#bowrisen

         ‘   the  dragon  born ?  an  elf ?    ‘      everything  vilkas  has  ever  assumed  is  crashing  before  his  eyes –    he  remembers  the  stories  from  when  he  was  a  child .   ysgramor  making  shor  proud  by  swinging  wuuthrad  towards  the  elves  that  had  stolen  their  homes .   reclaiming  their  ancestral  homeland  &  bringing  forth  peace  &  prosperity .  the  elves  had  slaughtered  the  peaceful  settlers  in  saarthal ,  &    even  tiber  septim  himself  had  claimed  the  lives  of  many  mer .  so  why  had  akatosh  chosen  a  bosmer ,  of  all  people ,  to  rid  skyrim  of  these  winged  beasts ?

             vilkas’s  eyes  shoot  downward ,   lips  maintaining  a  slight  frown .   his  look  is  not  one  of  dismay –   more  confusion  mixed  with  something  else  harder  to  place .   he  pushes  some  stray  hairs  out  of  his  face  &  tucks  them  behind  his  ear ,  proudly  showing  one  of  his  more  prominent  scars .   he  sighs  .   ‘   i  suppose  i  am  not  one  to  question  the  mighty  dragon - lord .  we  are  honored  to  host  you  in  the  halls  of  jorrvaskr ,  dovahkiin .  ‘

critical role \ meme codex \ @bowrisen

“Gods.” It falls like venom from his lips, a word he wished would never befall him again ( for he had once been called a god and oh how he watched the other mighty fall around him — ). Hands come together, palms pressed flat against one another as fabric creases and falls around the crook of his elbow. If he was younger, he voice would have risen — resonating around the rotunda and echoing off the stone and plaster above. However, he remains impassive, calm ( almost ) as he turns to those before him. 

He supposed the melodrama of his youth never truly left his spirit. “Are nothing more than what man creates them to be.” Once he was not so jaded, but the injustice he had seen at the hands of those who claimed to be Gods had all but destroyed the faith he had once held dear, and with that soiled word he had turned to the freckled sky and bayed  —– looking for the answers he so needed. 

He had found them, and it had been without the aid of a God. 

                                Nightingale gave a WICKED wolfish grin at the other wood elf, golden hues sparking as she playfully began,  ❝  Okay but does ANYONE else say that the Rift reminds them of Valenwood ?  ❞

                                It feels like years since she’s seen another female Bosmer, YEARS since she’d cross Hammerfell during the war into this chilly frozen land where it seemed FEW of her own ventured. She was beginning to piece together POSSIBLE answered to that question. She didn’t blame them for ANY of the reasons.

step on me bear daddy 🐻

popular text posts //  meme cache

Ah the never ending cycle of stress, as a writer -- he knows it well, as a second son he knows it less than well. That oddly shaped middle road that he finds himself traversing down keeps him sane more or less. Stress, of course, does edge it’s way back into his life and that’s the kicker --- one will never truly be stress-free, they simply have to find that long and winding road of the in-between. He shrugs at his companion, passing a drink down the polished bar. “We’ve got jackets at this club, welcome new members. I’m the chapter president.” He laughs at his own joke, sick and twisted as it may be --- he finds a soothing sensation in laughing at his own anxieties. “People telling you to let go is bullshit.” 

It’s all bullshit he cites, telling people to buck up and deal with it. To swallow whatever pain and anxiety that has festered deep in the below. He’s also of the volition that he must abuse the fear he feels --- pulling it deep from his chest and splattering it across the canvas he writes on, for that’s the only way to get it out, lest it burst from him and consume him.Oh, how he doesn’t ever want it to destroy him --- so he paints his pain away with words, he drinks the rest of it down, he laughs at his own loathing and keeps what is left to drive him forward.  

He downs his drink, the glass of the sniffer resonates against the polished set top.