light of the world,

     ❝  this  ground  harbors  evil.  ❞     @dustwife​       the  northman  starters.     accepting.

         a  fair  warning,    but  ultimately  unnecessary.    oblivious  as  she  can  be    (    especially  to  the  effects  of  magic    )    even  she  can  feel  the  depths  of  this  land’s  darkness  seeping  into  her  flesh,    curling  in  cold  tendrils  around  her  bones  as  she  puts  her  hand  on  the  hilt  of  her  sword.    her  mind  first  flickers  to  necromancers.    they  tended  to  darken  the  world  around  every  hole  they  burrowed  in,    putting  up  symbols  and  wards  that  made  her  stomach  swirl,    air  fetid  with  their  disgusting  ‘projects’.

         next,    and  ultimately  worse,    is  that  it  could  be  a  daedric  altar.    mae  has  heard  of  them  dotting  skyrim’s  landscapes  but  hadn’t  yet  stumbled  upon  one  herself,    yet.    perhaps  that  is  for  the  best.    dark  eyes  rake  over  the  dark  entrance  to  the  cave  some  distance  off,    a  slim  and  jagged  gap  in  the  mountainside,    before  they  fall  to  the  woman.    she  looks..    entirely  unassuming    ——    even  out  of  place  on  this  hallowed  ground.    suspicious.

        a little drabble about mirmulnir and the dragon waking.

       through her spiritual connection and faith in the gods,    maesena’s dreams were always quite vivid.    the general palette and flavor of them never truly changed:    clouds of golds and pinks hazed over fields of color,    lakes shimmering in sunlight.    few words were ever exchanged and instead she found peace in what she dreamt    ——    quiet days in the sun,    contentment in her mother’s arm draped over her shoulder in the cold.    

      in the first months spent in skyrim,    that hadn’t changed in any substantial way.    her dreams seemed more anchored    (   she liked to believe it was both her father’s connection to this land and the new amulet always hung on her neck,    a parting gift from her mother    )    and grey,    somber in more ways yet more exhilarating in others.

       the last she remembered of mirmulnir,    his head reared towards the sky and his bloody,    slashed maw opened in a scream.    the words clashing between his teeth seemed disbelieving and she didn’t yet realize that the  dovahkiin  he called to was her.    suddenly from the very root of his being a spectrum of energy rushed her    ——    just as the world became dark around the edges,    just as she felt her bones grow too weak to hold her skin.    the gash in her skull and blood running down her torso seemed all too damning until the energy of the dragon’s soul rushed into her being.    it hit her skin in a hot,    almost unbearable blaze and she fell to her back,    knowing nothing but that she felt not quite so weak once it filled her.

       by the time they got her to the temple of kynareth,    she was almost to the state she’d been in before.    the soul that entered her had revitalized her enough for her to be carried back to the city without incident,    but not enough to undo what damage had been caused.    still she bled,    still she was torn.    the guards gave out when the temple doors swung open and their arms,    jelly from the fight and the fear,    dropped her to the stone.    she slept.

      and she dreamt of the sky.    the open blue twisted with white and golden pink at the edges of the horizon,    the wind tangled under her arms.     her wings.    she looked back and saw them,    stretched wide as the sky itself.    blue and gold poured into each other and mixed through the fabric of her wings,    across the muscles that lead to her back    ——    ridged and horned,    scaled.    

            bug  magnet  draws  the  appropriate  level  of  disgust  —  he  wrinkles  his  nose  and  lets  that  speak  for  itself.  she  knows  what  to  say,  though.  there’s  an  immediate  shift  in  his  posture  and  a  light  that  flicks  on  behind  his  eyes.  his  voice  betrays  him,  “okay.”  hands  into  the  front  pocket  of  his  jacket,  and  he  fiddles  with  the  fabric  there.  “won’t  be  as  cool  as  the  lunar  eclipse,  but.  sure.”