spicykvnt

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Brother

featuring @Greenie

Gilane Prison, Alik’r Desert
Later evening, 15th of Midyear, 4E208

---

“This creed of the desert seemed inexpressible in words, and indeed in thought.”

In the vast and barren wilderness of the Alik’r - the ocean of sand, there is a treasure in the dunes and rock. The form almost as black as the velvet night sky when the sun is sleeping, so much so that it could blend entirely into it. Endless beauty below, endless beauty above, a purgatory dead centre. The structure only visible as beams of lunar light illuminate the alloys that line the walls, towers, and gates. Flecks of ancient gilded metal dusted by shifting sands over eons to nothing but burnt copper. A forgotten jewel, being lost to the sands - then found again as the winds carry and move the dunes without end in continuous riptides.

The halls, once cavernous and desolate, now alive with thrumming machinations. Pipes of golden alloy lining the walls of the labyrinthine prison, a torturous maze deliberately built this way, and painstakingly architectured by minds so far beyond the intelligence of regular men. Rows and rows of cells, windowed for the sun to bleed through and scorch the floors and walls. But below, in the belly of the beast lies a corridor where the light is forbidden from touching an inch… Nothing but darkness, and a cold chill that rushes through like a rattlesnake.

And yet, light flickers - flames of rebellion spark…

---

“And so then, off I went to find out where this shiny necklace was - I heard it belonged to some Mystic Priestess or something, but anyway I really wanted it. Worth a few pieces of gold you know?” The voice was a clear chord in the dark, empty cells of the deepest locations of the prison. ‘Death Row’, was what the inmates called it. Because once you were tossed down here, you’d never see the sun again, the cold musty air would be the last thing that touched your lungs during your final breath.

That wasn’t shaking the spirit of the Nord sat against the wall of his cell, however. With one leg stretched out, and the other drawn at an angle with his knee pointed to the ceiling, he gave a grin of sorts. “So I took a trip down that burrow, a couple of my friends at my back - those were the days, when you could pick up a few stragglers and make a real go of it in the wilderness you know?” He sighed melancholically for a brief and fleeting moment before his blue eyes lit up again. He ran a hand through his beard. “This is getting a bit long too, I could braid it and knot it with a bead… Not sure I like it, nor the hair.” He tugged at the longest lengths of the sandy brown beard, it must have been an inch long from his chin now. A reminder of how long he’d been in the cells. “Not sure I like these new scars either but I heard ladies like a rugged looking man, so I’ll learn to live with it for their sake, hey?”

“So, how long you been down here? Looks like it might have been a while, looks almost like you ain't been getting enough food either. What’s your name? You look like an Eduardo. I’m going to call you Eduardo.” He turned his head to look over at his cellmate, and moved his arm over to give him a friendly slap.

The skeletal corpse of the goblin named ‘Eduardo’ did not respond.

Fjolte Dhjarikson stretched with a long sigh, tucking his hands behind his head with his elbows sticking out either side, resting back against the wall.

“Been down here in this prison, for a little while now,” he began to sing in a loud, and confident voice. The Nord was a lot of things, a good singer was not one of them, and yet he continued on regardless;

“I wish I could get out soon, it’s starting to smell down here.” The words came out in a bland melody that he had made up on the spot, “Eduardo misses his wiiiiiiiiiiiife,” the note was high and shrill at the end, so shrill in fact that from down the hallway someone finally took Fjolte’s bait. “Will you shut yer bleedin’ ole fer once! I’ve gorra ‘eadache and no fuckin’ rope to hang myself with to escape ya!”

It was an old, crotchety Nord man that Fjolte had seen a few times during his time on the row. The man could probably stand to lighten up, except for the fact that he had no legs to stand on. He sighed and ceased his song for once, a grin returning, it was all he could do to keep his chin up and his spirit from sinking to the gutter.

There was a war outside. A war that Fjolte could be helping with and yet he was stuck in this oversized cage. His eyes closed and he pictured the wilderness of Skyrim in his mind and smiled, opting to hum to himself for a while instead. Maybe No-Legs deserved a break after all...

His blue eyes shot open and his humming abruptly stopped, boredom setting in once more. “Ahh Eddie my man, my friend. We’ll be out of here soon, you’ll be back with your wife before you know it.” He gave ‘Eduardo’ a nudge with his elbow, which only caused the skeleton to fall from his posed sitting position - the bones so brittle and dry now that his skull separated from the spine and rolled along the floor. “Oops,” he said with an expression that bordered between impishness and guilt. He would have to find a new friend now, and so he scooted enthusiastically on his ass to the other side of his cell. “Yo, yo! Anyone in there?” Fjolte called out to the shadowy cell beside him.

"That would be me," came a quiet voice. There was the sound of shuffling, and when the voice spoke once more, it was louder and clearer, though still relatively quiet compared to Fjolte's. "Been here..." There was a pause that lasted a few seconds before the male spoke once more. "... probably a month? It's hard to keep track of time in here."

The owner of the voice, Bakih Al Nahel, sighed as he leaned back against a dank wall, hand reaching out to lightly flick at the bars of the cell. While he was still tall and wiry, one look at the man showed he was going through hard times. His hair was more a dusty brown than its usual auburn, his clothes were torn and dirty and probably would be better off burned far away from any living person. His eyes, once vibrant were dull and heavy lidded, as if simply waiting for the end.

The Nord man's voice lifted some of the fog, however. He had heard this man for a few days now, and it never failed to impress him how... positive he seemed. Was it a Nord thing? He remembered Ursa and Floki being ridiculous like that as well, causing his sister's crew to laugh and scoff and the same time. Who even knew?

"I'm Bakih," he finally added, deciding it wouldn't be a bad thing to talk to a friendly voice before he met whatever end the dwemer had in store for him.

“Bakih, huh? Well that’s a Redguard name if I’ve ever heard one!” Fjolte smiled, flashing his teeth as if by smiling he could crack the walls between them and get a glimpse at his new friend. He was a handsome man, with strong Nord features - a chiselled jawline, strong nose, and broad shoulders. He was as solid as a rock, but his blue eyes were just soft. Soft and enchanting. “Shame we had to meet in here, eh? I bet you can knock back an ale with the best of ‘em!” He laughed from his chest, filling the cold of his cage with warmth. “What say when we get out of here, we go grab one or two, you know?”

“Oh, and my name is Fjolte, of the Dhjariksons! It’s good to meet you brother, I only wish I could give your hand a good shake.” With a real friend to talk to now, he felt slightly more invigorated and sprung to his feet. Although he may have moved too quickly as his back cracked with the motion. He hadn’t been able to keep up his routine in here half as well as he could outside. “Ooooof, hear that? Urrghhh, that’s age kickin’ in right there,” he said, quieter than he had been talking before - rounding off with another laugh as he jumped up to grasp one of the steel bars that lined the ceiling of his cell with his powerful arms and began to pull himself up. “So, what’s a Redguard gotta do to get put in here huh? Gotta be something pretty bad I’d wager.”

"Fjolte," Bakih repeated softly, a little smile finding its way on his lips. "And that's a Nord name if ever I heard of one." He nodded before stopping, realizing the other man couldn't see him so there was literally no point. "You're half right, actually. I am really an Imperial, my mother was from Anvil... Father was from Gilane so some of us received Redguard names." He sighed a little, wondering how the only sibling he actually cared for was faring. The moment lingered, but the somberness was lightened by the Nord's banter, and Bakih found himself smiling yet again.

"You don't sound very old," he observed before looking to the ground, or whatever he could see of it. "I used to work on a ship, my sister's ship..." He paused a moment, wondering if he should mention what 'work' actually meant, but then decided there was no real need. "When the dwemer came, my sister decided we were to flee in the night. However, one of their airships took care of ours... I think she escaped- I don't know. I was caught and brought here." He blinked at the stinging in his eyes and let out another sigh. "And you? How does a Nord man find himself in an Alik'r prison?"

“An Imperial eh?” he said with surprise as he pulled himself up with a groan, holding his weight for a few seconds before exhaling a long breath. “Unusual manner of naming you, but I like it! Us Nords always get a Nord name, no matter where in Tamriel our mother drops us out.” He laughed again at his own words. It was something he did a lot. “I’m not that old, but not that young either - nice of you to think I’m a young boy though Bakih, brother, I’ll take the compliment. I’m thirty-one years as a matter of fact,” he grunted again as he continued with his pull ups, muscles tightening in his arms and chest, his teeth sat over his lower lip as he breathed in and out with the strain. He was getting unfit.

“Can’t say I’ve been on many ships in my thirty-one years. Us Nords are good at seafaring, but I’m a lad of the land and mountains myself. Always liked something solid under my feet - besides I think I’d be sick and go green as an Orsimer if I was tossed around the unruly waves of the ocean like that. I respect you for that Bakih, you must be a man of tremendous prowess to make a career of it! If your sister is anything like I believe you to be, she’ll be well and good.”

“As for me, well I was in the mountains beyond The Reach with a few good men and some dazzling women and we were ambushed by Dwemer on a patrol. I got thrown into a cart and carried this way. Can’t say I know what happened to my comrades I’m afraid.” He sighed, realising that he hadn’t given it all too much thought - he hoped they were travelling well, he hadn’t seen any of them in the prison. With any luck, they had escaped and made it back to Skyrim to safety. “Sounds like Kynareth had us brought here for something though Bakih, you know?” he grinned again, and dropped from the bars with a gentle thud to his feet.

"So they've reached that far," Bakih murmured, shaking his head, though he stopped relatively quickly as the movement caused him dizziness which in turn caused a little nausea. "I truly hope Kynareth has a plan, because sitting here and rotting seems a poor way to live." He blinked a little at the sound of the thud- what was the man doing on the other side? How did he manage to keep his spirits undamped unlike the rest of those stuck down here.

He decided to forcefully think of something else, otherwise even the thought that he could no longer see much joy in the world would sadden him further. "Seafaring has been in my family for generations," he mentioned. "Merchant family, both on my mother and father's side. I was born in Gilane myself, but my sister's truly of the sea, she was born in the waters between Anvil and Gilane." His mouth twitched, a wry smile forming. "I prefered the land, truth be told." And here I am. "I suppose I'll have to see which I prefer one we're out of this cursed place." He shifted slightly so that he was facing the bars, curiosity getting the better of him.

"And you? What occupied your time before the dwemer descended upon us?"

The Nord grinned again, flexing his arms - half in admiration, and half in disappointment. “I’m glad you asked!” Fjolte said as he got down onto the ground, laying flat before pushing himself up slowly, letting his breathing guide him through the exercise. He grunted softly with each push up, feeling the strain on his triceps, to his pectorals, to the biceps. “I’d like to think of myself as a nomad. I’ve travelled all around on foot. There ain't much better to me than hiking. With nothing but a bedroll and some provisions, a friend or two with ya.” It brought a smile to his face that he couldn’t have hidden, his eyes were alight with joy at the thought. “I like to lie free on the ground, under the sky and watch the stars flicker…” there was a romance in his voice as it trailed off. “I run the steps of High Hrothgar often, breathe in that frost-bitten air. There’s nothing greater than it in all of Tamriel, brother.”

“Of course I return home frequently to check in on my nieces too, bring them a gift from my travels as well as a tale. I’m sure they’ll enjoy the tale of me meeting Bakih, Lord of the Sea in a prison! So we have to make our escape of this place as exciting as we can - you get me?” he laughed with amusement, lowering himself down - nose to the ground again. Just a few more and he’d move on to something else.

"Lord... of the Sea?" Bakih blinked comically for a moment before laughing. It was probably the first time he had openly made such a joyous sound since his imprisonment in this wretched prison. "I thank you for the name even though I'm quite sure someone else probably deserves it more than I." His laugh ebbed into a quiet chuckle. "You seem to have lead quite the exciting life yourself." His voice was tinged with lingering interest and curiosity. "Much more exciting than travelling between the waters of Hammerfell and Cyrodiil." Sure, there had been plenty of boarding and plundering and murdering, but that wasn't quite Bakih's field of interest.

"You sound like someone stories and songs are written about," the Imperial Redguard remarked after a pause. "Tell me, what other places in Skyrim have you visited? My only knowledge of the country comes from what I've read in books."

Fjolte rolled onto his back, drawing his legs up to an angle, feet flat on the stone floor and his hands behind his head. “Bah! No stories written about me just yet, only one who can tell my story is me. They call me Fjolte the Fabler you know!” he laughed again before he started to sit up, the strain hitting his abdomen as he did so. “I’ve seen just about damn near everything there is to see in Skyrim. I’ve scaled every rock face, swam in the waters… My favourite place in the entire province though?” he sighed wistfully, “Rorikstead. My home. Grew up there you know? Was given my first axe at five and from there I became the strapping Nord you know today, Bakih.” He lowered himself to the flat of the ground, the burning feeling running from his abdomen and up through his chest. “It’s a small village, tiny in fact - that just means all of your neighbours are your family pretty much. A strong community spirit.”

As he continued to exercise, he heard the familiar sound of a key clunking its way through one of the locks of the gargantuan door of the row. The footsteps followed - it sounded like at least two guards. Fjolte knew why they were coming down, and he didn’t want to look. The smile that had been plastered across his face faded, and he put his focus into his sit ups - thankful to have been facing away from the Dwemer as they thundered angrily down and down and down the row. He listened, he couldn't pick out the softened gait of the Nice Guard this time.

A cage opened with a sharp metallic squeal and a voice could be heard begging and pleading. No-Legs… Fjolte’s eyes closed, and he hoped that Bakih would not say anything as the man was dragged away. He hoped that Bakih had moved himself to the darkest corner of his cell, out of sight. After that, he was left only with the hope that whatever happened in the room would allow No-Legs a sliver of dignity before he passed over to Sovngarde.

No-Legs was the third this week that had been taken to the room. That left only a handful of them left on the row. They were working through faster too, picking them up for anything at all and carting them away kicking and screaming. No-Legs didn't get the option of kicking, which gave him all the more strength to scream. Fjolte’s heart raced in his chest, and as he heard the door slam shut he folded his arms over his ears. He didn’t want to hear another one...

A series of muffled blood curdling cries made their way to him anyway, and the light. The flashing strobe lights that illuminated the entire row every time they shot underneath the door. Like vicious and unrelenting lightning that would momentarily light up a whole house with each frightening crack.

It would wind down soon…

"Well... at least he doesn't have to worry about a headache anymore." Bakih's voice was muffled, his face pressed against his knees, arms wrapped around his legs as he involuntarily rocked himself back and forth. A strangled laugh escaped him before he quieted, his throat dryer than ever. Cautiously he lifted his head- if anyone could see him, they would never believe he was a former pirate who had slain many before.

"Not many left," he muttered.

There was a long silence for a while which was eventually pierced by a laugh from Fjolte’s cell, it was a heavy laugh that had grim undertones to it, “you have a dark sense of humour, Bakih…” he said quietly, standing up to his full height - hands becoming balled fists. There wasn’t much more of a conversation killer than someone being executed, that was for sure. The Nord began to punch solidly at the air, his feet shuffling against the stone with each one and a series of audible swishes of air sounded out.

As he danced around his cell, he found that his entire body was tense - his shoulders forced upwards and his jaw clenching, even his brows were carrying weight. He wanted to scream out against the despair and into the hollow of the night. To howl like a lone-wolf seeking his pack in the hopes that someone, somewhere would hear the call. This was not the way, and he rolled his shoulders back, ceasing his spar for now, taking a seat on his bunk, releasing the tension from his jaw. He was left alone in the shadows, only a long line of red torches in sconces lit the row. He was buried beneath the sand now, there was no way to view the flickering stars of the night sky while he was locked in the sunken abyss, torn from the land. Hot tears sat under his eyes, but the voice in which he spoke was just happiness and joy - a golden light in the darkness.

“There’ll be even less when we escape, brother.”

Current Mood in One Gif

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

The Obstacle is the Way

@Rtron & @Stormflyx

Early morning, 15th of Midyear 4E208
The Oasis, Alik’r Desert

---

With a jug of fresh water in one hand, and her books and quill held up under her arm - Raelynn made her way to a quiet spot inside the cavern, electing to sit beside the stream away from the tents. She still found herself lamenting over Zaveed’s words. The heat of the moment having been and gone left only the echoes of what he had been saying. She would ruminate over it all for some time yet. She wondered, in the back of her mind, if he was thinking about it too.

Still, the clear air had given her a clear spirit and clear mind to try her hand and deciphering some of the runes found in the restoration tome. She had been able to make a good start on it so far, but had found herself stuck over one she had never seen before.

Minutes passed over, and she was still perched up on a rock, tongue poking out in concentration with the quill in her hand - bobbing against the page. She was trying her best to hold down frustration, but this task was timely. Raelynn really believed that if she could learn the spell within the tome, then her magicka would be freed from whatever prison was holding it. She did not have time to get caught up on singular runes. She exhaled sharply and her nostrils flared. This was an obstacle in her way. Try as she might, she had never been that great at holding back her temper when she was in a hurry. “What are you…?” She muttered under a terse breath.

Nanine rose from the stream where she had been crouched, taking a drink and stretched. Sleep had brought her out of her mood, reaffirming her convictions. Now she needed to focus on the task ahead, and the goals they needed to accomplish.

She paused before leaving, curiously glancing over at the sound of Raelynn speaking. A spell tome, similar to the ones she had spent years studying. Curiosity getting the better of her, she walked over to where the other Breton was sitting not-to-subtly trying to get a glimpse of the text.

“I could help.” She offered, standing next to Raelynn. She could see now that it was a restoration tome, which wasn’t surprising considering that the other woman was a healer. The writing was different than conjuration and destruction tomes, but not entirely alien. She could make out some of the runes from where she stood and understand them.

“I spent years studying destruction and conjuration tomes, and the writing isn’t that different. Between the two of us, we should be able to have this translated quickly. If you’d like, that is.”

It was almost as though the realisation that she should let go, had allowed something that she needed to be let in. She turned her head and looked up at Nanine, who was hovering around her. On any other day, she would have been perturbed by a presence so close to her - but right now she required help. “I see…” was her first response, and her eyes glanced back down to the pages. Was this not a task she must complete on her own without help?

“I will get it eventually…” she found herself saying next, emphasis on eventually. It dawned on her in that brief silence she held before turning down the offer of the Battlemage that maybe, just maybe, this was a task that would require her to seek out others. She mused over her life so far - she was a staunchly independent woman who would often refuse assistance if it meant she could get the job done alone. She was against the clock now, it was fine to be difficult when you had all the time in the world but right now, time was against her. “I will get there eventually, but if you think you can help me… I would very much appreciate it.” It almost hurt her to say it, even more so to lift up the tome for Nanine to take hold of it. Whether it was a book or a precious jewel, it had been a gift from her father and she hoped her fellow Breton would take it carefully.

Nanine smiled, excited to do something other than survive or fight. “I have no doubt you’ll get it eventually, but two can work better than one, no?” She carefully took the book from Raelynn, seeing how important it was to her. Nanine didn’t know where it came from or why it was so important, but she could understand that sentiment.

She scanned the page and its margins, catching up to Raelynn where she had translated too. She stared at the rune for a moment, comparing it and Raelynn’s translations to the other tomes and runes she had read over the years. It took a few moments to get back into the mindset of converting languages, having been a long time since she actually translated anything, or even pursued anything scholarly beyond preparation for a fight. She unconsciously took a hand from the book and started sparking lightning between her fingers, far enough away so as to not damage the tome. The magic helped her concentrate, ignoring the burbling of the stream and Raelynn’s eyes on her. A few moments passed, and she gave a small ‘aha!’

“Knit.” Nanine sat down next to the other breton, cancelling her magic and showing Raelynn. “You see how this part of the rune flows into main part and how its mirrored on the other side? It represents ‘unity’. The arching part on both of them represents ‘force’. Forcing unity from what is broken. Knitting back together what has been damaged.” Her voice contained subdued excitement and pleasure. It had been too long since she’s done this.

“I haven’t done this in years. May I help you translate more?”

“Well I never… You’re right, it is. It matches perfectly what I’ve already done… Thank you!” Her eyes lit up and sparkled with a relief. The obstacle was gone. “Thank you,” she said again softly, giving her fellow Breton a squeeze on the wrist to show her appreciation. “There was actually a rune in there that means to See. But, it’s easy to confuse with another one which is Watch. It’s a very similar looking rune, but very different interpretations. I guess part of the spell is to see what must be knitted back together - and I can only assume that means flesh to be mended…” Her words came out as a quick ramble. It was nice to talk about this with someone.

“You might be thinking that it would be obvious to first see, but with the other runes - it’s actually to see within from within. It’s not looking with eyes, but with… Spirit, I think.” Raelynn’s face was overcome with an almost smug grin, but it was really rather endearing. For a woman who so often scorned and curled her lips - a smile of pride at what she had done was rare. “I would… I would like you to help, actually.”

She shuffled over on the rock, leaving a space for Nanine to sit beside her. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met… It’s nice to share this moment with you.”

Nanine smiled, quietly excited, taking a seat next to the other Breton. She was glad that Raelynn had appreciated her help. For whatever reason, this was very important to the healer and she was all too happy to help Raelynn get through it. She tilted her head, considering Raelynn’s words. “That would make sense. Restoration spells aren’t limited to just healing the damage that you can see with your eyes. And it's not like destruction where all you have to do is force elements into being and let them go. Restoration requires more sight and belief. It’s a pleasure to finally formally meet you.”

“Hard to get proper introductions through when you’re busy running from the Dwemer, slogging through mud, or planning an insurrection. Even harder to find time to properly study magical texts like this amongst all that. I’m glad you’re letting me help.” She scanned the translations Raelynn’s had so far, making sure she’s caught up. “What part of High Rock are you from?”

“The best way I can explain it is that it is… seeing by feeling.” She said as she turned back to the book to plug away at the next rune. “You're not wrong, we really haven't stopped for a while, have we?” At the mention of it, Raelynn's eyes lifted from the book and she began to glance around the camp at everyone. Sora and Jude were together, Latro was doing his thing - Calen heading out of the oasis. Everyone was doing something, even she was. “I'm from Daggerfall, actually, and what about you? You look like you've seen a lot of battle… I'm going to guess you're not from a Merchant family like I am.”

She picked up her journal from the floor, flicking to a certain page. “I've seen this rune. Air or wind or something…”

“Hey, I was raised in Daggerfall! Best part of High Rock right now.” She looked over at the rune, studying it. “Change maybe? Air and wind are always the elements associated with that, after all.” She gave a small laugh at the image of her father and brother being merchants. “No, not a merchant family. Legionnaire family. Father was in the Legion, mother was a healer in the Legion, and my brother was going to join the Legion. There was never really any question of what I was going to do, and they spent their lives helping me prepare for it. When I came of age I joined up and was immediately sent to Skyrim towards the tail end of the civil war and helped bring order to the area in the aftermath. That’s where my combat experience comes from. Where did you learn how to be a healer?”

“I first read of magic, actually, while my mother was trying to train me as a seamstress. It all seemed so fascinating and powerful, but destruction didn't feel right to me. Save for a simple familiar summon, nor did conjuration. The only school of magic that really resonated was restoration. Off I went to Winterhold.” She scribbled the notes about change next to the rune in the book. As it happened, Nanine was right again. “Your family must be very proud of you for upholding that tradition, then.” Raelynn thought on how her life would appear if she had done the same and trained as a merchant and seamstress. She definitely would not be here, and yet she most likely would have found herself in Gilane… It was a nice fantasy that she would hold to daydream about later. “I lived in Skyrim for many years, I was there for the aftermath of the sacking of Windhelm… Terrible stuff, truly.”

“I’m glad someone else understands how fascinating magic is, not just from a practical point, but from simple study.” She gave a soft smile at Raelynn’s words about her family. Proud of her tradition and servitude to the Empire, of course, but proud of her? She could only think of her brother feeling that way about her specific accomplishments. “Yes, I imagine they would be.” She sighed for a moment, looking up at the sky. She hadn’t actually participated in the sacking of the rebel capital, off on patrol in the Reach, but she had heard about it and the horrors spawned from it.

“Windhelm was the result of a lot of anger and hurt being unleashed all at once. In turn, it only created more hurt and anger. As I was left Skyrim, things seemed to be getting better and trust was being restored in the Legion, but one never knows with these things. The Dwemer suddenly reappearing might’ve forced unity or caused even more chaos.”

She glanced at the book again, focusing on a specific rune. “Fire? That doesn’t make sense. Or is it speaking about an inner flame?”

Raelynn traced her finger over the marks on the rune, eyes narrowing in concentration, “if we ever get back there, we'll surely find out. I have many companions and acquaintances in Skyrim. I think even if we find it wartorn then I would still feel at home and safe. Skyrim has an unbreakable spirit…” She sighed almost happily at the memory of the province.

“Ah! It's Ignite. So you were close, but just missing the interpretation… the next one looks like Spirit, don't you think? Igniting the Spirit… These books can be so cryptic, but I appreciate the message behind each breakdown. They’re poetic in a way, and as mysterious and wise as magic itself.”

Nanine nodded. She didn’t feel Raelynn’s reassurance about Skyrim, though they had had two different experiences in the frozen nation. “Indeed, though I sometimes wish they forewent poetic in favor of directness. It’d be nice if they wrote down what you had to do in plain Cyrodiilic, just once or twice.”

“I wouldn’t call all magic wise. The Daedric Princes have shown little wisdom throughout the recorded history we have of them, or at least wisdom mortals cannot understand, and magic like Necromancy actively ignores wisdom at almost every turn.” She shrugged slightly. “Though I suppose that can be applied to every magical art, depending on who is using it.”

“I have seen magic from all schools be used for both good and bad purposes, you’re right that some are more… Colourful than others, but magic teaches us lessons regardless of the school. Whether we choose to listen and learn…” She would let Nanine finish that sentence herself.

“For example, the lesson here… If I put it all together…. ‘Watch that which must be mended, for change will come when the Spirit is Ignited.” She almost laughed, everything was so cryptic indeed, and that may not be the correct interpretation. “How would you interpret it? As a mage of Destruction?”

“A fair point.” Whether the lessons to be learned were about the dangers of foolish magic or not was another debate entirely, and not one to start right now. Nanine read the line again, mouthing it to herself, and considered it for a moment as lightning sparked across her fingers.

“From a destruction spell point of view, it’d be about watching for an opportunity to attack, ‘that which must be mended’ meaning an injury or damage to armor you can capitalize on. Change would be referring to a change in battle, and the Spirit being Ignited would be your spirit igniting the magic to destroy your opponent through their said weakness. Probably something to do with fire. So, assuming that we’ve translated it correctly, we just need to apply the opposite ideology to that interpretation.” She gestured slightly to Raelynn. “Which would be your expertise, I believe.”

“That sounds like the destructive interpretation alright,” she said with a soft chuckle. Raelynn ran her thumb over her lips, deep in thought as she let what Nanine had advised sink in. Hers was an interesting take on it all, that was for sure. She hummed quietly to herself, organising her thoughts. “Is it strange that I wonder whether it is something far more personal and less… Literal?” She stopped suddenly, humming again as her forefinger traced the outline of a rune on the page. “I do wonder if this could be a message about observation of one’s own spirit and behaviour…”

The breton paused and her eyes narrowed, fingers circling the runes again. “I think it could be… to observe your own spirit deep within, in order to reignite the flame and begin to mend.” It felt so true to her, and it was almost as if she felt the message land with a thud in her stomach.

“Makes sense. All of what Destruction does is literal effects and reactions, whereas Restoration has belief and hope. After all, you can’t knit things back together unless you’re sure with and of yourself. Forcing elements into existence, summoning monsters, manipulating reality, manipulating people’s perceptions, all that is just pure willpower to make it happen. Restoration requires belief and passion.” Nanine shrugged slightly. She didn’t truly know much about Restoration, all told. “At least from my outside perspective. You can’t heal damage to others if you’re damaged too much yourself, after all.” She glanced over at Raelynn curiously. “Is that how Restoration works? Or is it simply force of will?”

“You might be right there… All I know is, when I summon my magicka and place my light on someone, if I focus hard enough I can feel everything. It’s… Not just a wave of a hand and an injury is healed, it’s more than that - it’s about making a connection and wanting to heal the wounds too…” Finally, she closed the book and placed it on her lap.

“You’ve given me food for thought without even having realised it, Nanine,” she said with a smile. “I’m glad you helped me with this.”

“I’m glad to have helped you with that, even if I’m not certain what I’ve done.” Nanine smiled in return, only mildly puzzled. She helped Raelynn with something other than the book, and it seemed to be good for the healer, and that was enough. Nanine stood with a stretch, she still had to go, as enjoyable as the experience with Raelynn had been.

“Well, I’ve got more preparation to do. If we’re going to break people out of prison and steal things from that prison at the same time, I’d like to be more prepared than last time. We only got out because we got lucky, and luck runs out eventually.” She paused before leaving. “We should do this again. It was nice to focus on something other than the next fight for a change.”

Seeking 1 x 1 Partners - Open

I am really intrested. This is a post mostly to bookmark this for me. I am currently rebooting a RP of mine so I don't know how much time I will have. But if I do have some spare time I would glady RP with you.

@Hedgehawk

This is a post to bookmark for me since I'll likely be away to try and help others with the clean out of this storm but I am interested in the Elder Scrolls and Final Fantasy and once I am done I'll gladly roleplay with you.

@rebornfan320

Thank you both for your interest, as it stands I have picked up a few partners so am no longer actively looking. If I ever get capacity again, I am happy to be in touch with either of you.

:)

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Brunch, Interrupted

@Mortarion @Hank & @Stormflyx

Mid morning, 15th of Midyear 4E208
The Oasis, Alik’r Desert

It was a careful cut that was precise, quick, and moved through the skin with ease. It was not easy to decide how to go about the task, and she had at first studied the skin with an intense glare, hoping it wasn’t going to give her too much trouble. Her brows were so harshly furrowed that they almost touched each other in the centre. This was the last thing she needed for her current task.

She was surprised to find that with the use of a good, sharp knife, even a something as awkward as a pineapple was easy to deal with. With a few more motions, she had removed the thick skin from it, and was now working on cutting it into evenly sized slices. She took them, and placed them on the platter beside some bread, wedges of cheese, and some of the leftover meats from the night before, there was a bowl of warmed oats drizzled with honey too. She had even brewed one of her herbal teas.

Raelynn smiled at her handiwork as she poured two small cups of the tea, using the last of her mountain flowers to brew it. It was of slight concern to her, she did not know when she would find some next. She left the rest for anyone else who may like a cup of the invigorating drink, the scent was sweet and fresh and rolled around the campfire in the plumes of steam rising from the pot. She carried her tray in both hands towards Gregor who had found his way back to their tent after whatever it was he had been doing for most of his morning. “I’m going to hazard a guess that you haven’t yet eaten today…” she said in a sprightly tone with a raised eyebrow.

The pleasant fragrance of the herbal tea, pineapple slices and meat wafted into the tent a second or two before Raelynn appeared in the opening. “You’re right,” Gregor said as he sat up straight, his curious gaze affixed on the bottom of the tray -- while Raelynn stood over him, he could not see what she had brought him. His hunger won out from the half-sleep he’d been enjoying and Gregor crawled out of the tent, making himself comfortable on the pillows they’d put by the opening of the tent for them to sit on and watch the goings-on in the cave. “You come bearing gifts?” Gregor asked and smirked. He had always enjoyed being fed by the women in his life.

“I do,” she replied as she knelt down beside him, balancing the tray as she did so before placing it on the ground in front of them. “Although I did pilfer that pineapple and it seemed to be the only one so you might want to eat it quickly…” There was an almost childish giggle and an air of cheeky mischief in her voice as she said it; leaning close to him so as to plant a kiss on his lips. “We can deny it later when the investigation begins…” An impish smile grew across her lips as she took a slice for herself and bit into it. “Mmm,” she moaned with a bigger smile. “It’s exceedingly good. This just became a very serious crime, we had better destroy the evidence.”

He recognized that moan. It all but confirmed that Raelynn was speaking the truth -- it was a sound she only made when things were, indeed, exceedingly good. Gregor snatched up three pieces of pineapple for himself. The succulent juices of the yellow fruit were delicious and he nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “Where has this been all my life?” Pineapple was not a common food in Cyrodiil or Skyrim at all and he immediately regretted not having eaten any sooner. The two other pieces disappeared into his mouth with such haste that he had to wipe the juice out of his beard when he was finished. “Thank you,” he said and gestured towards the rest of the platter. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Because I feel like if I didn’t do this, I would be worried that you would eat naught but bread and cheese at erratic intervals for the rest of the day... And that doesn’t give you the energy you need.” She was scolding him in the most playful manner she could, and as she leaned back with a stretch onto the moss, she sighed. “Also because I love you and I think that’s what people do when they are in love, and when they are grateful.” She rolled onto her side and looked up at him with a smile. There was nothing playful about that, just simple sincerity, the words coming to her as easy and naturally as breathing did.

“What’s wrong with cheese and bread?” Gregor muttered and pouted a little while he picked at some of the meat. He tried to maintain that facial expression when Raelynn told him that she loved him but an irrepressible smile made itself master of him regardless. “I love you too,” he said while he looked her in the eye and he gave one of her hands a squeeze for emphasis before he turned back to the platter. He started eating in earnest and before he knew it, he was wolfing down everything that caught his fancy. Raelynn was probably right about his eating habits.

“You know, the way you two look right now, I am almost loath to interrupt the moment.” Echoed a nearby voice, followed by the nearly imperceptible sounds of footsteps against the mossy floor of the oasis. “But, I’m afraid that I have things that need be discussed.” Said Jaraleet as he finally reached the spot where the two lovers were having their breakfast, an apple in one of his hands from which he took a quick bite. “About Gilane, and what happened there.” The Argonian said, his tone low, once he was done swallowing, a look of seriousness settling on his face as he regarded the Breton and Imperial.

“Good morning to you too, Jaraleet. It's nice to see you safe and well.” Raelynn sat up with her back straight, casting a glance to Gregor who was still eating. Her tone was unappreciative - whether it was for being interrupted or for the fact she felt that she was about to be interrogated by the Argonian. She lifted a cup of tea from her lips and took a small sip, before placing it back down and dropping her hand to Gregor's thigh. She swirled her thumb in slow circles there. “What's on your mind?” she asked, almost as matter-of-factly as Jaraleet himself had.

“Many things.” The Argonian replied calmly, taking another bite from his apple. “The new arrivals, this mission to assault the Deep Elves prison, our flight from Gilane….” Jaraleet began as he finished swallowing. “Oh, and the reason for why Irranhu cell wanted to butcher us.” He added, almost like it was an afterthought but, from the tone in his voice, it was clear that the latter point was the one that occupied the assassin’s mind.

Gregor noticed the change in Raelynn’s demeanor and correctly interpreted what the hand on his thigh meant. Control yourself. She had accurately assessed that they -- or probably more specifically Gregor -- were on thin ice again. He’d only vaguely heard that Irranhu cell had turned on Samara cell before but it was news to him that it was related to them. Jaraleet spoke in a neutral voice but Gregor had heard that same tone before, after Nblec.

“I’d heard about that, but not the reason,” he said, regarding Jaraleet with as much innocent curiosity has he could muster. “What do you know?”

“I am pleased to see that your self control has improved, my friend.” The Argonian smiled, but there was no mirth in his eyes. “The last time we had a chat likes this, why, you immediately jumped into veiled threats.” He said casually, pausing to take one last bite of his apple before discarding the fruit.

“Hmm, what do I know? Not much, I know that they were looking for two of our members.” Jaraleet said, gazing into Gregor’s eyes. “Now, normally this wouldn’t rouse much suspicion, but the way that Zhaib behaved the way when the leaders of Irranhu cell made their demands….” The assassin shook his head. “Ah, but he leapt into the midst of the gathered insurgents. Said something quite particular about our group and ‘her man’ being able to protect someone, that someone being the one who sent him to us. And who was it that sent Zhaib?” Jaraleet asked rhetorically, waiting for an answer from either of the pair of lovers.

A chilling realisation came over Gregor. He ignored the rhetorical question. “What did these leaders look like?”

“One I had seen before, when we were planning Daro’Vasora’s rescue, he looked quite like the ordinary Redguard man, I suppose. Now, the second leader, now her appearance was more peculiar….” Jaraleet said, pausing for a second to wager Gregor’s reaction. “Her name, I do not know, but what I do know is that she wore a snakeskin cloak and fought with a spear. Do any of these look familiar to you?”

As soon as Jaraleet uttered the words snakeskin cloak, Gregor’s face contorted as if he was in pain. He drew in a sharp intake of breath and his right hand shot up to his left shoulder involuntarily. The memory of fear and agony squeezed his heart and he looked at Raelynn, intuitively and instinctively, for protection… but there was nothing she could do for him. This was his own grave and he had to dig himself out of it. Fortunately, Gregor realised, thinking quickly, he could.

“The woman,” Gregor whispered intently and gestured for Jaraleet to sit down next to him. It was decidedly in his best interests to make this conversation look like a normal chat between friends and that did not involve having the Argonian lording over them. “I can’t fucking believe it. Irranhu the whole time.”

His gaze found the spot where Zaveed had made camp and disgust visibly made his lips curl. “She’s the reason Zaveed still lives. I was about to deliver the killing blow when the one you just described, with the cloak and the spear, came down from the rooftops and attacked me. She’s the one that poisoned me. Fucking Redguards and their godsdamned prejudices,” Gregor growled. His breathing came fast and hard and he looked down at his hands to find them positively shaking. “I’m sorry, Jaraleet, I really am, but I had no choice. Zaveed would have killed me if I hadn’t used everything at my disposal.”

Raelynn could sense Gregor's pain in the moment, the emotions he was feeling. Now it was time for her to step in, she took one of his shaking hands and held it.

“I sent Zhaib,” was her response, and how she chose to steer the conversation. “I suspected that he… Perished, but nobody told me as such,” she blinked and squeezed at Gregor's thigh before letting go, to hear it all but confirmed was still a shock. “I sent him to fight, he was my bodyguard and friend. I trusted him with my life and he protected me and took care of me in my darkest moments.” But what had he said? A man of such few words for all the time she had known him and it was his last words that gave way for her to be in danger.

“Do you remember what it was exactly, that he said?”

“He yanked his pendant and then said ‘Give it to her. Let her know that she’s worth protecting by me, by her father. By her man and you’” Jaraleet recited, the memory of the moment still fresh in his mind. “Those were his exact words. I do not know who has the pendant, but it’s in the groups care if you wish to retrieve it.” The Argonian said after he sat in front of Gregor. “I must clarify, you two were in danger long before Zhaib said anything. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Poncy Man had us under surveillance after the incident with Nblec.”

“Of course, the one time he chooses to give a speech more than a damn grunt and a singular syllable word is then…” She sighed as she ran a hand through her hair from root to tip, falling silent herself for a moment. “I assure you Jaraleet, his only orders were to protect Daro’Vasora. There was nothing insidious about his actions… Thank you for telling me.”

“It is no problem. And I believe you, like I said before we were in trouble long before the operation in the palace.” He said to Raelynn. “Now…” The assassin said as he turned his gaze towards Gregor once more. “Tell me everything you know about this woman, no matter how painful it might be. By the cut of her garb I’d wager she was an assassin, and if she comes back to track us, I need to be prepared.” He said, the tone of his voice serious as he regarded Gregor.

It wasn’t until Jaraleet addressed him directly that Gregor looked up and met his gaze again. He shrugged. “My confrontation with her lasted less than ten seconds. She used her spear to defeat one of my… conjurations, but she poisoned me with a throwing knife before I even knew she was there. Assassin sounds right.”

“Hmm, I see.” Jaraleet said, falling silent as he pondered what Gregor had said. He hadn’t expected for him to have been defeated so quickly and, as such, he was left with less information than he’d have liked to obtain from the Imperial man. “Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted your breakfast.” The Argonian said as he stood up, looking at both Gregor and Raelynn. “I need to think about what you’ve told me Gregor but, please, I implore you to be more cautious in the future. Lest these….complications become commonplace.” He said, turning his back to the couple and began walking away from them.

The blonde mage watched with a puzzled expression as Jaraleet paced away as quickly as he had paced over. “What was that about?” She asked quietly, running her tongue over her teeth. “Think about what? Do we need to be worried about that one?” It dawned on her that sometimes Jaraleet was just that way, blunt and intrusive and then gone as quick. Still, it wasn’t like him to refuse her even a smile or chuckle.

Gregor sighed. “Jaraleet seems to think so. I don’t expect them to pursue us into the desert, but you never know… Redguards are tenacious people.” He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. Another problem and another threat that could directly be attributed to him. Everywhere he turned, people and enemies were ready to punish him for pursuing his quest. It was exhausting. “He’s the closest thing we have to an assassin of our own. I suspect he feels it’s his duty to be prepared, should this Redguard woman come knocking.”

“You’re right,” she replied, easing up her own tension as she shifted closer to Gregor’s side, wrapping her arms around him with a sigh. “Whatever happens next, happens. Until then, we rest and get our strength up. All of us, including you.” She gave him a playful jab in the chest, sensing a cloud hanging around him, was it guilt? “I’m sure he’ll be back with more questions later…” Raelynn said lightly, placing her head against his shoulder, breathing him in happily.

The Elder Scrolls: After the Calamity

16th of Rain’s Hand, 5E150
Windhelm, Skyrim

The only sign that it had become dawn was that the gray sky had turned a slightly lighter shade of miserable. Viper looked up at it with an appraising eye, trying to judge the likelihood of rain. “Could go either way,” he mumbled to himself. He’d been waiting by the gates for five minutes and already felt impatient. The quiet murmur of conversation in the guardhouse next to the giant metal doors alerted him to the fact that there was a change of guards and he watched impassively as the two Nords that had been on duty during the night wandered away down the empty streets to the barracks.

Windhelm had been home to a much bigger population before the Calamity. Many homes in the city stood empty and abandoned and Wulfharth’s predecessors even had some of them knocked down to make space for farmland. It left the place feeling eerily empty at all hours of the day, even when the city was at its busiest. The knowledge that it should have been much more crowded never left Viper’s mind. He made his own home in what used to be the Gray Quarters, where all the Dunmer citizens of Windhelm had lived in the Fourth Era, including his ancestors. Now, there were only a handful of dark elves left, and most of the apartments that surrounded his own were devoid of inhabitants. The rest of the Gray Quarter was often used by disillusioned youth to smoke skooma or hide illegal contraband, but they knew to stay away from Viper’s territory. Pinning an aspiring thief to the wall with a crossbow bolt was something he’d done more than once.

In a way, he could see what Caeliana meant when she’d said that there was nothing here. The truth was that Viper went out into the wasteland to escape the city as much as he did it to make a living. His engineering skills were such that he could far more easily earn his keep maintaining the ballistae that stood ready on Windhelm’s walls to ward off the remaining dragons. All he’d have to do was offer. The wasteland was dangerous and cruel, but at least it made him feel alive.

“Morning,” a voice said behind him. Viper looked over his shoulder to find Fenrir there, still tugging on his ill-fitting guard uniform. “Thought you’d be gone by now. Are you waiting for something?”

“Mhm.”

Fenrir smiled and rolled his eyes. “Like what?”

Viper smirked. “You’ll see.”

She'd been sure not to miss the first knocks in the barracks. Truthfully, she had barely slept at all. There was too much excitement keeping her awake to have slept. She had gotten dressed quickly and hadn't even spoken a word aloud. No stories or commentary this morning, she was afraid that if she started then she would not stop and she would be overheard.

The Imperial had pulled the cloak around herself, pulling the hood over her head. Her shield was on her back with her sword. She had everything, the satchel from the Temple was slung over her shoulder. By her own estimations, she worked out that if she and Viper cleared the gates soon, they would have a ninety minute head start before anyone noticed she was missing, before anyone alerted Wulfharth she had missed her slot in the pit. How far could they get in ninety minutes?

As she approached the gate she saw Viper standing there and could barely contain her smile. It was finally happening. Finally she'd find out just what was outside of the walls for herself. She'd walk on the ground that she had been silently forbidden from walking on. Fenrir was there, and her smile dropped. She had always found him affable enough, but whether he would turn a blind eye this morning was another matter altogether.

“Good morning Fenrir,” she began in a soft voice, greeting him first before looking too quickly at the Dunmer. “I do hope Viper is not giving you any early morning sass today…” Then she looked at him, with a half smile tugging at her lips and a glint in her eye that communicated her feelings of excitement.

Fenrir looked between Viper and Caeliana when the unmistakable look of realization dawned on his face. Viper had to give him credit where credit was due; the boy wasn’t as stupid as he looked. “No way,” Fenrir said, mouth slightly agape as he fixed his gaze on Caeliana. “Did you clear this with Wulfharth?”

“What do you think?” Viper asked sarcastically. The Dunmer turned to face Fenrir and slapped his palm against the Nord’s in what looked like a friendly handshake; when Viper pulled his hand back, Fenrir found himself looking down on a packet of moonsugar. The day before, Viper had spent some time asking around about who would be on guard duty the next morning, and a little coercion had taught him what Fenrir’s vices were. “I left alone. Makes sense, right? Ol’ Viper never takes anyone with him. Caeliana must have escaped some other way. Maybe through the docks. Either way, you saw nothing.”

After a moment’s deliberation, Fenrir looked up at him and nodded. He glanced sidelong at Caeliana. “Stay safe.”

“Always.” Caeliana replied with a smirk, “and thank you,” she said quietly for Fenrir's ears only. The gates were opened and as she stepped out of them she realised that her anticipation had been so high she'd forgotten to breathe. The first breath outside was… Exhilarating. It looked like a landscape of nothing ahead of her. Just miles and miles of an expanse reaching further than she could imagine. She knew the world was big, it felt like now she was really seeing it.

“Whoah,” she gasped stepping further forwards, forgetting that Viper was behind her - or maybe beside her. She wasn't sure. She was too blinded by the view ahead to notice anything else. The air felt so much cleaner that it felt as though she was finally breathing and her whole life she had been suffocating. “Woah…” Caeliana repeated once more as her hands found her hips.

Windhelm had been built into a mountainside. What lay before them, beyond the bridge that spanned across the river that functioned as Windhelm’s moat and access to the sea, was a rolling landscape of foothills, forests and more rivers that would, eventually, give way to the hot springs and geysers of what once had been Eastmarch Hold. Viper realized that Caeliana would have never seen such a view before -- or anything more than few hundred feet ahead of her. He let her have the moment to marvel at the sight and acclimatize.

“I’ll say that much about Skyrim,” Viper admitted with a chuckle. “Can’t beat the view.”

She simply kept looking out, in adoration of it, in awe. It was beautiful and yet far too dangerous looking all at the same time. Wilderness, real wilderness. Just to look at it started the beating of her rebel heart. No wonder Wulfharth kept everyone inside. “No shit.”

Finally she composed herself, and with a glance back at Viper she motioned her hand for him to come to her. “You been keeping this from me on purpose? Wanted it all for yourself didn't you?” She began walking, it would be all too easy to stay in the spot and drink it all in but she was still against the clock. She could keep her eyes on the horizon while moving. “So where too? I figure we should get that trap of yours back, don't you? Then after that I'm not sure. Got any recommendations? Do you think there's any ruins nearby we can scope out? Think there might be any other life out there?” She was rambling again, she only hoped the Dunmer could keep up with her pace.

Once again, like so many times before, Viper found himself gritting his teeth at the sheer volume of questions levelled against him. He poignantly kept his mouth shut while they walked until the silence that grew between them became awkward. “You done? Alright. Getting the trap back is a good start.” That way, Viper reasoned, he could show Caeliana the rotting carcass of Whiterun in the distance, a lone testament to the corruption and decay of the world amidst the barren tundra.

“Any nearby ruins have already been picked clean,” he continued. “And yes, there is life. Villages, farms, Orc strongholds. They’re out there. Most of them are hidden or difficult to reach. More likely to come across reaver encampments, though. Or a necromancer’s den. Or a Falmer outpost. The list goes on.”

He subconsciously did a gear check, hands moving over his belt, straps and backpack to reassure himself that everything was in place. “First things first though. Listen well, these lessons could save our lives,” Viper said, glancing at Caeliana to make sure she was paying attention. “First, always keep an eye on the skies. There are still dragons in Skyrim and they are the biggest n’wahs around. If the birds go quiet and it sounds like there’s a windstorm coming, find shelter immediately. If you see something, anything, flying over the mountaintops, find shelter immediately. Second, if the ground vibrates, even a little, find shelter immediately. That means giants and their mammoths. They use the roads as much as people do and they do not like us. Third, if you find something that you think you can eat, let me take a look at first. Fourth, if you see something that looks like a large clump of wet paper on a tree, tell me. That’s a beehive and that means bears.”

A quick pause and a moment to think allowed Viper to realize that he wasn’t giving these lessons in a particularly organized or sensible order. “That’s the most important stuff,” he growled. “Oh, and don’t try to swim. The water will kill you.”

“Necromancers, falmer, reavers, dragons, n'wahs-” she stopped to giggle. “Sorry, that's a you thing… Where was I? Dragons, giants, mammoths, beehives, bears. Got it.” She hadn't really been listening. She had heard him speaking, of shelter and danger and n'wahs. She wondered what exactly it was that they could do, but she thought better than to ask him that now. He seemed to be enjoying rattling off his lists and warnings.

She couldn't help but notice that even out here, in the wild freedom of Skyrim, that he was still as gruff as ever, if not more so in fact. The Imperial shrugged and kept on her path, walking ahead of him by a short distance. Right now, she didn't want to think of being afraid and she was thinking only of pounding the ground at her feet to put distance between Windhelm and herself. “Are you going to be able to keep up?” Caeliana asked, not slowing down. She thought better than to ask another question. He hated her slews of questions and always had. She'd save being able to annoy him with them for when they would make camp later.

Her insistence on insolence was already rearing its ugly head and Viper sighed a deep and raspy sigh. He had a foreboding feeling he was going to sorely regret giving Caeliana this opportunity sooner rather than later. The way she’d merely repeated the names of the creatures and threats he’d listed already annoyed him, and her comment about whether or not he could keep up with her pace made him stop dead in his tracks.

“Hold it right there,” he spat and scowled. “Are you daft, girl? Why are you walking ahead? Do you know the way? No, you don’t. Stay behind me, or by my side if you must, but don’t barge on ahead. You’re like a wolf pup, brimming with misplaced confidence.”

His temper was out to play already. She rolled her eyes from her spot before he could reach her. He was the one who had been doing this for most of his life - his life that was significantly longer than hers. From her lips she expelled a relenting sigh, “you're right, I understand. I'm just trying to get as far as I can from there.” The next words were sitting in her throat, refusing to budge but with a soft cough she freed them, “I'm sorry.” She glanced sideways at him, her bottom lip sticking out over her clenched jaw. She could growl too.

“What's more likely to kill us out here? One of the aforementioned creatures, or each other?”

“If you're implying that there's the slightest possibility of that happening, I'm ditching you the first chance I get,” Viper retorted, but the tone of his voice made it clear he wasn't serious. “The truth is that the weather is as treacherous as any beast, person or monster, even in the spring. I see you brought a cloak. Good. Either way, point made. Let's not bicker… too much.”

“I never understood how someone could find their way into the way of life that you have Viper, to have so much freedom like that.” Caeliana wondered if it was his age, he was a great deal older than most in Windhelm, and yet was still in good health, Nord and Imperials who reached any near his age became wrinkled and frail. It had always impressed and baffled her in equal measure. That had only been why she had been fascinated by him. “To come and go like you do. The things that you have seen, even when you tell me about it, I still think you don't really tell me all there is to know.”

It took a while before he responded. “That's a story for another time,” the grizzled Dunmer said at length. “You're right that I haven't told you everything. That would take way too long. Blabbering to you about my misadventures doesn't put food in my mouth.”

Their path took them along the river upon which Windhelm was situated, following it westwards. Viper directed them off the road. “We make better time on the roads but they're often watched for that reason.” That meant they walked beneath the branches of the pine trees that stood clustered together a little ways away from the road.

“You're never seen anything like this, have you?”

“Tsk…” she sounded with her tongue, there always seemed to be a story for another time. “I guess I’ll keep waiting for it then…” she sighed as she approached the corridor of trees, a sudden chill prickling the back of her neck, but she could sense no immediate danger. “Only in dreams, but it’s different. It’s not the same as being here.” It was at that moment she looked up to the sky, grey as always, only hidden behind the branches and needles of the pines. She took in a deep breath through her nose, the scent of them was almost too much to handle.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

<Snipped quote by Stormflyx>

Are all Dark Elves this rude?

@The Fated Fallen

...Yes.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

What is the foot?!

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Her suspicions were all but confirmed as she watched Beren perform some strange acrobatic manoeuvre atop his pole. All of these people were odd, and that was probably why they had all ended up in each other’s company. It was probably why they hadn’t cast her out yet. It was probably why she felt herself smiling in sincerity at him, his facial expression comedic and in a way, cute. The almost stoic look he often wore was gone, at least she had thought he was stoic when she’d last really looked at his face. She had to remind herself that he had been asleep when that had happened.

She laughed to herself at her own mistake. A dry and raspy chuckle from the back of her throat, followed almost immediately by another obnoxious hiccup that had her almost fall forward for her seat on the step. She laughed again, less this time.

“You make this one laugh,” she remarked to Beren with a toothy grin. Was it genuine amusement, or amusement spurred by liquid courage? “I think I do like sometimes to do a trick like it. I don’t quite know as much balance as you.” Her broken common tongue was more apparent after the alcohol. “I think once I did a cartwheel across walls to reach a tower for... Something.” Her voice tapered off and she pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her head behind the. “I said much too much...” Even her pointed ears seemed to fall back and droop.

She didn’t sit like this for long, the Priest was up to something, his body shifting between stiffening and convulsing. He fell over to the ground briefly after a stumble. The words falling from his tongue were tinged with fear, and he warned and spoke of something terrible.

The Dorcha leapt to her feet, almost suffering from a similar bout of clumsiness as Sett just had, but she regained herself. “What is it?” She asked, her big silver orb like eyes wide with worry as her hands cloyed at the fabric of his shirt and she shook him. “What did your God man show you? What is the foot?” What is afoot? being the question she should have asked. Another one lost in translation. Sett had only a handful of inches on Aeryn, and she pushed herself to the tips of her toes to put her face as close to his face as she could. “What is the sign they sent for you?!”

The Elder Scrolls: After the Calamity

The Bear and the Maiden Not-So Fair

---

The girl lay on her back with her arms spread out, watching the night sky above her, looking at each and every star that snuck into her vision from behind the canopy of trees towering above. Then she looked at the trees - trying to count the hundreds and thousands of leaves - even in the darkness she could make out their shapes and imagine the colours and the many shades of green. She imagined them growing out of the branches, and wished it were spring so she could see them blossom with flowers and fruit - more colours! Reds, violets, and magentas contrasting against the sharp greens set against a backdrop of grey clouds - dense and yet fluffy in the moonlight.

If it were daytime, she wondered what sounds she would hear - surely more birdsong. She loved birdsong - she imagined if she heard it enough, she could pick out a sparrow from a thrush from a robin from a blackbird. If it were daylight she might be able to see the birds, darting through the sky, swirling across an azure sky - a bright yellow sun glowing.

She listened closely to the sounds of the breeze snaking through the grass; along with the gentle hooting of a distant owl, and cicadas, so many cicadas played their symphony. That was all that she could hear. The sporadic hooting of an owl and the mass chirping of wildlife as she lay back on the solid ground taking it all in.

In this form, she felt small and insignificant, her own life disappearing on the breeze that she could hear - washed away on the streams that were somewhere off in the distance. She had learned these sounds off by heart. She knew how the sounds dipped and came back up, and that some of the animals and insects scarpered before the rainfall. She knew everything like the back of her hand. Yet still, this land was a mystery to her and something she would never truly know.

The thunder began to roll over as clouds formed and floated across the curtain of night. Each of the familiar stars disappeared behind the clouds that moved in - and then came the rain.

If she concentrated hard enough she could imagine how cold and refreshing each drop would feel on her skin, she could imagine the trickle of water rushing down her face and through her hairline, she could imagine how the humidity and rainfall would cause her clothes to cling to her skin, growing tight and uncomfortable - and cold. She could imagine the sensation of fresh water on her lips. But the rest of this scene was a mystery.

She could only see so little, for such a short amount of time. Because it was now time to wake up.

The loud banging of a hand nestled in a gauntlet thunked against the heavy wood of a door pulled her from her dream. No matter how she tightly she closed her eyes, it never came back. It might be another lengthy wait until this particular dream came back to her. “Up, Seven,” came the gruff and unforgiving voice of a patrolling guard as he paced the stronghold, his footsteps languid and dragging against the cold hard stone.

“It’s Caeliana…” she whispered under her breath when she was sure he was out of earshot.

With that, she blinked awake, heart racing from the crude wake-up call and mood soured from being yanked right out of paradise and back into reality.

What kind of day would it be? She wondered as she lifted her legs from the bed, her bare feet touching the cold stone. She recoiled. There was never a day the sensation didn’t catch her by surprise. The very last dregs of sleep had now been shocked from her system, so there was always that. “It feels like a sunny day,” she said sarcastically as she walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. “Ahhh yes, I knew it,” she began in a slightly theatrical tone to herself, picking up a tankard half-filled with water “sunny and not a cloud in sight…” Outside of the window, really, was a lonely sight. The sky was a slate grey, always threatening something. What was behind those clouds today?

The Imperial took a seat on the windowsill, blowing free drust from the rim of the tankard before she took a long sip. It was stale again and she scrunched up her face in disgust and croaked, “tastes so good, so refreshing. I feel soooooooooooooooo hydrated...” She tipped the last of it onto the floor, staring blankly up at the lonely sky.

“And today, we’ll take a walk through the forest and perhaps have time to for a splash in the river…” Caeliana said as she made her way around the tiny room. A tiny square of stone walls, stone ceiling, stone floor. Just a simple cot in the corner and a dummy who had seen better days to hold her armour up. Three candles sat on a small end table. That was it. She pulled on her jersey and trousers quickly. Like the dummy, her jersey had seen better days. It was getting threadbare at the elbow and shoulder. Not to mention that it was torn under the arm. She would need to get that repaired.

“Maybe I’ll see rabbits or foxes running over the meadow. The sun always brings them out to play. Not to mention there will be some does springing through the long grass.” She pulled the breast plate on, fastening the leather straps over her shoulders.

“I’ll set up up a campfire, have myself a small picnic of bread and cheese… A glass of wine.” She tugged at the belt, letting the steel plates fall comfortably at her thighs.

“After that I’ll lie back on the grass and take a nice nap…” A leather strap was used to pull back her hair into a bun at the back of her head, the usual strands fell loose from it and framed her face. So buried deep in her own imagination was she, that she didn’t hear the clumping sound of steel boots tracking back across the corridor.

The hand battered against the door again, so hard this time it shook free some dust from the frame. An abruptly angry voice yelled out from behind it. “Seven. Stop fucking talking that nonsense to yourself and get to the Godsdamned pit already.”

“Aye!” She shouted back, scowling from behind the door. Once again she waited until the old tin can had all but gone, and she whispered under breath “guess that’s a dream for tomorrow…”

---

She stepped into the arena, it was yet more stone and grey and sleet. The rumblings of thunder over in the mountains carried on a gale to Windhelm, but the fortress kept them safe, at least that’s what they were told. It was as cold as ever, so cold and biting that it made even her tanned cheeks turn red and the wind nipped at her face so much that it brought tears to her eyes. It was a harsh and unforgiving day, not a ray of sun in sight. She sighed - unsheathing her sword, the familiar ringing of the steel almost made her feel comforted. What would the challenge be today?

From the other side, a gate was opened. She stood ready, hunched slightly, shield on her arm held out in front of her. It was usually other soldiers, it was normally a sparring session. Sometimes, they’d fight some of the criminal scum picked up from the slums. Hell, Windhelm was just one giant fucking slum. “Come on…” she muttered, gaze intense at the dark corridor. She heard heavy footsteps. She felt them on the ground. “Oh my…” she gasped, as the form of a Bear lunged from the gate.

He was a huge beast indeed. How had they captured it? She was in awe, it was rare that animals were brought in like this. There was something completely wrong with this one though, and she sensed it immediately. There was a red mist surrounding his entire body, radiating from him. But his eyes - the eyes showed his pain. He was under a spell. Fury

Her next observation was a series of slashes upon the belly of the beast, barely stitched together with magic. “How many times have they had you out here today?” Caeliana was incensed, it was unspeakably cruel and it didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened to such a beautiful creature. He deserved better than to be a slave to violence here. She did not know how many time he had fought against the Gladiator’s of Windhelm since he was captured, but this would be the last. She would make it quick too, the guards would not have time to figure out her plan.

The bear bellowed out at the Imperial, a rasping and desperate sound that cut through her more than it’s claws ever could. It was pleading her to end it, at least that’s what she told herself. Her sword would only touch him once and it would be the last time steel ever did. Her eyes narrowed and she began a sprint parallel to the bear and she watched as he tracked her. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword and as the bear began to close the distance, a blue light coalesced in her palm and her shield came loose from her wrist.

Under the force of her Telekinesis, she got enough weight behind the round shield to have it hurl towards the bear until it made contact with it’s head with a loud and dense ”thwack”. The shield dropped and rolled, metal scraping on stone - the sound bouncing around the walls of the arena. He was still up. It hadn’t been enough, “shit!” she yelled out, laughter erupted from the guards of the arena. “Gonna take more than that, Seven!” one of them called back in between his annoying chortling.

She had to move now, though the bear had slowed down and was stumbling, she was still in trouble if it met her. She widened the gap with a quick sprint to the centre, “come on baby, follow the leader,” she breathed as her palms lit up again and she lifted up the shield once more, this time she threw it up into the air. It needed more weight, and she knew there was nothing like a good long fall to add enough weight to finish this. “Come on now,” she said through gritted teeth as he lurched forwards, the red mist still swirling around him in frenzied wisps. He roared out again, a tired yelp finished it and the gap was growing small enough for him to take a swing at Caeliana, but the shield landed first. Right at the nape of his neck, causing him to slowly drop, right at her feet. Perfect timing. The red faded away and all that was left was the exhausted, panting creature - not an ounce of fight left in him.

“Yer done, back up and we’ll have it taken back. Good work,” the guard from the outskirts said as he knelt down to pick up a chain from the ground. She did not listen, instead, pivoting so that she had a foot either side of the bears head, her hand on top of him. His fur was so soft, just like the fur that lined her cloak. She watched his breath form as clouds from his mouth and nose, saliva pooling around his chin. He cried so softly. The pain of his poorly tended wounds catching up to him.

“I’m watching you, Seven. Don’t you try it or you’ll be in deep shit. Wulfharth risked good men to catch that beast,” spat the guard from the edge of the arena as he began to sprint out towards Caeliana, watching her raise her sword to the unconscious bear, “we’ll get more training from it yet! He’ll have you fucking lashed for your insolence!” If the guard had not wasted his breath shouting across the arena to her, he might have been able to catch her before she took her sword to the neck of the bear, placing a Calming touch on his head with her free hand. It was a singular swift and graceful movement that finished the job and released the animal from it’s torture. A spray of crimson followed.

“Talos have mercy on you, creature.” Caeliana whispered down to the fallen beast, watching the blood pour from her blade to the stone.

“You’re in trouble now you fuckin’ brat. You’re gonna get bumped - wonder where you’ll land this time... Shame, cos I heard you were this close to being Six,” laughed the guard heartlessly as he grabbed Caeliana by her arm and began to drag her away from the scene.

Worth it. She thought to herself as the beginnings of a smirk curled over her lips.