#aurielswaywardson

"You first. I do not feel like getting a dagger in the back." Manarion growled, voice deep and rumbling, a clear promise of harm if he felt threatened.

Aicendor cautiously lead the way into the nearby inn, his heart thumping in his chest. Somehow, despite volunteering for the High Justiciar’s mission to "recover” Skyrim’s wayward General, he had not expected to actually find Manarion Elahriel. At least not so quickly.

He had almost forgotten how towering and intimidating the mer was, particularly when he was in a foul mood. Aicendor did not exactly feel comfortable in his presence, but this was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? A conversation with the mer who’d broken his friend’s heart.

It was very unlike the Ambassador to be unable to focus on her work. Usually she was too focused on her work, often missing meals and working into the very late evening in order to ensure she was on top of absolutely everything. In recent days, however, even the most routine of paperwork had become a struggle to complete and things had begun to snowball to the point where even Emissary Rulindil, a mer of very few words, could no longer ignore the fact that his superior’s work ethic was slipping. Three days later than expected, Elenwen had handed him a report on an alleged Talos shrine and Rulindil had returned the favour with a look of thinly veiled exasperation.

Rather eager to avoid further embarrassment, Elenwen had resorted to drastic action. More or less locking herself away in her office, she had told herself that she would not leave until she had caught up on every last paper. It did not matter if it took her all day or all week - she had to pull herself out of this moping. Manarion... was gone. He was not coming back. She had to face up to that fact and move on already.

Easier said than done...

Sitting at her desk, a feeling of utter dread filled every nook and cranny of her insides as she looked at the stacks, upon stacks of paperwork that she had managed to amass in just a few days. Coupled with her underlying feeling of nausea it was an overwhelming sensation. But she simply had to power through. Picking up a rather thick file from the rightmost stack, she took a deep breath, readied her quill and...

There was a knock at the door.

A scowl descended over the Ambassador’s brow. She had given everyone strict instructions to leave her be for just one day and already someone had decided it necessary to come bother her. Wonderful.

Striding over to her door, she swung it open, intent on staring down the intruder with a long, hard glare. That was, until she saw who they were.

“Fucking.” Manarion grumbled and growled, but it seemed borne more of frustration then genuine anger. “Hold still.” He chided. “My medical skills are not the best. I took me forever to bind your wounds in a way that would hold up and your fucking squirming is just going to make me do it all over again.” He gave the Dawnguard healer a stern look before it lessened in severity. He held up the other mer’s staff in one huge hand, giving it small wiggle to catch Solurion’s attention. 

The mer chuckled softly, a deep throaty sound that was something like a growl, even as his lip twitched in amusement behind his silver beard. “Do not be so dramatic.” The massive General teased. “We are headed back to the nearest city and if you want to head back to Castle Dawnguard by yourself, then by all means.” A shrug that shifted the blind mer in Manarion’s arm, but hopefully not too much. “Or if you want me to accompany you, I am headed to the Rift regardless.

He wasn’t going to be imprisoned? The vampire stopped struggling, his eyes narrowing as his gaze remained ahead, to the giant mer’s right. “Wait a moment,” he said, ears flicking back as he heard the gentle swoosh of his staff waving in the air. “You do know what I am, do you not? Surely you do. You have some sort of Aedric aura around you... at first I believed you some sort of priest, but that can’t be right. The Thalmor don’t take priests as their agents.” 

Once the dread of spending eternity in the dreaded prison on Auridon’s northern coast was lifted, Solurion was able to begin assessing what damage the thinbloods caused; the damage was not so grievous he’d have to find something to feed on, but certainly enough to put him out of commission for at least a week, perhaps two. He winced when Manarion shifted, but said nothing; had he been able to walk on his own, he might have had some snide quip, but it wouldn’t do to make the mer to drop him, not at this rate. 

          “You made a promise you would stop. I don’t take kindly to people who break their promises. Or blackout in the middle of the courtyard. You’re too heavy for me to carry.” Yaz retorts, flicking her ears and playing with the writing quills on the desk. “I wouldn’t necessarily say I care, but... I suppose I don’t hate you enough to turn away when shit like this happens.”

“Still think it looks like you stole it from an old goat.”

1) What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.)? 

{ uh… does anyone remember off hand what the first option for choice is on the skyrim character creator? lol whatever that one was.

2) Did you design them with any other characters/OCs from their universe in mind? 

The boy could only gawk, saucer eyes going from the skeletal remains of the dragon and back to the Altmer before him. He’d heard of the dragons returning, of course, but to encounter one… and then for a mountain of a mer to step in before getting roasted… 

“Tick.” The Altmer’s tone is disapproving, but he seems amused as well while he slowly approached the younger elf. “What have you gotten yourself into?” He sighed, before taking a roll of bandages and a health potion and directing a deadpan look at the injured mer. “Or do I even want to know?”

___

“...there was a mage and I tried to pick his satchel.” Tick said, red starting to creep into that pale face of his. “He had a book I wanted to look at. But he caught me.”