#neneldi velvassius

[nulfaga]

aahhh!!! ok… 7, 23 for neneldi, 5, 6 for orpheus, 20, 26 for lavinia and 13, 16 for mr darkworth :]

YES THANK YOU. huge brained question choices <33

here's the prompts

for neneldi:

7: Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

i might say "pragmatic; tangled-up; transgressor (not as in 'an outlaw' but etymologically as one who crosses [a border; a norm; etc], a goer-across)".

she'd say, with no hesitation, "speaker neneldi velvassius". post-brotherhood: "neneldi umayra velvassius".

23: Stability or novelty?

i think she thinks she's looking for stability. in fact she's convinced she's doing everything in her power to secure stability and life just keeps throwing weird curveballs. but in practice she keeps putting herself in volatile situations (ditching her family & signing on with the brotherhood; even falling in with lucien, a disruptive element, the rare recruit who was there absolutely against his will; THEN killing a room full of high brotherhood officials to save lucien; THEN deciding to knock on the door of the champion of cyrodiil for a little walking-around money). you can work backwards and understand the reasoning for each step: the hope for familial stability in the arms of the brotherhood; the hope for relational/romantic stability in picking up w/ lucien who is her oldest most consistent friend in her new life; dashing across cyrodiil to save him in order to preserve that long-standing relationship; but due to bad luck and/or poor judgment it keeps backfiring and wrecking her stability. like every time. (the question arises: isn't she just geared for novelty and in denial about it? you know. maybe.)

for orpheus:

5: Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

only among friends, and only to get on somebody's nerves (ie 15-minute ode to a notoriously self-effacing friend who looks like he wants to drown himself in his tankard the entire time). that's orph's main thing is he's on layer 8 of ironic detachment and would die on contact with a drop of sincerity. (martin is sort of terrifying to him for this reason: he mopes sincerely, he loves sincerely, he gets sincerely angry.)

i think even in a """professional""" setting like, idk. making a pitch why he should be allowed onto the elder council. he might do his best and deliver a rousing speech etc but in his mind he'd be convincing himself it's all a great big gag, that's the only way he can begin to approach it.

rare exception to the rule might be like, the blades hold a little memorial service for martin once they're back at the temple and before all hell breaks loose w/ chroniclers wanting the inside scoop and succession disputes and whatnot. i think (after a lot of prodding by his very good friends) he'll get to his feet...kind of removed from himself, hasn't slept in 72 hours, numb etc etc and he'll say something simple and (to his own ear) kind of dim-witted like "you were with us for a while. you had a good voice. we won't hear it again".

6: Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

respectively: neneldi and jauffre. he's terrible at setting his personal feelings aside in either direction. he is a big ball of feelings. he'll let his impression of someone be colored 90% by pathos and 10% by authority and after that their fate is sealed. jauffre treated him dismissively in the beginning and so orph isn't disposed to listen to anything he says ever again. neneldi on the other hand...well. that's his sister

for lavinia:

20: What do they like that nobody else does?

she has a variety of niche interests. you might even call some of them unbecoming for the (at one time) archmagister of the mages' guild. copperhart thinks of her as a misunderstood genius and will take any opportunity to enable her (bringing round obscure texts he's found on his travels, esp. treatises on magic practices that are stigmatized or out of use). this is why, by the time of her appointment to the archmage's office, she is a part-time necromancer, the proud owner of a talking sword, and the second-ever known practitioner of [redacted] <- keeping that one to myself in the event i do write this fic

26: Talent or effort?

both. her mother's line is full of naturally powerful mages, but none of them have historically been very ambitious. she's the first in a long time to seek out a formal education instead of teaching herself and/or referring to the family lexicon of useful but unrefined spells. it is in fact the rare combination of talent, effort and a deeply unorthodox approach that got her to archmage.

for the shrimpy wizard (aka mr. p. copperhart darkworth of wayrest!):

13: Name one thing their parents taught them.

copperhart is the son of lord darkworth of wayrest and [redacted], who promptly disappeared again, returning every five or ten years or so just to check in on the strange child she made. she didn't contribute much to his upbringing except to give him his first name, prochorus. on the other hand, lord darkworth—who had no plans for children and was perfectly content to remain a bachelor—became a dedicated father in very short order. as for what he taught his son: everything he possibly could. notably that his father loved him. and not to wear clashing patterns together. copperhart has taken ONE of these lessons to heart.

16: If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

as hinted above money isn't a limit. he's the spoiled little oopy schmoopy apple of his father's eye and he wears whatever horrid and beautiful ensembles he can convince a self-respecting tailor to make. the exception is when he's undercover for spy work and has to tone it down severely. jury's out on what he does with his hair but probably a temporary spell. i don't think he could stomach dyeing it

[nulfaga]

as long as i‘m posting abt her. Speaker Neneldi Velvassius of the Dark Brotherhood 🖤

[nulfaga]

They draw up in less than an hour to the monumental gates of Cloud Ruler Temple. Arquen's horse, a dappled old complainer, snorts and bows his head.

"Well, Speaker?" asks Neneldi. "This is our last chance to turn around."

"Dearest," says Lucien. "Speaker." He's found the energy not only to sit up straight, but also to be incredulous. "Turn around and what? We push east through the Jeralls by ourselves? Not even Shadowmere could manage that, let alone monseigneur here."

(Six months after the Oblivion Crisis, the Champion of Cyrodiil's long-lost sister makes her reappearance: she has a hell of a favor to ask.)

done with this at last! hopefully it coheres <3

[nulfaga]

putting in details that no one will notice or care abt but *i* care and that's what matters. anyway neneldi's anvil dialect gets kind of poked out of hibernation after [redacted] so she starts to swear on mara again and uses the phrase "keel over" and describes a crooked object as "listing", both nautical terms you wouldn't hear off the coast (so anvil and occasionally kvatch). Also lucien very rarely uses contractions when speaking in cyrodilic but in bretic he's more laid back...less liturgical

[nulfaga]

LITERALLY the only dialogue i can post w/ no spoilers but. they're so funny. neneldi is like woe is me how can you ever forgive me for getting us booted out of the dbh (because i killed several speakers in the process of saving you)....we might as well be dead....sithis will haunt us forevermore...

& lucien, despite his busted knee, is just thrilled that not only does he have a carte blanche to reimagine his life, but his stoic, unaffectionate partner apparently loves him enough to slaughter a roomful of people on his behalf (and upend her own comfortable life with the dbh!)

[nulfaga]

i would love some food (fun facts) about miss neneldi if you feel like sharing. i like her *holds my hands out like a poor orphan beggar*

Omg hiiiiii. ABSOLUTELY it would be my pleasure <3

Im terrible at itemized lists so for the record, this will devolve very quickly <3

so i created neneldi way later than orph, he dates back to like 2016ish and then around 2018 i was like how fun would it be if he just had an evil twin. Except the evil twin is actually talented and successful. And HER hubby gets to live. Anyway things have gotten more nuanced since then (orph's situation has gotten better and neneldi's situation is definitely not all sunshine & roses) but that's the germ of it

the reason i paired her with lucien at the start was 10000% spite. I was like yes i see all your willowy delicately unhinged (usually much younger) whitewoman listeners and i raise you a fat brown gnc woman whose loose screws are extremely not cute. (i was also very intentional abt not having her do the canon oblivion dbh questline—swerving around that weird teacher/student dynamic; she's an established speaker who came up in the brotherhood at the same time as him. that was all very much intentional.)

Anyway then i actually started thinking seriously abt what would be necessary for them to make an interesting couple (what shared history/backstory, and also how to flesh out luciens personality to complement hers. Or clash horrendously w/ hers. or both.)

Wait hold that thought. this has all been meta, let me actually say something abt miss neneldi herself. She grew up in a household where she was very much the black sheep...like her mother, father and brother are all just hearts on legs. Like super empathetic and emotional and warm and sensitive....i see neneldi as autistic so growing up in that environment was like—she was very much loved but her needs were not met at ALL.

Like case in point: she and Orpheus grew up (ages 5-14) in the imperial court and since their dad Talin was the eternal champion, there were always guests or chroniclers or Talins interregnum-era friends visiting from the other side of fucking tamriel. Or it's private tutors or extracurriculars or some other nonsense, like 24/7. And neneldi, who in her very early years was a perfectly calm (if not bubbly) child, begins to be constantly irritable and reclusive. Her parents tease her abt it, very gently, and ofc they love her regardless, but don't realize that the "irritability" is the sign of a child who's overwhelmed all the gd time like all the time. sensory wise, socially, emotionally.

the family moves out to anvil around 3E 409 (when the twins are 14), and things are slightly quieter, but the damage is pretty much done. As in. Neneldi has internalized the message of "im doomed to feel like shit all the time and my family either doesn't notice or won't help me" and her parents have settled into the mindset of "something's vaguely wrong with our daughter but we still love her very much" and orpheus has concluded "my sister is really mean."

so it's mostly this state of mind that defines the rest of her life (at least so far, i don't really know what all happens after like 4E 1). even once she begins to recognize and manage the things that set her off, and she has all the calm and quiet she could want, getting her to ask for help or explain what's upsetting her is like pulling teeth—bc she will have decided ahead of time that no one else is going to get it/be able to help, why waste her breath etc etc. it makes her tremendously self-sufficient but it also makes her very hard to get close to.

The way she joins up with the dbh—at sixteen—is very calculated but also an extremely teenagerish impulse. she'd taken an interest in alchemy from the age of like. twelve. so once in anvil she's constantly workshopping formulas, poisoning stray animals and the like—she has no friends in anvil (due to her "meanness" and poor social skills) and a beautiful supply line of obscure books from the imperial city. So she starts reading up on the dbh like really reading up, fictionalized dramas about sexy assassin guilds but also (alleged) accounts from anonymous members, even a copy of the dbh charter, five tenets and all. and there's like this constant undercurrent of FAMILY. looking at the world in a profoundly different way etc etc. And her in the throes of "my terrible life is forever no one loves me" and all that, just kind of books an inn in the next town over, poisons somebody (never really hashed out who or how. i used to be very fixated on making her likeable and justifying all her actions but nah i think she fully just picks a random target.) and goes to sleep in her best dress. and the rest is history lmao

she and lucien actually bicker a LOT about execution methods—which is funny, because while she's the one who joined voluntarily (his brush with the dbh was. entirely accidental), she has a loooot of scruples abt keeping her hands clean, everything going according to a strict plan etc etc. Meanwhile he's a fuckin silence of the lambs adrenaline junkie like yes vivisection yes dismemberment. Make a statement. He's not happy unless he's caught on the 18th floor of a legion watchtower, going toe to toe with an armored guardsman while wielding a shitty little beltknife and then risking everything to stay and prop up the dude's body in an appropriately ironic position. Bloody handprint mark of sithis etc etc. Style. Neneldi thinks he's out of his fucking mind (and he feels the same way abt her. love wins)

What else. Miss neneldi exists at a delicate intersection of asceticism and frou-frou. Like she takes no joy in cooking for herself and basically lives on cold water, cigarettes and black coffee. and as mentioned she's a very minimalist assassin. However. She absolutely hates the cold dank pits that the dbh seems to be obsessed with, she is always the first person to board over the walls with antique rosewood and install a useless hearth with no chimney that can only take magefire. Put up crushed velvet drapes that cannot possibly lead to a window. Etc.

ok I'm gonna leave it here for now because again bulleted lists very quickly slip from my hands but if there's anything else u want to know...;)

[nulfaga]

Neneldi has a yoku accent. Orph had lost most of his yoku by the time he was 16 but he still loves to hear the sailors from hammerfell talk among themselves </3

[nulfaga]

Godbdjvndkfb its killing me how much more work i have to do to make the lucien/neneldi fic readable. I just love them and want it to be written </3

[nulfaga]

Well it took like 2 straight days of thanking her but they've figured it out

[nulfaga]

btw.

[nulfaga]

For wip wthursday tagged by @bigcheezey <33 there's a part literally 2 lines after this that's SO much better but im trying at least a little to watch for spoilers -_-

can't think who to tag sorry but if you see this and want 2 share some writing plsss do!!

[nulfaga]

as long as I'm throwing these up here.... this one was a wash but as like a bunch of vibe fragments floating in the ether its still fun to work thru their dynamic </3 (this is like post-purification of the cheydinhal sanctuary)

[nulfaga]

anyways i had to find a yoku translation for “i love you” and i came up with “dua mangai sen” which (and this is, for once, fully supported by the conlang resources!) literally means “you are my life”

[nulfaga]

C17?

C17: "Can you see me?"

The Nightside Asylum is a miserable pit. Above, Betony City—a lovely, lively maze of markets and music halls. Down here, a foul, dark, ugly, draughty pit. 

And Lucien is a prisoner, at least until he gives up his fight. . .or until he decides to sink his teeth into one of those poisoned apples Night Mother Dulrani loves so much. The option is there. She doesn't lock them away.

Sylvie is in his mind again, sitting in a high windowsill, kicking her slender legs. 

But now is not the time. 

Betony City is on an island, and the Asylum is underground—that means that if he can get past the walls of the Asylum, he might end up in a sewer, and then in the sea. 

This was the thought in his head when he crept into Night Mother Dulrani's private study. When he sat, motionless, for hours, while she filed reports and painted her lips in a hand mirror. 

And now that she is finally gone, Lucien stands up, biting his lip while the feeling rushes back into his legs. He searches the back wall with his hands—surely the Night Mother has an emergency exit, or a tunnel, or— 

The door rattles, and Lucien freezes. This is his last moment on Nirn. Dulrani is going to cut his throat and save the blood for her ink—she'll sever his finger for a quill—or whatever other disgusting thing these wretches will invent— 

It's not the Night Mother who steps inside. No one steps inside, precisely, but someone is there. 

"Can you see me?" comes the voice of a girl. 

Lucien squints. He can't see her. He can see a person-shaped wave in the air, warping the light around it. But he has no words for that in his shaky Cyrodilic, so he says: "Yes. A little." 

She sighs and uncloaks herself, and he knows her. One of the young recruits of the Dark Brotherhood. A strange girl, an Imperial, small and pudgy, who never smiles and never accepts a drink. 

"You have a big problem," she informs him, coldly. 

"Leave me," snaps Lucien. "Leave me, or I'll kill you." 

That makes her grin—a deeply unsettling, hostile smile full of white unbroken teeth. A rich girl, then. "No, you won't," she says. "That's the problem, isn't it?" 

"Leave me. Why are you here." He means this as go away. "The Mother will punish you." 

"I don't think she will. She's the one who showed me the spell for locks," says the girl, giving him the smug look of a child who has never once been beaten. 

"You're trying to escape again?" 

"Leave me." 

The girl shrugs. "Go, if you want. But you know Sithis doesn't make mistakes." 

A lump of terrified tears rises in his throat. Lucien turns away. "Why are you here?" 

"I want to play Dulrani's harp," she answers, motioning at the centerpiece of the room: a big, beautiful mahogany harp with dyed strings. Tone of ge, deep red. "So get out, if you're going."

 "Sithis. . ." He can't stop his voice from trembling. But he won't cry, not where this dead-eyed girl can see. "Sithis will find me, if I go?" 

"Always does." The girl shrugs. Apparently bored with him, she sits down on the polished leather stool and plucks a few strings on the harp. 

"What's your name?" he asks her. 

"Neneldi Velvassius," she says, without lifting her head. "And you're La Chance of the House of Reveries." 

"My name is Lucien." 

She shrugs again, striking each red string, octave by octave. "I think it was a good job. Both of them." 

"Accidents," he spits—in Bretic, but she nods as if she'd understood. 

"I believe you believe that," says Neneldi. "Did the girl really fall from the White-Gold Tower?" 

Yes, he thinks. Yes, she did. Yes, Sylvie had overbalanced when he'd shoved her. Yes, she had flapped her arms, like a comic actor, had toppled in dead silence—and yes, they had found her all along the Green Emperor Way. 

Neneldi picks a low, booming chord. 

"How old are you?" he asks. His voice is still a little choked. 

"Longer than you." 

"Seventeen," she says.

Seventeen. Already looking at the world with the pitiless eyes of a slaughterfish. "You've been here for. . .long time?" 

"And. . .Sithis f—" 

"It was my choice. La Chance." 

"Lucien." 

"Lucien," she allows. "I think you're too old to be whimpering." 

Wounded, he rubs at his cheek—thick, grating, week-old stubble, the kind he hates most. "Play something." 

She looks up, but she doesn't speak. Instead, she plays a few gentle arpeggios—beginning on the highest strings, then down, and down, and down. Skipping the fifths.

"Ah!" he says, despite himself, when he's placed the song. "Des vents—the—the Wind from Stros M'Kai?" 

Neneldi says nothing. She's a good player—accurate, and expressive. Her nails are well-kept; she must not kill with her hands.

She starts to sing in her clear, cutting voice. Lucien opens his mouth, too, but it isn’t the version he knows. It isn’t even Bretic.

Sometimes they would have him in the dance troupe for this one. Streamers on the sleeves, the silky Yokudan breeze. Sylvie on the dulcimer.

The music stops. He opens his eyes.

“This is no fun with you staring after me,” grumbles the girl, standing up.

“No,” he pleads. “Play. I don’t. . .I won’t stare.” Then Dulrani’s dresser catches his eye, and a mad idea strikes him. “I can show you the dance.”

Neneldi lifts her green eyes and frowns very deeply at him. Finally she curls her fist and charms the harp, so that it plays of its own accord: the same eight bars, again and again.

When Dulrani finds them an hour later, Lucien and the girl are mincing about the room in streamers cut from the Night Mother’s spare robes—and more shockingly, Neneldi is laughing.

She goes very quiet, though, when the Night Mother clears her throat. The harp strikes a sour note.

“So I see you’ve had some use out of that lockpicking spell, sweetest,” says Dulrani. 

“Yes,” says Neneldi meekly.

“And you, Mr. Laforte?”

Lucien squares his shoulders. This was a good use of his final hour of life, to dance again, and to see that cold girl smile as if she meant it. “I was trying to—” To escape? “To go out. To the sea.”

“And you decided against it,” concludes the Night Mother, reaching out and tugging on one of his streamers. Her face is not as steely as usual. In fact, she seems to be enjoying the situation tremendously. “I see.” 

She sits down at her desk and picks up her paperwork again, silently dismissing them.

“But—” Where is the dagger-point in his neck? Why is he alive? Is she planning something even more horrible for later? “But—”

“Go,” urges Neneldi, manhandling him out the door. “Before she changes her mind.”

“Am I safe?” he demands, when they’re out in the hall.

She glances in his direction and flushes. “Yes. Bye.”

He watches her disappear down the corridor into what he thinks is the alchemy lab, struggling to untie the first streamer from her wrist.

[nulfaga]

ms. neneldi....assassin extraordinaire

[nulfaga]

MAN um i have to draw nene and lucien in matching robes like these