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some-pers0n · 5 months

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Woe, Moon/Turtle writing be upon ye

The sound of talons clicking against the floor scratched against the back of Moon's mind like claws on a chalkboard. All day she had been battling a nasty migraine. She had a night full of visions and prophetic dreams, and the pain of those sights followed her through the morning. She couldn't get up. Her balance was thrown off and she couldn't see straight.

Thankfully, the winglet was understanding. They were getting her homework while she was resting. The very thought of having friends who respected her troubles and worried for her still baffled her, even months after she had joined Jade Mountain Academy.

Still, it wasn't the same to be in the sleeping quarters without anyone else. Kinkajou volunteered to stay back, but perhaps eventually realized that Moon wanted peace and quiet more than anything. Now, hours later, she was lonely. No dragons had stopped by to visit, only trotting along.

Then, she heard something else. Among the soft clattering of claws was a gentle hum. The stream of some dragon's consciousness would typically follow those sounds, but this time it was quiet.

It was one of the winglet. Her winglet.

"Moon?" a familiar voice called to her. "Are you okay?"

She lifted her head from the pillow. "Mhgmh?..." she grumbled, her eyes opening slowly.

"Oh, moons." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"No, no, it's okay," Moon said quietly. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the comforting sight of Turtle.

He was sitting, awkward propped up and picking at the webbing of his talons. Moon's satchel (which she had given to him that morning), was swung around his neck. His smile was warm and friendly, but hesitant. She didn't need to read his thoughts to know that he was terrified of making her migraine any worse.

"Are you okay?" he asked, slowly approaching her. "If not I can just leave and come back–"

"No, I'm fine." She yawned. "I wasn't doing too much. Just resting."

"Oh. Okay." He sat down next to her. "I got you some stuff. I went to the healer's cave and they gave me some herbs to make tea with. I wanted to make it already and give it to you but..." His words trailed off. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'm just happy you thought of me." She slowly sat up. "I could start the fire if that was what you were struggling with."

The corners of Turtle's mouth tightened. "Yeah, that's what it was." He chuckled awkwardly. "Thank you." He reached into the bag, pulling out a bunch of leaves and stems. "Sunny told me that we just need to put this in a pot with some water– which I've got, don't worry– and let it simmer for a bit. Get all of the leaf and herb juices into the water."

He set the ingredients down, digging around the room for a pot. "Ah, there we are!" He held it out proudly. He flinched, startled by his loudness. "Oh, wait, sorry..." His voice returned to that whisper. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'll be fine," he said, "I'm still just...shocked you're doing this all for me."

"Why wouldn't I?" Turtle placed the pot on a rack, positioning it over a tiny fire pit. "You're my friend. You've done a lot for me. It's the least I can do."

"I've done a lot for you?" Moon repeated. "You were the one who showed me those lakes. You helped me a lot when Darkstalker...was gone and everything felt like it was my fault..."

Turtle's gaze softened as he looked at her. "Moon, it's okay. That was a long time ago."

"Not really."

"Sure, maybe, but he's gone; that's all that matters. What matters now is that you feel okay." He poured the water out from a pouch, filling the warped and misshapen pot with it. He sprinkled in the twigs and foliage. "Now, you just need to add the fire," he said as he added some kindling and firewood.

Moon leaned down. Her jaw rested on the floor, eyes fixed on the wood. A tiny plume of smoke came from her mouth as an even smaller spark of fire shot from it, landing on a thin piece of tinder.

Slowly but steadily, it caught aflame. The wood twisted and crackled, spreading until it reached the logs of wood. Within minutes, a warm hearth was formed. Its heat was soothing, almost massaging the aches in her brain. It bathed the cave in a gentle light.

"Now we wait." Turtle sat back. "It takes a while to boil so... Oh!" He reached into the bag once more. "History homework. I told Webs about it. He was nice about it, but then he went on about the nature of mind reading and future sight and how it wears down the dragon and so on." He paused. "He wished you well is all."

"And what's the homework?"

"More of the same. History of the Diamond Spray Delta. This time it's on the Battle of Bleeding Stones." He slipped her two scrolls.

"Oh, that's neat. I'll get to reading that," she said. "What else?"

Turtle clicked his tongue. "Not much else. Except for..." He paused.

"What?"

"Nothing, really." His eyes darted away. "It was a dumb idea."

"Well, you can't just say that without showing it to me then," she snickered. "C'mon, it can't be that bad."

His lip quivered as he looked into the bag. He reached in, dug around, and pulled out a rock. "I found this. It reminded me of you." He placed it next to her.

Moon picked it up. It was smooth, feeling like silk in her talons. It was a dark, ashy grey, with streaks of lighter green flowing through at odd angles. It sparkled in the low firelight. She turned it over and over, taking in the sight of it.

"Wow..." The words fell out of her mouth. "Where did you find this?"

"The lakes. I decided to stop by and look at them for a bit. I saw it and thought of you."

She pressed it to her heart. "Thank you." She smiled.

"You like it?"

"Of course!" She winced. Raising her voice sent another wave of pain through her. She raised the cool stone to her head. "It's really sweet of you. I think I'll keep it with me."

"Really?" Turtle grinned ear to ear.

"You don't usually get these kinds of rocks. Maybe I'll try looking through some old scrolls to see what kind they are. Could tell us more about the history of Jade Mountain. Plus, I don't know, it just feels nice to know you are thinking about me." She shifted her talons slightly closer to him.

"Thank you..." He stammered. "I'm happy that you really like it." His gaze shifted back to the tea. "Oh, right! I should probably get you set up with a cup."

Moon watched him get up and nervously shift through the clutter of pans and what else she and Kinkajou had been procrastinating on cleaning. There was something in the way that he talked. The way that he moved and acted. He was genuine. He was there for her when everyone else left. He was there for her when she was most alone.

Out of all of the dragons she could be around, Turtle was the one she felt most comfortable and safe with. She didn't have to worry about talking too much or too little. She could be herself with him. Perfectly quiet together.

#Backstory for this one is that I wrote it on my break because I thought it'd be fun and I like short half-effort oneshots #I don't like putting 110% into all my writing and just making cute goofy stuff so sue me #sp-writing #wof #turtle wof #moonwatcher wof #moontle #turtlewatcher

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ehlnofay · 1 year

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Summerfest Day 1 - BEAST

Brelyna very seldom invites them into her room, and Efri can kind of see why.

She’s got a nice room. Well, it’s the same room as everyone else, of course, same desk and bed and wardrobe, but it’s decorated very nicely, with a purple bedspread and the nicest little knick-knacks all over, an inky emblem hanging over the worst of the scorch marks on the door. There’s even a rug on the floor so it isn’t freezing to walk on. And the thing is that Efri and Sissel aren’t always the best in nice places.

Tell a lie, actually; Efri isn’t always the best in nice places. Sissel’s as polite as anything – she’s sitting at the desk poring over Brelyna’s papers, while Efri marches in circles over the rug, wetting it with her snow-damp shoes and knocking her stick against the flagstones. It helps her think. It doesn’t help her not knock Brelyna’s nice things off her tables and shelves – which she hasn’t done, not yet, but it’s been a narrow thing.

She’s doing her best not to, but she can never seem to make herself sit still; if she’s moving around on purpose, she’s more aware of what she’s doing than if she’s moving around on accident.

It’s very nice of Brelyna to invite them into her room, when she does it so rarely. Of everyone they’ve made friends with Brelyna seems the least sure of what to make of them. Sometimes Sissel worries that she doesn’t like them, though Efri is pretty confident she does. And now Efri’s pretty sure she’s been proved right – Brelyna’s been spending more time with them lately, and she offered to teach Sissel an easy conjuration spell since she doesn’t know any, and that’s not the behaviour of someone who finds them annoying.

(Truthfully – though Efri doesn’t tell Sissel because she’d just be nervous about it – Efri thinks that Brelyna does find her a bit annoying, sometimes. When she’s loud or disruptive or barges in and interrupts things. But that’s okay; sometimes Brelyna gets tetchy and superior and then Efri gets annoyed at her. Everyone annoys everyone else a bit. And Brelyna never looks annoyed at Sissel, so there’s no reason to fuss.)

Sissel is sitting at the desk, looking over all the notes Brelyna wrote, diagrams and things, or whatever it is they look at to learn spells – Efri tried to look once but she just felt confused. Brelyna is leaning over her chair, pointing to certain bits and pieces and explaining them. (It’s nice of her. Efri knows Sissel learns quicker when she’s just shown the spell – too quick, apparently, the teachers always get surprised about it – but she knows, too, that Sissel likes it when people bother to explain the ins and outs anyway.) Efri is marching a groove into the woven rug, banging out an unsteady beat on the stone floor, half-watching, half-thinking.

(She’s thinking about swords, mostly. In a pretty abstract sense, but also the hypotheticals of learning swordplay from the books in the Arcaeneum. She’d need to learn to read first, of course, and locate a sword, but still, it could be fun. A goal for later down the line.)

(She could find the caravan again. Show Khasir and Taz and J’matha that she doesn’t need to borrow their stupid heavy weaponry anymore, she’s got her own.)

Brelyna finishes her explanation of some symbol or something – Efri wasn’t really listening, because she didn’t really understand it. Sissel nods gravely, then stays with her head bowed, hair parting neatly down the middle of her neck and falling to curtain either side of her face.

After a moment, she says, “Thanks for showing me all this.”

Brelyna stands up straighter, a hand going to pick at the skirt of her robe. “You’re welcome,” she replies, looking a bit self-conscious at the gratitude. “It’s no trouble. Since you said you didn’t know any spells from Conjuration…”

Sissel’s hair ripples, smooth as glacier sheets, as she nods again; she pauses, very suddenly still, as she seems to consider something. “They felt scary,” she admits. “They’re all – dead people and daedra and stuff. But this one is easier.”

Sissel can’t see it from where she sits with her head bent over the reading material on the desk, but Efri, watching them from across the rug, sees the face Brelyna makes at that, like she’s bitten into some sweet thing and found it bitter. It’s a lemon-rind face. Efri tries to catch her eye, but Brelyna is focused on the back of Sissel’s head.

“Sissel,” she says carefully – a half-smile that Efri can’t pinpoint as concerned or amused pulling at the side of her mouth – “you do know that conjured familiars are daedra?”

The fun thing about the College is that they learn something new every day.

“What?” Sissel says, in a very high-pitched almost-whisper, head jerking up. Whispering isn’t a good thing, so Efri crosses the rug in two very long steps to stand at her back.

“But they’re animals,” Efri points out. She doesn’t know very much about magic, but she’s certain she’s not wrong about that.

Brelyna’s still wearing that uncertain little almost-smile in the corners of her lips. “They’re in the forms of animals. But they are daedra.” When Sissel stays still and silent, she adds, “Most summoned things are, in a sense. Even bound weapons, arguably, though there isn’t a lot of academic consensus on what constitutes –”

“A weapon?” Efri asks. “But that’s a thing. It’s not alive.”

“Neither are daedra,” Brelyna says patiently, “at least not the same way that we are.”

Efri is looking up at her face – narrow features and blood-red eyes – so she doesn’t see Sissel move, is startled by the sound of the chair scraping against stone and the way Sissel stands so quickly that she almost headbutts her in the chin. “I don’t –” she starts, stops; voice tremulous, she mumbles, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“No,” Brelyna says, quick and sudden. She looks alarmed, a bit, and very concerned; her brow furrows so it meets in a mess of lines. Sissel’s hand fists in the wool of Efri’s sleeve.

Efri pats her sharp knuckles. “Woah. You’re going to learn to summon daedra,” she says appreciatively. “Like one of those mages from the stories. That’s so cool.”

She’s trying to be relaxed about it, make it fun, but it’s the wrong thing to say; the stories about mages are very rarely nice ones, and the stories about demon-summoners never. “I don’t want to,” Sissel repeats, higher-pitched, frantic. Her nails bite hard into Efri’s wrist through the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” Brelyna says. She looks very sorry. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Efri prises Sissel’s hand away long enough to tangle their fingers together. (Her stick, which she forgot she was holding, clatters loudly to the floor, making all of them jump.) Sissel’s still looking afraid, her eyes blown wide and rimmed with red; Efri squeezes her hand and says, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No-one’s going to make you.”

Brelyna offers hasty assent. “Of course,” she says.

Sissel takes a breath. She squeezes Efri’s hand back. “I don’t want to,” she repeats, less desperate this time. “It’s – isn’t it dangerous?”

Brelyna pauses, seeming to seriously think it over. (Efri likes that about her, that she does that. That she actually thinks and tells them the truth instead of hurried platitudes and trite answers.) Efri takes the moment’s pause to pull Sissel back and sit them both on the bed, her free hand running over the silky purple counterpane.

“Only as much as any magic,” Brelyna answers eventually. Her eyes refocus and she looks at Sissel steadily. “I think I understand your fear. Summoning spells can go very wrong if you don’t know what you’re doing – if you bind it incorrectly or try to do something too advanced for your skill. But that’s a risk with everything. My cousin once miscast an Alteration spell and broke a family heirloom. There was – I knew someone, a while ago, who used fire magic without training and permanently injured her hands.” She’s picking at the uneven skin on her neck. “Magic is always a little dangerous. But as long as you’re clever and careful, you shouldn’t make any mistakes too big to fix.”

Sissel stares at the boot-damp rug. “But it’s daedra,” she says, and Brelyna blinks.

“They’re not –” she begins, trails off; stares distant-eyed at the wall behind them and shakes her head. “Hm. This is very strange for me.”

Efri doesn’t think it’s that strange. Sissel has gotten nervous about much lesser things than the prospect of conjuring extraplanar creatures bound to her will, and no-one’s batted an eye. “Is nobody scared about daedra where you come from?” she asks, because she knows Brelyna comes from a family with a lot of magic and weird things. It seems like a safe bet.

Brelyna’s lips tip up at the edges. “I grew up in Morrowind,” she says, like that’s answer enough. To Sissel, she says, “You don’t need to be afraid. I wouldn’t be trying to help you with this if I didn’t know you can handle it. And as the summoner, you have nothing to worry about, as long as you can do the spell correctly.” She thinks. “And as long as you’re respectful. That never hurts.”

Sissel’s bitten-down nails scrape against the back of Efri’s hand. “I still don’t want to.”

“All right,” Brelyna says. “You don’t have to.”

But she’s looking at them both with her head canted, thoughtful.

Efri asks, “What?”

“I could show you,” Brelyna offers. Her hands are tucked behind her back. “A simple summoning. If you like.”

Sissel tenses. Efri nudges her with her shoulder. (She’s a bit interested in seeing a simple summoning.)

(She’s not sure what kind of summoning counts as simple. Brelyna did say that conjured weapons were kind of daedra – maybe she’ll magic up a carving knife. Even so, it would be cool to see; Efri doesn’t think she’s seen much conjuring spells before. They haven’t often gone to that class.)

The apprehension is writ clear across Sissel’s face – Brelyna presses her lips tight together. “I promise,” she says, “it will be completely safe. You can put up a ward, if you’d feel better that way. Or I could ward you.”

Efri’s stick is still laid out lonely on the rug; she sticks out her leg as far as it will go to try to slide it back over. “And I’d have my stick,” she adds. Brelyna nudges the stick over to her. “I could hit it away if it came close.”

The look Sissel gives her is plagued. She’s visibly struggling not to say that a stick won’t do anything for this, Efri! but Efri can tell that it’s made her feel a bit better even so. After a moment, the look passes and Sissel tilts her head. “You want to see it,” she says.

Efri shrugs. “We don’t have to.”

“No…” Sissel’s face scrunches. “No, we can. If, um,” and she looks back up at Brelyna, “if you can help me ward?”

When Brelyna smiles – a proper smile, with teeth – her gums look very pink. “Of course.”

She does. She steps back, too, to give them room; plenty of space to sit on the bed clutching each other’s hands so tight they’re probably mutually breaking each other’s bones. Sissel casts a shield spell with her free hand (it’s blue and glimmery and makes Efri’s finger fizz when she pokes it) and then Brelyna casts another one, fitting over Sissel’s like a second skin, and then Brelyna takes another step back and gets ready to cast her spell for real.

When Brelyna casts, she looks relaxed, graceful; her movements are tight and elegant and her face is more easy and even than carefully composed. Magic coils plum-purple and slithery around her fingers. Sissel holds Efri’s hand so tight she can feel the knuckles grinding against each other.

With a motion like a serpent darting to snatch something up in its jaws, she lets the spell go.

All of the air is sucked out of the room – no, not out, further in, inhaled to a bright, spiralling point just over the rug. It builds over itself, layer over layer over layer, friction and sparks, and then there’s a crackle and a flash and there’s one of the things – what are they called, Efri knows she’s heard of them, the conjurer’s ice and fire and thunder – roiling in the middle of the room, eddying around itself, made of wind and darkness and the spit of lightning between its joints. The vague shape of its head, turbulent and shadow-eyed, whips around the room and comes to rest on Brelyna, who bows slightly.

She bows to it.

Just slightly.

She rises, face still clear, not smiling, and says a couple quick, low words that Efri can’t make out – they might not be in a language she knows, but the thing is also just very loud. Then – Efri can hear the next bit – she says, “My friends – just here – have never met a daedroth.”

It turns, hollow-eyed and squalling, to face them, and Sissel turns so still she could be a mountain stone. Efri can’t breathe. She regrets, a bit, not taking more of her cues from Sissel’s obvious fear; even through the dim glister of the warding spells she feels so very strongly that this is something that is not safe.

(It is not safe. But being not safe and being dangerous are not entirely the same thing. And danger is good, sometimes; it makes her blood sing.) Brelyna’s summon, maw gaping, gives such an impassionedly beleaguered sigh that the force of it sends something tumbling off a shelf. Efri chokes on a wonderstruck laugh, and Sissel, so startled that her grip on Efri’s hand slackens, laughs too.

#full disclosure this one was written a bit before summerfest... but the prompt made me think of it!!#and I think it's cute and wanted to share!! sue me!!!!#oc tag #efri #skyrim #tesblr #tes #the elder scrolls #my writing #fay writes #tesfest23 #college of winterhold thoughts if you must know #brelyna maryon #sissel #ft. STORM ATRONACH. most important character #and of course. stick

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