By Auriel's grace

Knight-Commander Gelebor || The Elder Scrolls

The last (?) Of the ancient snow elves.

Is literally ancient himself. TES timeline is a pain in the ass but he's at least a few thousand years old or something.

Protector of what's left of the chantry of Auri-el. It's basically ruins now.

The snow elves have a Bad history and he's been through it.

His brother became a vampire and turned his back on their god, so Gelebor had him killed.

His faith in his god is really all he has left.

Calm, accepting, forgiving and upbeat, despite everything.

Still hopes that maybe there are other snow elves out there.

Has lived isolated in a cave with only brief social interactions every few years to sustain him.

       they pulled their hood back up as the reveal of their face hadn’t seemed to have the intended effect of jogging the elf’s memory. but it had resulted in recognition, albeit of their vampirism instead of their identity. kharza didn’t presume to understand the worship of auri-el, but they recalled serana reciting that the sun was connected with his imagery and ascension - and they could imagine that their status as a being of the night didn’t sit particularly well with gelebor. his tolerance was admirable, though - and they gave a muted smile even as the memory of them overlapped with serana’s role in the retrieval of the artifact. that was close enough, kharza decided; at least there were some consistencies. 

       “ i…yes. that’s true. ” their ‘involvement’ with the dragonborn was more involved and personal, of course - but they wouldn’t press the issue for the time being. “ thank you for your courtesy. ” ‘a being of blood’ was certainly the most polite way they’d ever heard it addressed, at the very least. they couldn’t help but feel as if they were lying in some way, but they didn’t want to add further distress to an already frustrating situation. for once, they decided against commenting on it. maybe they were finally growing wise to the words leaving their mouth. wishful thinking, probably.

       kharza’s smile returned to hear gelebor speak so confidently of his faith in auri-el’s plans for him - yet another thing right in the myriad of things that were wrong about this realm. “ i may be ignorant to the ways of auri-el, but i’m pleased to see that your altruism hasn’t wavered. i’m sure there are those here in need of guidance. ” they found it inspiring, even - to have such purpose and devotion, where they had to have others tell them of their own destiny and fate so often. ( they still didn’t feel as if they were the dragonborn of legend, despite evidence to the contrary. ) 

     “ hmm. agreed. this is a very…alien realm - and i can only assume the same of the ones behind it all. ” kharza paused; since they were partially strangers, it would put at least one of them on equal footing to re-introduce themself. “ i’ve already stated my name, but i’m kharza gro-yralak. i apologize for the confusion. ” 

( ☀ ) ─ "There is." And for a moment, even as his mind lay firmly on Auri-El's teachings, and the work he'd yet to do under the guidance of his god, Gelebor faltered, for the streets were filled with far too many empty souls for him to count. Thoughts of the wretched underbelly, the treatment of the poor and destitute, he heaves a soft sigh and gulps down the boiling of his blood, for little could grant him such righteous fury as the pain of those forgotten by the world.

"How much do you know of this place? You say you are new here, but some have better experience with the modern peculiarities of this City than others." Such as himself. Phones had taken an embarrassing length of time to adapt to, and stank of the sins of the long forgotten Dwemer. "Though you're already aware, proper introductions are still important. I am Gelebor. Knight-commander, though titles mean very little here. It's a pleasure meeting you.... again, perhaps."

       “ … i’m kharza… ? i met you when i was seeking auriel’s bow. “ hesitating for a moment, they removed their hood - allowing the other to see their face more clearly. ( they squinted again in discomfort as the sunlight struck their face.  ) 

        kharza didn’t think the trials of auriel nor the obtaining of the mythical artifact would be easy to forget, given how long gelebor must have spent guarding it. brow knit in mild confusion, they briefly considered the possibility that there was more than one snow elf by the name of gelebor and they’d merely mistook one for the other, but it was even more unlikely than their own arrival here. did the rulers of this place tamper with people’s memories as well? …the thought that some of their own knowledge may be faulty unsettled them quite a bit.

        “ i carried the initiate’s ewer to the wayshrines… “ they trailed off with a murmur, realizing that they were reciting the other’s own religious tradition to him - and growing understandably sheepish. after a moment of silence to stew in their own embarrassment, the dragonborn cleared their throat and dared to speak again. “ i, ah, wonder if there are even more strange forces at work here, now…perhaps it’s my memory that’s mistaken. ” memory lapses, false memories … all possibilities that they shuddered to consider.

          “ well… i’m glad to see you’re alright, regardless. though i am sorry you’re here instead of the vale. ”  

( ☀ ) ─ "No, that was-" Gelebor swallows the rest of his words, catching a glint in the stranger's eyes, their teeth, while sharpened as any Orsimer's, still stood out with unnerving familiarity.

"Ah, you must have been the friend of the dragonborn. They were... a being of blood, if I recall." Or perhaps they were just a friend of his brother's, if his hopeful heart could want for such a thing. Vyrthur may have been pained, yet even now, Gelebor could not wish for him to have been completely alone in the temple.

Though while such curses still filled every sense with moral disgust, Gelebor beat it down -- if anyone were more deserving of Auri-El's forgiveness, surely, a being such as this would be so? "It's a matter of little consequence. While I ache for the vale and my duty to serve as its protector, there are many people here suffering more than an empty chantry. No doubt, Auri-El has greater plans for me." 

HE IS NOT BLIND TO THE silent fury felt from the other, the strange elvhen man. for however poised he seems, passion is not DISGUISED particularly well. taka has to admit that the anger is not undeserved, not that he needed to spell it out — with hopelessness fluttering within his chest and twitching, pacing legs. perhaps, in a way, he’s an easy ‘target’ when it concerns matters like this.

he swallows. ❝i see.❞ it certainly mirrors his own feelings, this rampant PASSION coming from a fresh faced arrival. though at least kiyotaka has grown used to some aspects of the city ; it is a relief that he comes from a world that boasts similar technology. it still doesn’t make his anger any less FIERCE. ❝yes, there … should be charity work available. it is a city like the one i come from, so you’d think.❞

but common sense isn’t QUITE so common, and less so in a place where despair ruled over hope. for every citizen that wants to change their living conditions, the waves beat and slam, frothy foam to drag the unsuspecting beneath the ocean and to CHOKE them out.

( ☀ ) ─ 'Should'. The word didn't offer comfort, yet it did come with a spit of control, at least, as Gelebor perceived it. Should, for if there weren't already, hands could create support, as it was needed. Turning away from the scene (for a fight now would only cause further suffering, and what could he do, with little weapons to show for his strength?), Gelebor starts back down the narrow alley he'd come from, no goal in mind save for the guiding light of the sun, wherever it were to be hidden amongst these bleak buildings.

{ 👑 } HE’D NOT EXPRESS HIS RELIEF ALOUD at his abilities remaining by his side. As a man of great many faults, his pride is up front among them. The heft of his sword, since recently returned to his arms, feels as comforting to him as Nabor’s arms, the blade an EXTENSION of his own arm. HE IS DEATH. A flash of lightning in the night sky. A man drowning in his own bloodlust. With the confidence that he’s not to die or witness his sword turn to wood, he’s shed his cowardice like a lizard shedding skin.

❝THAT’S WHAT I LIKE TO HEAR! Give them a good flash bang of a shot, eh?❞ He wheezes out a long drawn out laugh, a sputtering sound that all but trails in the air behind him. Balls of his feet practically skip over strewn rubble and torn up roots, a rather acrobatic routine, for DESPITE his laughter, he wastes absolutely no time in heeding the whims of his companion. Now this – this is REAL combat!

EYES DO NOT LOOK BEHIND HIS shoulder, even as the familiar twang of arrow fire pricks his ears. His heart leaping up from the depths of his chest, to beat incessantly over and over in a rapid pattern. His breathing heavy, almost harsh. Slice after slice with his jagged blade, leaving behind a trail of singed flesh and thin tendrils of dark smoke. He dodges claws trying to grasp and paw at his flesh, skirts away from the POISONOUS touch of the undead. Tch, this guy’s arrows better hit the spot soon!

( ☀ ) ─  And it does, aim swift and true, slicing through the fogged clouds to bite into the sun-disk. A heartbeat, one, two, only the raucous of fighting and droning noise of undead piercing his ears. Gelebor stares, shielding the glare with a hand, yet as the familiar boon of gilded light failed to shine, he swallows, nervous and helpless. "Something's wrong-" He manages, turning to his companion and nary quick enough to snipe one such undead monstrosity from across Gangrel's shoulder.

"Terrible things have happened at other so called parties hosted by the city’s keepers. So while I am loathe to attend something hosted by them, I’d also hate to miss any important information,” Grimm answers. Of course, the Troupe Master is also a party fiend, but that reason can stay hidden for now.

Then, he leans in to hear that curious question. Oh dear, poor Gelebor must have run into some trouble, it sounds like. And Grimm probably knows the source.

“A curse?” An odd way of putting it, but it’s not wrong. “…You speak of the masks, do you not?”

Ahh. He will not admit to the pixies’ prank on him. No one can prank the legendary Troupe Master…!

( ☀ ) ─ "Masks?" It's there, the penny drops, frown deepening as Gelebor weighs over the words in his fog-addled mind. Perhaps the thirst had made simple decisions difficult, as he gulps dry air in his scratchy throat, and presses fingers along his cheek. The mask, moulded itself to who he was, who he had unfortunately become cursed as. "Perhaps... what magic is it, that these masks should be important? They're only masks."

HE HATES FIBONACCI. THE STALE AIR of machinery hanging thick and harsh over his head. the darkness creeping in like shadows between the lives of unsuspecting citizens. he never thought he’d fear the PRESENCE of skyscrapers, and yet, here he stands, all but seeing evil lurking in the corners of his eyes. head turns at the sound of another voice, not one of the VILE visions he sees, but a kindly looking man ––– albeit, one with warm features twisted into fury.

❝are you … new here sir?❞ most of the time, no one really CARES about the downtrodden of fibonacci, or at least they fail to hold onto their anger for long. that world isn’t one he wants to be a part of, the hope within his heart grasped and just BARELY held on to. ❝most don’t really care about this INJUSTICE at all. i suppose they are just accustomed to it. isn’t that horrible?❞ his hand makes a fist, clenching it tight. ❝it is our duty to uplift our fellow citizens when they are down, not create an even GREATER wedge between us.❞

( ☀ ) ─ It's only the child's line of questioning that brings him out of broiling fury. Righteous though it may be, Gelebor could not, would not, bring even an ounce more of pain into the world than this wretched landscape already bore, so he turns to the boy beside him and bites back the litany of prayers and rage that pooled in his throat. This, he had to remember, was something these stars were at fault for, no doubt. "... Yes, I am."

💛 💜 ❤️ || her patience quite frankly seems to be TENFOLD the average human. while most may struggle with the library’s contents, she thrived off the challenge of GLEAMING whatever she could from each and every page. many seemed content to rest within its walls, but she chose to tackle her surroundings with a powerful, VORACIOUS appetite.

whatever secrets these walls may keep, she will not let them SLIP through the gaps of her fingers like kernels of sand.

from amidst her studies, a voice calls out through the haze. ❝oh?❞ lips part softly at the INTRUSION, seemingly unfazed by the nature of the stranger’s actions. skull tilts to take in the flower he twirls. what an ODD sort of man. ❝you won’t find anything in perfect shape, i’m afraid. for an AUTHORITARIAN sort, the librarian certainly doesn’t care for these books well.❞

a spread of her hand reveals a SIZEABLE stack of books piled up at her side. while an initial inspection may assume her to be selfishly clinging to them, she’s willing to part with her findings. to satori, the PURSUIT of knowledge is of the utmost importance. ❝you’re probably going to need to cross reference hour findings with my own notes, so if it is INSTANT gratification you seek, ANOTHER library may do you better.❞

( ☀ ) ─ He listens, but not without a weeping heart. Books, even those yellowed from years of disuse, had grown to be a solace, a friend, in the cave he'd guarded relentlessly for millenia. Though even his own had grown rotted in the damp atmosphere, to find such a collection discarded and neglected despite the wealth the City had to offer... The flower slips from his grasp as he sets it upon a nearby table, watching as a fluttering fairy grasps it up before returning its dance at the fountain. "I'd hoped for even one book that had stood the test of time, but I understand."

Some things weren't as simple as that, and to cry over books already long dead would only leave his bleeding heart with a greater burden than it already had. So instead, he walks to the lady, thin smile on his lips as he sits a respectable distance from her, elbows resting on knees and hands clasping as awkwardly as he always seems to be, amongst the strangers of this not-so-fair landscape. "So far, I haven't found any library with quite the atmosphere, or size. Though what it makes up for in mood, it's... lacking in reading material."

Gelebor plans to help as often as he can!! While he’ll stay mostly towards the paths, he’s willing to go out into the mists if it means helping someone whose lost get back on track.

His paths are like pavement of Isola, but cracked and broken like old ruins, with plants taking over much of it. 

When in the mist, any arrows he fires are bloodcursed, not sunhallowed. This means the area around him will become shrouded in darkness, and individuals with an affinity for the undead/night (vampires, skeles, etc.) will feel a little boosted

His data prints fall in two categories: bittersweet or dangerous. Either memories of snow elves, himself as a child with his brother, or other such things. These are mostly residual in nature, but there are sentient memories of the Betrayed, and they’re far from accommodating.

I mostly want to rp Gelebor as he is, but I may rp a data imprint of him during his childhood, we’ll see <3

Oh, it’s Gelebor from the theatre. Except today, he somehow looks even more uncomfortable than he did the last time. How curious!

“My friend, hello!☆ I admit, it’s been an odd sort, but I can’t help but investigate. As much as I believe things will collapse to madness before the end, I must search for any clues to the captors’ methods or desires. To hide away shall not serve me.”

“…But dear, you look positively unwell! When was the last time you slept?”

If only he knew of poor Gelebor’s ailment, then he’d freely offer the safely kept vial of blood in his bag. Vampiric folks must watch out for one another, after all…

( ☀ ) ─ "Grim? What are you doing here?" In some bittersweet way, the hunger melts away to a moment of peace, of relief at the sight of the familiar and friendly. Grim hadn't treated him unkindly the last time they spoke, yet for as quickly as Gelebor felt joy at another meeting, so too did the reminder of his affliction come crashing down. What else could he do here, but warn a friend? "This place... it isn't safe, I'd hate to see you come to harm."

Tongue over fangs, ache in the pit of his stomach, it's pushed away as he'd done every hour of this wretched event so far. For even as fists clenched at his side, Grim had asked a question, and to let that go ignored would be... improper. "... Last night. I slept well, and was fully rested before... this 'party'." A deep breath, he thought back to their first meeting. His companion had experience with this City, right? So surely, there were answers to be found for his questions?