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goopysoup · 1 month ago

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..someone will ache for your soul..

In which you find your soulmate

featuring: farkas, vilkas, mercer frey, brynjolf, cicero, ancano, serana

[all are gender neutral, but there is a mention of being called ‘pretty’] [this took me almost three hours 💀 I don’t like most of them:(]

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farkas

He could smell them from a mile away.

That’s weird, let’s start again, shall we? Farkas swung his sword at the giant, fighting the urge to turn and run towards the sweet smell approaching. The beast inside him begged— pleaded— for him to go and engulf himself inside that smell, to cover himself in it, whatever it was.

That’s when he saw them. They aimed a bow, a steel arrow shooting through the air and into the giants eye, making it roar out before Aela ultimately got the last hit and killed the giant on the farm. Farkas couldn’t keep his eyes off them, the smell was coming from them. He watched as Aela spoke to them, not even registering what she was saying as he watched this person— the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

Later, he’d seen them at Jorrvaskr, watching them enter and sneak downstairs. Were they joining?

“Farkas!” He’d heard Skjor’s voice shout from Aela’s room, “did you call me?” He asks as he smells that sweet smell again, his eyes locking on theirs. He barely heard what Aela was saying to him, “uh— new blood? Oh, hello. I’m Farkas. Come, follow me.”

He’d spoken to Kodlak later that night, asking him what in oblivion that sweet smell coming from them was and why was it just coming from them?

Kodlak laughs, forgetting that Farkas could be a bit dense at times, “she’s your mate,” he says as he pats him on the back a little harshly, “your soulmate, in other words.”

His soulmate..

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vilkas

He’d had their stupid name imprinted on his wrist since he was just a pup, a name he’d never heard of in all his years. Vilkas had begun to doubt that his soulmate even lived in Tamriel, in Skyrim, how unlucky was he? First, his lycanthropy, now his soulmate was nowhere to be seen? Nobody knew of someone with such a name?

It was a normal day as any, Vilkas sat at the small table with Kodlak, the two of them wondering if there truly would ever be a way for them to be rid of the beast. The beat haunted Kodlak, he knew that, the old man wanted to get into Sovngarde as any true nord would. But the beast prevented that, he would end up in Hircine’s land hunting for the rest of eternity.

It wasn’t long before an unfamiliar person walked into the halls of Jorrvaskr, heading down towards the two men. Their conversation was cut short, “I’d like to join the companions,” their voice was nice, I stark contrast to the armour and weapons they had on their body.

“Would you, now? Here, let me have a look at you? Hmm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.” Kodlak spoke, making Vilkas furrow his eyebrows.

“Master, you’re not truly considering accepting them?” He asks, making Kodlak give him a subtly pointed look, explaining they had empty beds for people with a fire in their hearts, “Apologies. But, perhaps this isn’t the time. I’ve never even heard of this outsider.”

The person sheepishly looks to Vilkas before they state their name. He freezes for a moment before he looks at them, Kodlak letting out a hearty laugh, making the person look at him with confusion.

“Vilkas, take them out to the yard and see what they can do.” Kodlak says before the person looks between Vilkas and Kodlak for a moment.

Oh gods..

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mercer frey

He’d known they were his soulmate from the moment he’d met them. Mercer saw the tattoo imprinted onto their forearm before they pulled their sleeve back down, he wasn’t stupid. But he’d never said anything, never gave them the hint he wanted them as much as they wanted him, not with the plans he had against the guild.

He’d let his guard down, it was so unlike him to bring any of his walls down but they made him. It was their fault, wasn’t it? He reaches over, his hand brushing against their cheek as they both stood outside in the backyard of his home, concealed under the stars, slone with no one watching them.

“I know,” they say suddenly, he furrows his eyebrows, “know what?” He asks in return, slipping his hand down to their neck, cradling it. He could choke them and end the misery of having him as their soulmate.

The grasp his wrist, carefully sliding down his sleeve to show the matching tattoo. His face hardens, pulling away as he covers the tattoo with his sleeve again, “it means nothing.”

He didn’t entirely mean those words, he yearned for them in secret, but he wouldn’t let his walls come down again. They didn’t need to get involved in his dirty work, he didn’t even want them in the guild anymore. It was to protect them.

“Leave, don’t come back, you understand?”

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brynjolf

The Dragonborn walks into Riften for the first time, almost laughing at how scared the guard outside had been when he realised they knew there was no tax. They make their was through the town, they liked the atmosphere even if they couldn’t see the colour of anything, it was better than dealing with the whole Alduin thing, anyways.

“Never done an honest day’s work in your life for all that coin you’re carrying, eh?” Brynjolf’s voice sounds out quietly as he approaches the famous Dragonborn. Who didn’t know of them, being clad in such armour and that weapon? They didn’t hide it.

“I’m sorry, what?” They ask, looking up at the man before a myriad of colours struck their vision within seconds, overwhelming them. Their head ached at the sight before they finally got used to it and looked around, not noticing the look that Brynjolf was giving them, admiring.

“I’m saying you’ve got the coin, love, but you didn’t earn a septim of it honestly, I can tell,” Brynjolf says once their eyes move back to him, crossing his arms with an expression that matches flirtation.

“How could you possibly know that?” The Dragonborn asks, almost bewildered as they finally get a good look of him, he was handsome, effortlessly charming. It was almost.. irritating? No, that’s not the word, “wait— my wealth is none of your business.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, love. Wealth is my business. Maybe you’d like a taste?” They’d gone through with the plan, stealing what’s-his-face’s ring and planting it on the other who’s-his-name successfully.

“Looks like I chose the right person for the job. And here you go.. your payment, as promised,” Brynjolf hands them the payment he’d promised his soulmate. He couldn’t wait to get them into the guild, to live a life with them— even if the life was illegal.

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cicero

Poor Cicero hadn’t even gotten the chance to speak to the pretty assassin that had walked into the sanctuary the day he’d brought his dear mother. Sweet, sweet Night Mother. He was such a good Keeper, wasn’t he? Why wouldn’t she just speak to him! No, he must be calm, that’s what sweet mother would want, isn’t it?

He spoke to the Night Mother now, they were alone, sweet solitude with the sweet Night Mother, “Have you.. have you spoken to anyone? No.. no, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and the saying!” He continued for a while, rambling to the mother.

Suddenly, he opens her coffin, gasping with confusing and repulse. Here, the pretty assassin was in the coffin with the Night Mother!

“What? What treachery! Defiler! Debased and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother’s coffin! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!”

The pretty assassin’s eyes seemed to widen at his words, he couldn’t tell if it was because of his words or tone, but he didn’t care, “The Night Mother spoke to me! She said, ‘I am the one.’” Now, it was Cicero’s turn to widen his eyes. Those words! The words! His words! The ones on his arm, the ones his soulmate would say! His Listener!

Good luck with this one, dear Listener..

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ancano

Ancano had noticed them as soon as they’d walked through those gates. Another new apprentice, how bothersome. Still, he continued his conversation with Mirabelle, quickly growing more irritated by the treatment she was giving him.

The new apprentice was guided away by Mirabelle, leaving Ancano to his thoughts. It was odd, he felt drawn to them, though he didn’t know nor care why. He had business to attend to.

The apprentice was in the Hall of Elements with Tolfdir, the two of them watching the mysterious orb they’d found in Saarthal. Clearly, this mage was more troublesome than Ancano had thought. The Psijic Order was asking for them. So, Ancano had inturruped the two of them, gaining a temper tantrum from Tolfdir. It was only when they were alone that the elf had noticed a familiar scratch on the side of the apprentice’s neck- one that matched the one that had appeared on his not but a few hours before.

Gods be damned, this apprentice was his soulmate, “I need you to come with me immediately. Let’s go.”

For now, he wouldn’t say anything about it, this apprentice seemed to be too oblivious. Or, at least, that’s what they pretended to be with that stupid little smile on their lips.

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serana

Being trapped in a tomb for gods know how long wasn’t something Serana entirely enjoyed. I mean, who would? It was dark and cold, dreary and cramped, far too undeserving of even a vampire such as her. She just had to remember, she was doing this for her father and he would come back for her, right?

She hadn’t woken up until she was almost fallen on the floor, but her quick instincts helped her to keep balance. She was free, her father had come back..—

Glancing up, she noticed a person standing there watching with a small amused smile, obviously the one that had rescued her from the dreary space she was just in, obviously not a vampire. Obviously not her father. She was sure her father would’ve come to get his daughter, so who was this? Though, as their eyes met, a shockwave shot through her, the feeling of being alive again was strong, flooding her veins and undead heart. This was her soulmate, she’d waiting thousands of years for this, but why was she so reluctant now? Reluctant to go with them- to trust them, but a part deep inside her knew this was right, she could get used to it. She could get used to them.

“Who are you?” Serana asks, finally having gained her composure. She looks this person up and down, analysing anything and everything she can see. It was clear they were a vampire hunter. Great.

“Who were you expecting?” They ask, almost amused as they watch the pretty vampire, crossing their arms in a similar way Serana was.

“Not my soulmate, that’s for sure.”

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sigmaelxgr · 2 years ago

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"I remember the time I used to be in the Mage Guild. We were young and naive, both fascinated and repulsed by the great elves that, with many disgust, granted us lessons. Auridion was full of those "Altmers". We shared the same traits except our skin; their is from an immaculate gold I used to be jealous of. How can you be so tall your own body becomes one with Magnus..? Envy, because we were so dark, so coal, we only were made of soil and ashes. At least, our eyes were like stars in the deepest blackened sky. We followed one of our favorite Altmers all around Auridion; Cyriel. He used to be our beacon in those troubled periods...

Yet, as I grew up, I discovered ourself to be gifted enough to concern those Altmers. Cyriel, who was as sunlike as we were still storm incarnate, used to carefully manage us - worried about ideas he made himself regarding our nascent aptitudes, he wanted to bridle them "to preserve us". He was deeply concerned about what was coming from Oblivion, as many of his kind usually are, but his first reaction has been to try in vain to shift our interest towards something else to study; Alchemy.

And you know what..?

The more he cancelled my lessons, the bitter I grew. I wanted more, because I knew that I could do more and was so eager to get at least the slightlest of recognition from the golden elves that I became elusive once again. I fled other Mages like their opinion became a jail then left the Guild when I understood that they could not and would not take a moment to listen to the painful babblings of an uncivilized ashlander like me (I barely knew how to write at the time). They had no hope for me, for I was not capable to speak a decent Tamrielic. They maybe thought I'd be the stupiddiest s'wit they would ever take advantage of. They, even, were not expecting me to become someone more than just an assistant. Assistant is the Altmeri polite way to call a pet, whose social ascension is but impossible. And, years before the Aldmeri Dominion forced the Altmers to express their disgust for lower races in private, we became to their eyes even worst than a rat. Nebarra is the equivalent of N'wah, including the slave aspect; because only were given to us the tasks no other people would have accepted.

When I got in touch with what will become our next guild, years later, I acknowledged how much the Mages had restreigned me to forms of teachings that were not absolute. Whole parts of our understanding of the Mundus and further were severed. The nature of godhood. The truth behind myths. The blood of Nirn. They did not tell me about the Flesh. They did not tell me about the Breath, about the Bone, that will become my specialty. They hid those unwanted subjects and researches behind a convenient veil of both silence and disdain. They did what they could to never make of me something else than an alchemist, only good at harvesting and purchasing powders, salts and mushrooms (because Altmers thought our Dunmeri features made us capable to detect fungii), whereas, within the Worm I used to visit from time to time, I was just about to become a promising Conjurator. The Mages astreigned me so much that this single shred of acknowledgement in my researches unleashed my frustration and precipitated me into what you would smugly call desastrous decisions without even having the slightest idea of what you are talking about.

This is why, with all due respect I today may have for you as the sorcerer I became, Archmagister, you should think twice before censoring whole aspects of Magic. You create your own enemy doing so.

The Worm Cult alone is the only place you could really meet interesting individuals, where books were in fact secured and preserved even when their content was not appropriated with traditional religions (it is my role), real places with scholars entertwined in the same hunger for science and truth, pushing themselves forward again and again... Yes, we practiced necromancy. But how many discoveries could change surgery for ever into safest options and better understanding of flesh and bodies without the Worm to initiate the movement? How many of our newcomers emerged from your Guild and only expected support and companionship before you expelled them into our arms, like you did for me when I was still, to your opinion, barely able to babble correctly and so, I guess, vaguely sentient? How many despaired souls just wanted to feel relieved and became outcast because of how strictly you bend them in a new shape, that suited better your own culture? You, too, have comitted many sins. Do never forget them.

I have the gut-feeling that our dearest King may have taught you this lesson already. Don't try to trap minds you can barely reach...

Once yours, back then, - Xangr"

Do you think it would be possible at all for someone to attempt at changing your views on what could be considered necromancy (it's just a form of restoration honestly. Just a little bit... late?). Because I look up to you I really do (I suppose considering the time period it would make sense you would have your reservations) BUT if one makes a mutually beneficial agreement with the deceased it couldn't be all that bad! Ethically sourced necromancy is possible! Not all necromancers are evil!

Absolutely not!

There is, without a doubt, no such thing as “ethical necromancy”! Not only that, but to relate such a vile and twisted study to the arcane art of restoration is an appalling sentiment to be sure! There is nothing similar between healing one who is injured, and wrenching a soul from its body, in order to raise its mindless, deceased corpse under your own control!

I once had an old Psijic peer of mine attempt to argue for so-called “ethical necromancy”, as well. She believed that if a necromancer only used previously deceased bodies, it wasn’t doing any harm! She forgot to take into account the ethical boundaries that would need to be crossed in order to even attempt to desecrate a grave or tomb! Do the dead not have the right to their rest, after they have gone? What about the families of those deceased? I, for one, know full well what it is like to see one close to you risen as a shambling, rotting thrall, their lifeless eyes glazed over and their skin like leather. There was nothing ethical about it.

Or perhaps we should speak on her sigil geodes, instead! Modified soul gems that were created specifically to trap a soul for a short period of time, so that one may speak to it after death. What she regrets to mention is just how traumatic soul trapping is for its victim— and yes, they are victims— no matter what method is used. These souls must be torn from their newly-deceased bodies, must be confined in a miniscule crystal prison, inside which has been stated by released souls to be “worse than Oblivion”.

While not every man or mer that practices necromancy may be doing so for the sake of “evil”, death magic is a slippery slope into madness. The study corrupts your mind, winds its putrid tendrils around your very thoughts and constricts until you are suffocated, until there is nothing left of you but a husk of your former self. There is no way to practice “ethical” necromancy, or “safe” necromancy, or anything of the sort.

Leave the dead to their rest. Study something else.

#tes #vanus galerion #worm cult #mage guild #roleplay #mannimarco #rp #oc #sigma-el sangre #sangre #xangr #sigma el #tesblr

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