#thyfate

gusts  of  wind  messing  with  his  perfect  hair  ,        the  breeze  up  here  was  frigid   and   sharp  .        like  a  javelin  whisking  past  .     brunette  curls  bounced  with  his   dance      like   dodges  ,      sidesteps  taken  with  stride  at  first  glance  .      her  fist  had  sharp  metals  around  the  knuckles   ,        he ’ d  notice  as  with  what  little  time  he  had  been  granted  to  respond  ,      it  grazed  his  cheek  and   a   thin   cut   began   oozing  tiny  beads  of  blood  with  haste . 

he ’ d  almost  lost  balance ,    half  of  his  boot  off  the  edge  while  tiny  pebbles  and  stones  tumbled  ,     &&    echoed  down  into  the  steep  abyss  of  the  valley  .    doom      stridden  eyes  witnessing  as  such  minuscule  fragments  kept  falling  further  down  .      only  fleeting  seconds  allowed  for  his  imagination  to  run  rampant   with  ideas  of  his  own  death  should  caution  not  be  taken  .      darien ’ s  focus  whipped  back  to  her  with  driven  fear  .        [   too   slow  !   ]

there ’ s  a  snap    /    crackle    &&    pop  from  her  next  punch  ,      his  vision  blurred  and  blacking  out  for  mere  moments                       off  centered  recovery  that  landed  him  on  his  ass  ,      thankfully  still  on  the  walls  of  the  fortress  .              ❝         for      the      love      of      mara   !        ❜               anger  boosted  in  his  voice  ,     a  hand  wiping  at  the  man ’ s  upper  lip  ,     blood  spewing  from  his  nose  .     broken  ?!      that  bastard  !!                     ❝         if      this      leaves      a      scar  ,       you ’ ll      owe      me      a      drink      from      every      tavern      in      glenumbra   !       no  ,       tamriel   !        ❜             he  accused  ,     eyes  managing  to  glare  daggers  at  her  from  beyond  his  hand      covered  face   ,      stopping  the  bleeding   ,       although  it  merely  began  to  spill  out  onto  his  white  metal  gauntlets  . 

❝         i ’ ve      been      trying      to      tell      you   ,         i ’ m      on      your      side   !         do      you      always      greet      people      by      punching      them    !?          ❜                    with   a  free  hand  he  removes  his  weapon  sheathe  ,      dropping   aside   the   enchanted   blade   to   show  his  complete  surrender  .        making  audible  sounds  to  express  his  pain  ,    eyes  dropping  with  the  occasional  glance  to  his  hand  with  his  own  blood  staining    newly    polished    armor  .                       ❝         i ’ m      captain      of      the      guard  ,        here      in      camlorn    ...          this      fortress      was      overtaken      by       bandits   ,          and      there      have      been      reports      that      it ’ s  ...        agh  !           ❜                  a   hand   pressed   against   his   temple   ,        feeling  a  headache  rupture  from  the  blunt  force  of  her  swing  .    this  is  what  he  gets  for  disarming  the  dame  .          ❝         reports       that      it ’ s    ...        haunted  .            ❜                   darien  says  midst  an  episode  of  pain  flooding  his  senses  . 

EYES OF MOLTEN GOLD LINGERED UPON HER.   it was like addressing a ghost ---- a sense of familiarity always lingered not long behind, but it came in pieces, in fragments.  mistrust urged them away, a mistrust earned through bitter, foul betrayal, and yet here they stood regardless.  a frown pulled at their lips, and finally they ceased their restless pacing to stand before her-- before vyel.  “ I WOULD APOLOGIZE FOR DISTRACTING YOU FROM YOUR DUTIES. ”  and a redoran always had many.  casually, nerevar’s hands clasped behind their back.  “ ...BUT I CANNOT RID YOU FROM MY MIND. ”

“ --HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS THERE? ”   the dunmer all but whined, promptly giving up on her attempts to sneak past the older woman. she would have expected vyel’s ears to at least offer her some leeway when it came to sleuthing under her radar, and yet...   “ do you have eyes on the back of your head, vyel? ”

@thyfate​ sent a courier, [ HOVER ] + vyel hesitating on their first kiss? yeah. yeah! :^)

𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙲 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙵𝚁𝙰𝚈𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙽𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙴𝚂, 𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚁 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙼𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙳𝚁𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁. these days, fear was something unfamiliar and strange; something the hortator would experience little, if ever. it felt like barbed wire around their lungs, constricting and tightening until each breath came shallow, barely visible in the frigid atmosphere of skyrim’s winter. 

gods, they hated this place.

corpses were strewn around the snow, blood staining white until the color was indistinguishable from the snowberry bushes dotted about the scenery. the remains of an attack-- thalmor, not the first time and not the last, but more than just a small group of them. six, at least. as their eyes dotted to another body -- a jagged gash in the altmer’s stomach, left by chrysamere -- and they concluded: seven.

vane’s chest still rose and fell harshly, the battle having only concluded a second ago; their hand was still extended, wisps of magick curling around their fingers in a dazzling array of red-pink light. 

it was close, too close. the justiciar’s blade was extended, and thrust forward, ready to plunge itself into vyel’s spine as she had busied herself with another. the fear that struck vane then was so potent, so strong that they screamed vyel’s name aloud, a powerful bolt of energy leaving their extended palm, burying itself into the justiciar’s back. fingers curled, and vane pulled their hand back, and with it they pulled the man’s life-force, red energy like plasma siphoning itself from his body until his knees gave out, crumbling beneath him.

vyel turned from her fallen enemy to the next, the man on his knees, cape flourishing behind her. as chrysamere lifted once more, vane felt frozen, watching as -- in a quick, fluid, almost graceful motion -- the greatsword came down, taking the altmer’s head with it.

❝ vyel--! ❞   finally, it felt like they could breathe again. they inhaled sharply, and tried to ignore the way their hand shook as they lowered it, crossing the distance in the snow and stepping between bodies to reach her. but as they moved, each step became heavier, and as each breath came in quicker, the panic faded to something else.

to anger. how could she be so careless? vane’s fingers kept curled into that fist, nails biting into their palm as they approached. how dare she? how could she dance so close to death, so close to leaving them here alone again?

❝ you--❞  they began to speak just as they stopped not a foot away from her, though found themselves lacking. their jaw clenched, and moments of silence passed as their eyes met-- one legend to another. the anger in vane’s was still palpable, but it vanished as an arm suddenly threw itself around vyel’s neck, pulling her down and in close into an embrace.  ❝ ohn s'wit. ❞

she looked sheepish, perhaps embarrassed to be the victim of the hortator’s rage and displeasure, her body stiff and awkward for the moment as vane held her. it was short lived, their face tucked against her neck only briefly before pulling back just until they were but mere inches apart.

whatever they felt had dissipated, replaced by something foreign but not entirely unpleasant. they still shook, albeit barely, now clinging onto the eternal champion with fingers curled into her cloak. this was as close as they’d ever been; vane could feel her breath against their lips, warm and inviting. so close. they peered up at her through lidded, asymmetrical eyes, gaze turning from something fierce to something soft and wanting. the look in vyel’s eyes was different too, gentler. for a moment, it almost seemed as if she was going to close the distance between them, but she hesitated, and vane tried to muffle the sense of disappoint they felt for it.

carefully, they angled their head up ‘til their foreheads pressed together. slowly, the hortator inhaled, breathing in the familiar scent of iron and spice and the faint scent of their last campfire. shoulders slackened, and the single reason vane hadn’t closed their eyes was to look into vyel’s, mesmerized by their beauty.

❝ ...you frightened me. ❞   their eyes flicked to the side briefly, catching glance of one of the many bodies that bloodied the ground, but they were quick to return to her. vane’s arm unwound itself from vyel’s neck, and slowly, gently their palm rested to her jaw, thumb caressing her cheek. they were still so close, vane wanted to be closer-- but it felt as if something was holding them back.   ❝ be careful. 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙼𝙴, if not for yourself. ❞

it’s saturday but ok

          “ You’ve certainly got that right, fetcher. ”  the comment comes like spittle, spat out onto the floor in disgust. she tugs at her cape, almost as if to wrench it away from the mans’ presence. to say she was fond of delvin mallory was far from the truth. ever since that guard  ( by azura, what was his name? thronir? strong-fist? b’vehk, she despised skyrim )  had directed her to this upstanding citizen for brokered information, the champion had found herself hating his … well, everything. from the way he seemed to reek of a sewer, to the entire way he presented himself, the champion was, needless to say, disgusted. and she thought herself to be an incredibly tolerant individual. but she supposed tolerance could only go so far, and she guessed she left that somewhere back in cyrodiil several months ago.          with a heavy exhale, she unhooks her pouch of drakes from her belt, and tosses them haphazardly onto the table. a bitter, impatient look is shot his way, crystaline eyes writhing with something uniquely irritated.            " You’re trying my patience, Mallory. I came here for information, not idle chitchat. That’s the full price we settled on, now––- tell me where to find that Stormcloak camp. “

There’s a vile spark cindering hungrily in the embers of his eyes as he drags the payment nearer with clawed fingertips.  He weighs the purse in the palm of his hand.  He could make her wait.  Count out the payment for a more thorough inspection ; an entirely unnecessary precaution for his own bemusement.  Ah -- but a well paying customer was a well paying customer.  A luxury during endless nights when the flagon was barren of life.  Leaving the formidable dunmer an intriguing sight, to say the very least, whose interests in his library of secrets & information were welcomed.  She came across unlikely to short change him, he had a conditional faith in that much, but if personal intuition hadn’t been enough to convince ; her impatience would.    

Smug is his grin as he, mercifully, tucks the pay into a discrete pocket for later sorting & retrieves a folded bit of parchment from another.  The champion would have it her way.  Tonight.  Extending the paper to her the smugness gives way to something darker, more knowing, beneath the seasoned mischief.