@shadows-of-almsivi

The New Life was strange this year; smaller than usual, with just her great-grandfather, newly-found father, and one or two long-lost friends— at least, friends of her parents and grandparents; and now, even a cousin. A much older cousin, but a cousin nonetheless. As the clock struck midnight, Haleth flitted from guest to guest. She'd been told, once, that it was Dunmer tradition to share kisses with family upon the New Year, so she'd vowed to do just that; she moved through the small crowd gathered in her great-grandfather's home a quick kiss on the cheek, before moving on to the next person.

At long last, she arrived at the last guest, one who remained in the corner, shy of the rest of the party; likely the last to show up, though she hadn't really even seen him enter. "Happy New Life!" she said, hopping up to give the older mer a kiss, before hopping up to sit on the counter next to him.

Send me a symbol and I’ll try my hand at writing your muse in that situation.

🔪: Fighting, killing someone or something, being violent♘: Traveling, preparing to go somewhere, arriving in a new place

Oh now this was simply quite the bother. It should have been a short trip really, not even a day’s worth of travel between the two locations if Morealyn’s calculations has been correct. But the Dunmer had clearly failed to take into account the possibility of bandits, something that was causing a slight bit of irritation to pass behind their brow. Three of the number already lay dead by the Dunmer’s hand, and no doubt more were soon to follow if the brutes kept pressing the attack like they were. Why they had decided he of all people seemed like an appropriate target was admittedly beyond him, but Morealyn was going to make certain that was the last mistake they ever made.

Just as the Dunmer is cleaving into flesh once again he finds his attentions pulled away from current matters however, as his eyes light upon a particular scrabbling of ink across the man’s flesh. Oh, now that was a peculiarity in these parts. The last time he’d laid eyes on a tattoo such as that he’d been dealing with a band of seafaring marauders from Hammerfell. They themselves had been quite entertaining to cross blades with, though admittedly they had stunk a bit too much of rotten fish and seaweed for Moraelyn’s more delicate senses. But yes, they had been quite entertaining. Far more entertaining than this lot, that much was for certain.

Send ??? to hear what my muse really thinks about yours, but would never say out loud.

Send me “WANTED: [Character Name]” and my character will react to seeing a wanted ad for that person.

A very off step in the Argonian’s stride when Nor catches the parchment out of the corner of his eye, his gaze narrowing in turn as he goes to look at it. Well, this certainly wasn’t good. Now just what had the Dunmer managed to muck up so badly that it ended with a wanted poster being put out for them?

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse:☾ - being found shirtless

What would your muse do if they found mine locked in a cell and chained to a wall? Put it in my ask.