#loyalindoril

[dalamusrex]

Headcanon: Sanguine Warmth

After drinking from a live host, there is a brief amount of time while Dalamus' system incorporates the fresh blood that he is a bit warmer and some bodily functions are temporarily available. The physical effects last no more than an hour or so, last longer the more he drinks, and greatly contributes to the reason why many vampires prefer live blood over preserved (the "spiced blood" Dalamus consumes) or "synthetic" (blood potions). Chasing the high of feeling alive again, cravings for fresh, warm blood never really go away.

His heart beats, albeit sluggishly--slower and fainter than would be compatible with life, just enough to get the new blood moving around. His skin is ever so slightly warmer, though still chilly, more like someone suffering from anemia rather than a corpse though. His skin has a bit more color to it, though still paler than he was when alive. He can blush, coloring his cheeks or the tips of his ears if one can embarrass him during this time. And, of course, he appears more "lively", with the circles under his eyes softened, his face seemingly a bit more youthful.

Those who know him well--friends, family, and lover alike--will easily notice these differences. They might be enjoyable, or even make donating blood tempting depending on temperament of the person. His views on feeding from loved ones have somewhat relaxed over the years--now that he is not as self-loathing over being a "monster" anymore, he does not view the act of feeding as "monstrous" if the person has given consent.

Those who do not know of his vampirism or otherwise do not know him well will simply notice he has a metaphorical "glow" about him, but cannot pinpoint what it is. Just that he looks fresher, more awake, and in a better mood.

Dalamus mostly keeps his thirst at bay with specially preserved blood provided to him by Thurvayn. That said, he does not necessarily restrain himself from drinking humanoid blood, especially if the person is an enemy he intends to kill anyway. And he has few qualms about satisfying his thirst with the occasional animal. So while this particular warmth is uncommon and perhaps difficult to catch at the time it happens, it is not rare.

[lionofmara]

@loyalindoril

It was startling to see the massive, terrifying, mer in the city square. Though he was shorter than many other mer back home, the Dunmer’s presence was like an alarm beacon to the Altmer. He couldnt tell why, but that was no ordinary vampire--the Lion knew it.

Sin hadnt expected to see him back in Riften. He couldnt recall seeing the mer there before, and that aura was too strong, too oppressive to simply not have noticed. But it was just the opportunity Sin needed, wanted. Feared. Dalamus wasnt there this time to call off the much larger mer. Did Dalamus even have “control” over the mer whom he considered a father figure? Sin wasnt sure, but certainly would have felt better were the much smaller vampire there with him.

But Sin wanted to do this. If the Lion let him...

Sin made his way up to the looming figure. “E--excuse me, ser. M--might I be able to speak to you for a moment?”

[dawnguardxd]

@loyalindoril

With each new wave of vampire attacks on settlements came new questions about a vampire’s loyalty to the Dawnguard; even as he worked well into the night and before dawn to create enough curative potions for the true members to hand out to victims, he heard grumbling behind his back, mutterings to head off the threat he posed before he became a ‘problem’. The old mer tried to ignore them, but it was difficult-- his hearing was far better as a vampire than it had been as a mortal. 

He huffed and shook his head, returning his attention to the reagents before him, taking the small vials and wafting the fumes of the brewing potion toward his nose, all the better to know if the potion was good or not. He reached for a flask of crushed pearl and mudcrab chitin without a thought-- everything in his lab had a specific place, to ease a blind mer’s navigation. He added the ingredients to the simmering vial of water. It would be a foul-tasting brew, but quite effective. 

The vampire’s ears flicked as he heard footsteps echo down the stone hallway, and winced as they paused at his door. They were attached to a presence that made his vampiric instincts bristle, though he couldn’t tell why; still, if this person was a member of the Dawnguard, it was his duty to help. “Be there in one moment,” he said with a dismissive wave over his shoulder. “But come in; it is usually considered rude to lurk in doorways.” 

[dragxnsfire]

Preconceptions (Thurvayn|Haleth)

@loyalindoril

“I am so sorry!” Haleth picked herself up from the dirt quickly enough. She hadn’t meant to run into the elder mer; she had been so eager to get to Riften that she’d run, nonstop, all the way from Iverstead to deliver a pair of sapphires to Madesi— though she knew that the kind-hearted jeweler would not have minded her tardiness. As soon as the younger Dunmer brushed the dust from her trousers, she held out a gloved hand to her unintended victim. “Here, let me help—” She used both hands to pull the mer to his feet.

“I really am sorry,” she said, hoping her apology was enough to allay any anger that might be directed to her, “I don’t usually make a habit of knocking people over the first time I meet them.” She giggled a bit awkwardly, “I just wanted to—”

Her breath hitched when she finally looked up into the other mer’s eyes: to her horror, she saw not the deep red normally associated with her kin but the glowing eyes of a vampire. Haleth leapt back in a mix of shock and anger, her hand instinctively moving to the dagger at her side. Her eyes flicked to the stylized hand on the pommel of the blade, then back to the vampire. “Don’t come any closer!” she barked, voice quavering in fear and mind racing, wondering why she always had to run into the worst people on the road.

[dalamusrex]

Not officially adopted, but still counts.

Dalamus met @loyalindoril when the other mistook Dalamus for an enemy. But once the frenzy subsided and altercation ended, they began communicating and even becoming friendly with one another, bonding over what they have in common.

Thurvayn is much older than Dalamus, and immediately felt a paternal pull towards the younger adult mer. And when Dalamus eventually divulged how terribly his biological father treated him as a boy, it sealed the deal and Thurvayn basically went “I’m your dad now” haha.

And that’s how their relationship has been ever since! Dalamus regards Thurvayn as a father-figure and gets the sort of affection and guidance he never got from his biological father so so many years ago. Better late than never.

Tag the OC that was adopted

[noodledragonsoup]

Ay, my name is Daski! I’m deisgender, pronouns dei/deim/deir/deiself!

This blog is super old and repurposed so you’ll probably find a bunch of really old posts here lolol I have several side blogs that work off this one, so if I followed you, that’s probably why. :3

Find my RP blogs! -> @lionofmara: TES; Werelion Altmer that hates cats @loyalindoril: TES; Vampire Lord Dunmer/Altmer that hates Altmers @aetheriusbound: TES; 3 Living Dwemer!! @tatteredblackfeathers: Pathfinder; Antipaladin Tengu 18+ @scarredbythesun: Pathfinder; Flame Oracle Kobold that hates fire @ihaventfixedthatyet: Fandomless Chief of Engineering

[aetheriusbound]

me: -drawing ilch- oops i made his beard wider than proportionate... -fixes-

thur: trying to make him appear larger than he should, hm?

me: -laughs- dont start, thur.

thur: but, really. what if the dwemer used their hair growth as their physical show of pride.

me: like, instead of literal peacocking, they whip out a measuring tape to measure each other's beard growth. headcanon accepted.

sin: -groans and rubs his eyes- why. gods, why. why are we speaking of this.

me and thur: -laughing-

idaeda: i dont believe they'd need the tape measure, per se; i'm sure they'd be able to visually discern length

sin: idaeda, not you too--!

me: yeah but what about those REALY long ones or ones too damn close to tell??? or really curly hair ones??

sin: .......

me: sin you're just jealous.

sin: ................ absolutely not.

everyone but sin: -laughs and discusses more-

[chimaeracoloured]

[dalamusrex]

loyalindoril​:

“This is why I say I should really come around more often. I should have seen this before I got asked. You’re welcome for the salve, but it’s a small feat for me. You should be thanking your boy. ..He’s a good one. And you know me, I don’t say that lightly.”

He smiled lightly, watching Dalamus process it. “I’m thrilled for you. It’s what you need.”

“I certainly would not complain about seeing you around more often.” He smiled up at Thurvayn. “I will be sure to thank Sinbadaen for this. I am incredibly thankful to have him in my life, as is, and yet he somehow makes me love him more and more.”

[infinitenoodledragon]

Daski: I JUST BUSTED OUT LAUGHING

me: I should change my personal blogs title to 'a dunmer an altmer and a dwemer walk into a bar'. Bc I can.

Key: no. The dwemer walks UNDER the bar.

Me: good to see you're finally embracingyour height!

Key: only if it means not being clotheslined

Daski: I CANT EVEN RN

Sneak: omfg key. also u so should.

[askaralin]

loyalindoril started following you

"Greetings, Sera. May I help you find anything today?" The womer grinned a greeting, spoken in Dunmeris, of course.

[dalamusrex]

Scar Treatment

(CW for brief mentions and recollections of previous injury and past self-harm)

Dalamus eyed the mason jar and its contents from where he reclined lazily in bed, fingers woven together across his abdomen. The salve Thurvayn had made and brought at Sinbadaen’s request was said to be a balm which softened the appearance of scars. All he needed was to apply it twice a day. No magic involved. Just medicine.

After another moment of silent contemplation, he stood and brought the jar to the washroom where he could view himself in the mirror while applying it. He had applied facepaint in the past, red warpaint. Partially as intimidation against enemies, as well as remembrance of the first blood he had spilled as a vampire--that of his own beloved, Falin. The crimson, a symbol of pain and grief, both his own and that which he inflicted upon others. And like grief, it had been slow to fade even after he had stopped applying it. His skin was stain-free now, years later, aside from the claw marks marring his image. Claw marks which Drevain dared to liken to his own scars, his own face.

He had never been self-conscious about scars before. They had simply been a fact of his self. He had ears, he had fingers, he had scars. If anything, they were proof that he was a survivor. But following the confrontation with his father, Dalamus–usually brimming with thinly-veiled vanity–could not look upon his own reflection without revulsion. It was only thanks to his newly learned restraint that every mirror in his home remained intact rather than removed or demolished in a fit of anguish. In the immediate aftermath of his father’s remarks, Dalamus had even attempted to excise the scars himself in the hopes his vampirism might mend his flesh differently. Not only had he failed, but made a bloody mess of himself and the washroom. It probably would not have worked anyway.

Now he found himself applying something else to his cheeks. Not warpaint to symbolize pain, but a balm to heal. While he doubted his scars would ever permanently be erased, if they softened as Thurvayn promised… It would still take time to see any changes. He tempered his hope and replaced it with cautious optimism.

Somewhere in the back of his mind was a voice of protest, of accusation. How pitiful must he be to dislike the sight of his own face because of a few scars? To allow Drevain’s words to affect him so? To let Drevain win by feeling shame. He dispelled the thoughts with a shake of his head. This was not losing to Drevain. This was taking control. Choosing to oppose. Choosing to move on, rather than dwell and accept. Drevain only won if Dalamus chose to continue hating himself and the scars upon his face.

Sinbadaen loved him either way; he knew this for certain. His friends cared not how many scars adorned his skin. This was purely for himself. A little self-care. And perhaps that was why it felt so odd... Dalamus was not so used to self-care as much as he was self-interest. The two were surprisingly different.

He dipped his fingers in the salve to procure a small glob of the medicine, unsure of how much was necessary, and began applying it to the scars on the left side of his face. The topmost scar dipped just below his left eye and somehow entirely avoided the eye socket. Had the wound been a few centimeters higher, he might have lost one eye entirely, if not both. That, he would not have been able to soften with a balm. The scar traveled across his cheekbone unhindered until reaching his nose where his Khajiit Sire’s claw had dug deep. The bone and cartilage of his nose caused the claw to catch air before briefly scraping his other cheekbone. The second scar from the top was the longest, beginning at his ear where a claw had snagged on the cartilage. It spanned the longest stretch of skin before also being interrupted by Dalamus’ nose, leaving a short length of unbroken skin and ending with a final scratch on his right cheek. The third scar, second from the bottom, ran uninterrupted from nearly the center of his left cheek across the space between his upper lip and nose. The final scar on his face was the shortest, starting on his cheek above his jawbone and ending at the midline between his lower lip and chin. For good measure, Dalamus treated the scars on his throat, as well. Being smaller, they might have better results, even though he had no feelings about them either way.

Dalamus applied the salve to each scar with more caution than necessary, gingerly rubbing the cold substance into the scars and surrounding area until his skin could not be coaxed to absorb any more. He could not discern whether his skin felt hydrated or clammy, for he was unaccustomed to both. His cheek felt sticky where he touched with his fingers, but he could do no more to work the substance in. He poked and prodded at the skin in annoyance. It was done. Perhaps over time he would get used to the sensation of the sticky film, though he highly doubted it, and instead planned to apply the salve before bed each night. Then he would not be awake to fuss at it. At least not until he applied it again in the morning.

Months passed.

Logically, he knew there would be no change overnight, or even in a few weeks time. It did not stop him from occasionally feeling disheartened when no discernible difference could be seen. Still, he kept to the routine, choosing stubbornness and spite over his initial impatience. Every night he would wash his face and apply the salve to both the scars on his cheek and the scars on his throat. Every morning, or midday, he would apply it once more.

The scars on his throat, being smaller and far less severe, improved noticeably within several weeks. They smoothed over and softened, and though they did not disappear entirely, they were not nearly as obvious at a glance any longer. Dalamus rubbed at his neck with the pads of his fingers. He could feel the protrusion of his voice box beneath the scarred area, and recalled the time when the wounds had been fresh. The two-tined fork which had punctured his skin had damaged his voice box and left him barely able to speak for nearly two weeks. Now he could hardly tell it had happened at all!

The success with the scars at his throat gave him the encouragement and determination to continue the same treatment for his face. Sinbadaen had been encouraging, as well, offering sympathies when Dalamus had been previously disappointed by lack of progress, but also reminders that some medicine took time to heal. Not all medicine could be instant cures–what a fantastical world that would be! Sometimes the body had to take in medicine slowly and let it build up in the system. Of course, Sinbadaen also reminded him, whatever Dalamus chose to do, he would support.

In another few months, the routine had become so solidified and automatic that Dalamus almost forgot why he had started it. The jar of salve was very nearly empty, and he briefly wondered if he should ask Thurvayn for more. He began applying the cream as usual to his scars–the placement of which he had never been so acutely aware as he had become in the last several months–without even looking into the mirror when he realized… Smooth. He glanced up at the mirror in hopeful alarm, eyes wide. He had not realized how smooth the scars had become until relying solely on touch. The dollop of salve on his fingertips was all but forgotten as he ran his other hand over the marks on his face as if to confirm his thoughts. They had not disappeared, the pink of his flesh was still visible, but the edges were not so jagged or raised anymore. The edges met seamlessly with the rest of his skin. No more fringes to pick at. They just felt like skin. Not damage. They were part of him again, no longer errors on his face.

He stared in awe. Damn, he sure was handsome. A snicker escaped him at the thought, and the giddiness bubbling in him could no longer be contained. He laughed! It felt good. Needed. Right. The laughter mostly came in the form of snickers, hisses and chuckles as he failed to restrain the breath in his chest. At one point he braced himself against the wash basin and forced himself to breathe deeply so as not to attract too much attention to his outburst.

Something else welled in his chest as the laughter died down, and he wiped at the corners of his now stinging eyes--decidedly not with the hand which still held salve waiting to be used. Relief. Joyful relief for having done this for himself. For having taken care of himself, for himself. He could just do things which made him happy, even if it changed him in some way. He did not have to reserve personal change for the behest of others, and it was not a betrayal of who he used to be. He was still Dalamus. He still had scars. And he was nothing like Drevain. The mer in the mirror was proof of that. He had healed himself instead of wounding others. Drevain could never fathom such a thing.

Dalamus liked the mer he saw in the mirror.

Nothing like Drevain.

[lionofmara]

(Sinbadaen is the only one I'm familiar with but I'm sure I would pick him first anyway because he's really sweet and adorable. I'm absolutely certain we would be incompatible though because he is a priest of the Goddess of Love and I am made entirely out of sins XD)

{ i’ve got kiddos over at @aetheriusbound and i got into the shipyard with @loyalindoril, to name a few others :3

i havent gotten to really showcase what i have in store for sin, but he’s not entirely lacking in the … sin department LOL *shot* )

[dragxnsfire]

the Cure (Thurvayn|Haleth)

@loyalindoril

Haleth ran up to the door of the small farmhouse, acutely aware that the guard on patrol gave her a wary glare all the while. Normally, she would have waited until she was sure the inhabitants were awake and had started their day before dropping in for a visit, but there was a certain matter of urgency to be taken care of. Quickly, she tied Socks’s reins to the post of the farmhouse’s porch; fortunately, the gentle horse remained loyal to his master in her new state of life― unlife?― Haleth’s stomach sunk anew, horrified at what she’d become. Thurvayn had specifically warned her against such a situation; no, it was worse than that. He’d warned against vampire lords, not the common rabble vampires that infested Skyrim’s caverns and crypts. Internally, she hesitated, stroking the soft velvet of Socks’s nose. What if he wouldn’t help? What if he turned her away? Taking a deep breath, Haleth forced herself closer to the door, pounding on it as heavily as possible.

“Thur! Thurvayn! Please open the door!”

As the seconds passed, her pounding became more desperate. “Please open the door! I need help!” she cried.

[dalamusrex]

loyalindoril​:

He laughed as he processed what had just happened, shutting the door behind him. “It is not the first time that I would have been affectionately tackled by a cat. 

“But, you are correct. Though, perhaps I should come by more often, my apologies for staying away so long. However. I recently was asked a favor.”

He dug in his coat pocket as he spoke, “Your significant other.. That boy has quite the courage, I’m very impressed. But I’m also extremely happy for you that you have such a boy in your life.”

Finally he produced a mason jar and held it out for Dalamus to take. “He approached me in the Square, shaking like a leaf. Yet he managed to ask me to make this for you. He tells me that he is a healer and yet, obviously afraid of me, asks me to do what he cannot for you. A… precious find of a boy, that is.

“That is a scar softening balm. Apply it twice a day, it’s all food-based materials so your animals licking your face will be fine. If you need more, please don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“I am not even certain he is a cat. More like some small.. furry.. Oblivion-spawn.” Dalamus turned Ragnar to face the back hallway, then lowered him to the ground. As soon as his tiny, outstretched, needle-tipped orange feet touched the floor, he bolted back to the darkness from whence he came. Presumably never to be seen again--until one least expected it. Or food was served.

A favor? The younger vampire straightened, turning his attention back to Thurvayn. He spoke highly of Sinbadaen, and that made Dalamus feel.. all kinds of warm inside. Happy. Proud. But what was it that Sinbadaen felt he could not do for Dalamus?

He peered at the mason jar in awe, taking it as if being handed something precious and fragile. Sinbadaen... He had heard Dalamus lamenting the scars on his own face. That they made him look like Drevain--or so Drevain said, and so Dalamus accepted it as truth. And though the scars did not always bother him, there were times when, suddenly, he wished he could excavate them from his face. And so Sinbadaen, knowing magic to be a great fear for Dalamus, confronted one of his own fears, to ask this favor. 

He was speechless. The only indicator of any emotions were his ears which rose and fell as he processed all the implications. “I.. do not know what to say. Thank you, Thurvayn.”

[aetheriusbound]

[[//songs of 'happy birthday thurvayn' sounding from oblivion]]

(( a;klsjfdagh thankiies ;u; ))