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Every year the tribunal makes a pilgrimage to red mountain to draw power from the heart of lorkhan to re-empower themselves with the blood of the Missing god
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Thara Celehar sits at a table for two in an Amalo tea house. He sips from his tea cup thoughtfuly
Thara's internal narration: 'wish I knew how Iäna Pel-Thenhior felt about me. It is hard to tell if he just wants to be friends, or... something more.'
Iäna Pel-Thenhior sits across from Thara, he rests his face in his cuped hands and gazes at Thara. Iäna blinks slowly and deliberately: he has "Love - you" written on his eyelids in eye-liner.
Ive been reading Grief of Stones to my girlfriend out loud and she stopped what she was doing to bust out this banger. babys first thara fanart courtesy of @smoky-arcade
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the thing is that i do wholeheartedly believe hannibal would be a good husband. not a good person at all but you dont need to be a good person to be a good husband
this got way too long so i made a List Of Reasons Why He Would Be A Good Husband
has a lot of money. self explanatory. like you should marry for love and all that but my man is almost european royalty like be serious
knows how to cook. as long as youre not vegetarian youre great
will do his parts of the chores. i mean look at how spotless his house is. and you think this control freak hires someone to clean for him? nu-uh
good at communication. he's a psychiatrist, its his job to yap yap yap. and he's very understanding for it. he wants to understand you on a deep level (how literally? well)
hot. look at the man idk
great social skills. youre awkward around people? dont worry he'll be glad to do all the work
values your comfort above all. you got an annoying coworker? dont worry, they wont be seen again
amazing time management skills. how does he get so much done? no one knows, but he will always have time for you
takes interest in your hobbies. his reasons are to why may be dubious but oh well
no comment on his paternal instincts. who wants children in this economy anyway?
"You are an exception to our order's every stricture, Dragonborn," says Arngeir in farewell, handing her his own stout walking-stick. "Your power, your Voice, is a gift from the gods. So long as you use it in service to their purposes, you cannot stray from the Way."
His pupil of two months shoulders her traveling-pack. She's young, Arngeir thinks, watching her straighten beneath its weight: not so young as his last student, who had come to him in childhood with three wolfskins on his back, but new. Untried. She looks at him with a strange, belligerent eagerness, her face a sun half-eclipsed.
"How should I know," she says, her smile like the shimmer on the snow, "how the gods wish me to use my Voice?"
"For tutelage in the Way, you climbed this mountain." Arngeir does not smile back. "For the answer to that question, you must climb down again."
The Dragonborn, accustomed to such answers, makes a rueful face. She kneels to him in the way of her far folk, her knees crunching in the snow—then springs up to kiss his cheek, heedless of her burdens, in a way that is only her own.
"I'll return with Jurgen's horn," she promises, then grins. "And more parsnips for Borri's stew."
Breath and focus, Arngeir reminds himself, and does not grimace. "No more parsnips."
"Ripe cloudberries!"
"They'll be more than ripe," says Arngeir, "by the time you bring them back—"
"Honey, sadonvum," says the Dragonborn, walking backwards, "for your tea!"
Her housecarl, dressed for travel and waiting with dogged patience at path's edge, catches her before she can fall down the Seven Thousand Steps. At the sound of the Dragonborn's laugh, the wind that knifes through High Hrothgar stills, then swirls up the snow of the forecourt in a delighted dance.
Not even then does Arngeir smile. He watches his pupil of two months, not long enough to learn a single tenet of the Way, start down the mountain—a tempest of his tutelage, like the one who had shattered Markarth with his thu'um.
Behind him, the door of his monastery scrapes. Someone tugs his sleeve: Borri, who has always, since they were boys, walked through snow with a hart's silent tread.
I do not think that one, he signs with ancient hands, will Shout High Kings apart.
"No," Arngeir agrees, his troubled eyes lingering on the Steps. "No. But what will she do?"
* * *
The Dragonborn does a cartwheel in the first open field she meets, or tries to; her pack overbalances her, and she flops into the heather with a whoop.
"The sun!" she says in greeting, and basks in the warm grass. A vole dashes across her hand. She beams at it, half-drunk on freedom and the sweet lowland air, and hails it in the tongue of voles and dragons: "Lok vah, malfahdon!"
Lydia prods her with a foot. "My Thane, we have leagues to travel today—"
The Dragonborn grins and yanks her legs out from under her. The wrestling-match that ensues is brief and unheroic: they crash through the heather, startling a family of grouse, and then Lydia is sitting on the Dragonborn's chest.
"Don't be cross," she laughs, seeing the look on her housecarl's face. "Aren't you glad to be gone from that mountain?"
"Yes, my Thane," says Lydia with utmost patience, breathing hard, "but—"
"No more parsnips!"
Lydia's stubborn scowl wobbles.
"No more parsnips," she concedes, and ducks her head to hide a smile.
Her hair tickles the Dragonborn's nose. Something tugs in her chest, as though a lock of it has snarled around her heart.
"Look," she says, smiling. "Everything listens, down here. Not like those lazy mountain stones." She stretches her arm across the sunlit grass, cupping her hand in invitation. "Malfahdon!"
The heather rustles. The grass parts. The vole, quivering with terror or joy, crawls obligingly into her palm.
[send me a number, and i'll write a microfic using the word or phrase!]
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OFGIHOGFHOIGF JUST BACK FROM THE VACATION SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LOOOOOOONGGGG!!! -inhales- sanguineeeeee!!!!!!!..................my sweet potatoman, my unhinged little meow-meow, my slut of the month-every month!!! i swear this man is SAINT and he is here to save our characters from traumatizing encounters with the plot, using only cheap booze and questionable relationships with goats. the amount of times i shoved him into the story just for nae to finally have some damn good time?? illegal........ speaking of - i have NO IDEA since when we collectively decided that sanguine is like The Prince Who Other Princes Tolerate The Most but you know what? i love it! it works so well!! he has this "bob, everyone's favorite buddy" energy and then !!bam!! you build horror and gore on top of it!! funny party music slows and starts to sound creepy!! food looks suspicious!! lights makes your eyes hurt!! oooooooooooooooooooooooh id kill for having a well made quest featuring him! sanguine's themes of dark desires, hedonism and blood are pure horror material and just begging to be put to use!! psychological horror\thriller we could get with him involved could be so delicious!! not entirely "descend into madness" kind of thing because we have another sweet daedric bun for that, but "humanity under a microscope" mb? the box man + lord of the flies kinda story? we're definitely missing a lot here 🍷
dededos
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
areudirty
andulkaphoto
