never walk free. It struck me as how she was rigte. I put her a letter in her Astrology folder. She opens it not more than once a week by my eyes. Purhaps it will even pass some moons until she finds it. I dont pretend as I know who you are these dawns be it theif or murderer or both or none. I dont know if your blood runs fair or foul as she says. I only know it runs in me the same, and I would look on what you have made of it. Purhaps as you see no call to find me, but if you will it, and if Auri-El preserve us on this long haul, I mean to reach Ebonheart by your birth month. From [a blotched mess of illegibly crossed out words] Murecano [more crossing out, this somewhat legible]. When Iriel finally found his tongue, it had turned corpse-dry, coating every word in dust. "He... he wrote 'Murecano of Lillandril', and then he... crossed out the 'of Lillandril' part." "Is it an apology?" "Not exactly. I think... he's trying to tell whether I want one." "Do you?" "I don't know. I don't know anything. This is more words together than I've had from him my entire life." As Ire spoke, he rolled the parchment tighter and tighter, and reknotted the twine several times. "Fuck." He exhaled sharply, and pushed it into the bottom of his bag. "I don't have time to mess myself up over this, right now. Can you just... hug me really, really, hard for a moment, and then we'll run for the boat." The Ahemmusa-bound members of the Thieves' Guild will no doubt turn up again in due course, but as Iriel and Julan leave the Telvanni lands, perhaps some final mention of the others is in order, insofar as details are known, before all trails were lost. Rissinia recovered from his wounds, and went to seek his fortune (and a better range of cake ingredients) in Cyrodiil. Fandus changed his name, and settled in Caldera, where he married the governor's daughter, and entered local politics. There were rumours in Sadrith Mora that the Altmer woman known as Big Helende was swallowed by a giant beetle, which then flew out to sea, leaving nothing but a trail of maniacal laughter and badly-embroidered cushions. But, people would usually add, this is clearly ridiculous. Muriel Sette and Erer Darothril simply vanished. But the latter has appeared and disappeared many times in Tamrielic history, and no doubt he will do so again. Back, then, briefly, to a ship, heading north across the Sea of Ghosts, and two tired elves, slumped on the deck. "How're you feeling?" "My head's cold. You're all right, you have hair." "Yeah, mostly in my mouth, with this wind. D'you want to go below?" "No." A pause. "I wish I had that stupid fucking hat he knitted me, though." "Maybe he--" "Don't. I still don't know." A longer pause, as the clouds scudded by overhead. "He offered to teach me to knit, once, forever and ever ago. I couldn't see the point, since he already made me things, and I had important books to read." "No knitting lessons in Sweating Slutbags of--" "Shut your awful face, I'm remi-fucking-niscing. I... gods, I just... I wish I'd realised he was only trying to find an activity to share with me that wasn't some outdoorsy thing, which he knew I hated. I thought knitting looked boring, but now I wonder if it'd be soothing, give my fingers something mechanical to do, when my brain stops working." "Better than that poisonous stuff you keep smoking." "Yes, well. Even if I could knit, everything close to wool I've seen in Morrowind is rough and horrible. No doubt it's made out of scathecraw, or something that used to be inside a beetle." A snort. "And knowing me, all I'd succeed in making would be one big tangled knot." North, still north, as the sky began to shade. "D'you want me to shave my head, then, for company?" "No!" "Sure? I don't mind. It's getting too long, anyway." "It is not too long! And don't you dare shave it. Long hair has its uses." Catching Ire's smirk, but not the reason, Julan slid him a suspicious look. "Oh, really?" With a sudden grab, Iriel caught a handful, and yanked Julan's head into his lap. "Really," he told Julan's broadening grin. "Now sit the fuck up, I'm going to braid it." next: 183: proof previous: 181: communication beginning: 1: numb