Long live the Aldmeri Dominion!

“I don’t recall shapeshifting into a Nord.”

      “ A Thalmor..? ”

  Brows were raised in mild surprise to the title. She’d held little conversations with the Thalmor; most strode past her on some other highly important task for the Empire or whatever it was they served. Felt rather hard to keep track when one cared so little for such frivolous things.

      “ What suspicion have I arisen for the Thalmor to deem me intriguing enough? ” Thumbs tapping idly against her hand as she spoke. Gaze lowered so that lashes hid their bright blue. As though she were taking his question into consideration. A rather humorous question, too, considering the current state of affairs Tamriel found itself thrown in.

      “ Windhelm, actually. Though I prefer to keep myself distanced from such roots. ”

Aicerion had been genuinely surprised. His features softened with perplexed intrigue as he folded his arms in front of him. But what had been replaced with his former curiosity had been met with suspicion. The name did not ring pleasant among the Thalmor, the seat of the ‘true Nords’ was a laughable joke, the punchline being Ulfric himself.

“I trust you speak to me in earnest. The Thalmor have no patience for HERETICS. How sad it would be to see yet another among them.”

He pondered her question and breathed a soft, thoughtful air, the sharp clink of his cloak’s golden clasps rustling as he shifted.

   THE elf should have been grateful that Svenntir was not as BRASH as he thought, for if he was, the Nord would have gladly made the Altmer swallow his teeth by now. Oh, he tested him- and the Dragonborn’s TEMPER was not something to be underestimated! Even so, the scarred face remained eerily calm, not a muscle out of place. The amulet yet dangled from his fingers, swaying on the chain as Sven’s hand TIGHTENED and LOOSENED.

   “I have great compassion for my people, and my home. Certainly more than you or any of your kind do.” he said coolly, nodding his head in the elf’s direction. “If I remember correctly, ‘twas I who slew ALDUIN THE WORLD EATER in the realm of Sovngarde, after all. I risked everything to save Skyrim; I’d do it again if I had to. I did not stand up to the strongest DRAGON in Tamriel just for a sniveling Aldmeri dog to tell me I cannot worship Talos.”

HIS eyes were like two sharp SAPPHIRES in his head as he stared. If he could have glared daggers, the elf would be dead as a doorknob. He placed his amulet back around his neck, where it belonged, before he SPAT unceremoniously at the other’s feet. 

 “EVERY person in Skyrim has the right to worship Talos if they so choose. It was not your people who gave us that right; it is not yours to TAKE AWAY.”

“I have trouble believing you. For what man held to a hero’s standard could possibly pick a side of a petty human war? Are you not beyond such vices?”

Human flaw, just as this false god was to be. Aicerion was at least comforted knowing that this foolish great Nord could not possibly know better from his own thick skull. He shifted, just, to move from the arch of spit hitting the ground. His suspicions confirmed correct, the Nord was a MUTT, like the rest of them.

“Compassion, you would say? Was it not your Emperor who made a treaty with us? And now you fight your own brethren because you are upset that your ‘GOD’ is being doubted? We will do as we please, for that is the AGREEMENT.”

       Dark lips curl wickedly at his words and a soft chuckle follows. The scent of magic poured from him, that tangy small that would have sent prickles across her skin were she still alive. Sulfur clung to the clothes of warlocks, residue from their demon companions, and here she smelt none. A mage then, was his casting faster than her bow? “ Oh but I quite enjoy trouble, don’t you? ” A fight would not get her the answers she needed. Right now she needed answers.  “ As much as I love a good fight, I have need for knowledge more so. Allow me to introduce myself. ” A bow, grandiose in appearance. Just as she had been taught in the shining city that had been Silvermoon all those years ago. Etiquette she had not practiced in just as many and yet performed as if it was yesterday.  “ I am Sylvanas Windrunner. Perhaps you could tell me what lands these are? I came by way of magic but I know not where I have landed. ”

Aicerion had learned that there was never a reason for someone to smile at a Thalmor member. They were offered no such pleasantries. His lips curled into a displeased frown and his gaze narrowed upon her features.

“I care little for trouble.”

And he did not care for her seeming enjoyment of it, either. 

He listened to her, picking apart her tone and vocabulary, clawing for theories and answers of her being as she introduced herself. She was not of Skyrim’s ancestry, to be sure. Aicerion did not think Skyrim’s children possessed the intelligence to make such a gesture.

“‘By ways of magic’?” He repeated, dubious. He thought her a mere drunkard. “What unfortunate magic has led you here? This is Skyrim.”

      “ I can feel you staring. ” A comment not made unpleasantly, even if the feeling of eyes boring into her very being was an uncomfortable sensation. One you’d fathom her used to at this point in her life. Plenty stared at the girl incapable of staring back. Usually out of curiosity as their minds attempted to piece together why she seemed in a daze.

  The sensation that accompanied this gaze - however - felt different. Hands clasped before her in a somewhat peaceful gesture; head tilted inquisitively to the side. “ Has something my face done upset you? ”

Her voice had brought Aicerion from his waking somnium. But it was a FEELING of vision, and not true, and so Aicerion had made a point to push weight into his steps, solid against the ground. He was no pickpocket, and did not want to give her the impression of one.

“As a Thalmor Justiciar serving the Aldmeri Dominion, you will be understanding that I treat most passersby with a degree of suspicion.”

Humans, in that regard. But she did not swagger like the common Nord, she did not hulk and grunt and boast of her strength. Instead, she bled magic, black as forbidden soul gems.

“Where are you from?”

   THALMOR business! More like a big pile of dog shit, if Sven had anything to say about it! The fist of his shield arm clenched in what was just HARDLY restraint, blue gaze hardening with every passing moment. He wished he could just punch that smug face and be done with it, but that would not be wise. No, instead he nodded as he reached for a PENDANT around his neck.

“OH, of course. My people believe in a god that yours do not, and so we are senseless MAGGOTS who must have our traditions and beliefs flogged out of us.” Svenntir nodded as though it made SENSE, as he pulled a chain from around his neck beneath the breastplate, the one his father had given him when he was but a boy- an amulet of TALOS, worn to time yet unmistakable. A thick golden brow arched, the rest of the Dragonborn’s scarred face completely impassive.

“HERE is your proof, elf.”

And so it was true. The supposed heralded reptile-tongued fated hero of Skyrim was as true to the Nords as he could be. Aicerion was REPULSED, feeling the slithering hiss of his pride threaten to ooze from his fingertips. But he was not a stupid man, far from, and challenging a brutish Nord as well as a vicious, mindless animal would be dire, no matter how strong one claimed to be.

“I trust you are fully aware of your heretic status. How you and your people can worship a mere man is lost on me, but I did not come to argue your flawed reasoning.”

Aicerion had been briefed on Ulfric and his civil war. He pondered, for a moment, if he could further deepen the divide between sides. He did not enjoy the potential the man could possess at swaying opinion. Making him out to be a ruthless destroyer seemed feasible. 

“I find it laughable, that you parade such a meaningless trinket around. Have you no COMPASSION for your homeland, Nord?”

       This land was strange. Similar and yet different from her own. The Banshee Queen found herself wandering, searching for how she had ended up here. The appearance of the elf confused her. He looked like a high elf, and yet he didn’t. Was he a half breed? Perhaps. His words caused her eyes to narrow. “ Do tell me why I should listen to you? ” The she-elf raised her chin in defiance. Even if her name carried no weight in these foreign lands she was still Sylvanas Windrunner, Warchief of the Horde.

She spoke as if she were of his kind. A GNAWING sting not uncommon among Altmer women. For a brief moment, he considered her accent, pondering it upon sensitive ears. He determined she could not possibly have lingered around Alinor. Her gait was not refined, as she would have been taught.

“If you value keeping yourself out of trouble, you would consider my words sage advice.”

She had merely been traveling on the road when she heard the words spoken. At first, she did not believe it to be directed at her, or at least, she hoped not. Despite her hopes, they were dashed quickly as she finally stopped within a few seconds, and looked around, before looking at the much taller elf. 

A moment passed, she pointed to him, then herself, as if to get conformation that it was indeed her that he was referring to. Truth be told, she hadn’t even noticed he had been behind her. 

It was then that she noticed his clothing.

“A-Ah I see, a Thalmor Justicar. How may I help you today?”

The question was simple enough, but the words were laced with a sort of nervousness. She’d dealt with small things since her run away from Solitude from her family, such as wolves, and skeevers, a few pit-pockets, but nothing like a Justicar. She hoped word hadn’t gotten too far out yet that she was a runaway. Surely they wouldn’t send a Thalmor after her…. would they?

“I do hope I am not in trouble?”

Her nervous disposition had given Aicerion pause. Were she not guilty, surely there would be no issue. He looked pensive for a moment, arms folded across his chest as he loomed over her, a towering, pointed creature donning black and gold as he eyed the woman.

“My business upon Skyrim is to make sure your Emperor was not deceiving his rightful Mer rulers when he signed that Concordat. I am merely performing my duty by checking the civilians of Skyrim. If you have nothing to hide, your nerves are unfounded.”

   THE look Svenntir gave was anything but WELCOMING; his Stormcloak hackles rose with the coming of an Altmer. Elf aside, what fool had the nerve to tell the DRAGONBORN to halt? Sven had struck the heart of ALDUIN THE WORLD EATER with the sword at his hip, and many dragons even before that! He had survived Helgen, just one of only a small handful to make such a claim. If this Aldmeri joke enjoyed being alive, perhaps he would THINK before he spoke to a warrior of such fortitude so brashly.

JAW clenched, fingers tapped impatiently at the hilt of his sword. “What business have you with ME, elf?”

Aicerion had little patience for the way the man glowered at him. Nords knew NOTHING of respect for those of a higher power than them. They did not know to bow before gnashing teeth and spitting curses. Aicerion had kept his well formed posture, though his brows twitched to furrow at the tone in which he was spoken at.

“Thalmor business. As Skyrim passes each day, my people find more and more HERETICS crawling like maggots upon a dead dog. You understand, in that regard, why it stands that I must ask for your proof that you are not among the insects.”

@epioles || starter call ➳

          “Relax! Ain’t that bad!”

          Alligal had plopped himself down on the           wooden chair, stretching his legs as he           slammed the tankard down in front of           Aicerion, harsh enough to be heard among           the loud voices in the tavern.

          “Don’t you want to blend in a little better?”

It was that bad.

Aicerion could smell the overbearing stench of ale and sweat, the retch-inducing belches of drunken patrons, watching Alligal slam his tankard down onto the table, his sensitive hearing jarred as his gaze slid closed in a desperate effort to escape the problem at hand.

“I would like you to know that truly, if it came to it, I would not spare a moment’s hesitation to bury you alive under the floor of this wretched place.”

Aicerion was, with each passing day in Skyrim, growing more and more adept at spotting the differences in humans. And he had found that Bretons may be perhaps among the ugliest of the human races. 

          Alligal had simply pouted at the comment, having           hoped that he’d have caught Aicerion in a better           mood — although he certainly had to wonder when           that had ever been the case.

          “Don’t be like that…” he whined. “C’mon, let me           follow you. I’ll do anythin’. Just let me go with you.”

“Is that some sort of Bosmeri joke? I’m not having you follow me about like a rotten mutt. This is Thalmor business, and if you have any concept of respect in that shrunken, malformed head of yours you would leave, immediately.”

The man was tall. But among Nords, it was not uncommon. Though Aicerion was a lean, sinewy creature himself, the Nord in passing had smarted him by a few inches. Something in his face told Aicerion perhaps the man was of broken heritage, and the thought had given him pause to inwardly scoff, knowing most humans did not care to keep their blood sacred.

She looked as if death clutched her hand and waltzed upon the flowers with her. Aicerion had an immediate distrust for all humans, and she was no exception. She reminded Aicerion of a Hagraven. Something strange and oozing magic, but he did not rush to speak to her, instead watching her with careful interest.