#writing time posts

*Sometime after Val, Remiel, Gore and Ieama get arrested during Foresworn Conspiracy but before the breakout* Xelzaz: I have locked Silverbloods in a cage designed by their own art. They have been well and truly hoist by their own petard! Auri: Could you put it another way? I didn’t understand a word of that. Nebarra: We’re blackmailing them. Redcap: Happy! Days!

Remiel: I bet you’re wondering why I gathered you here today. It’s because we need to have a discussion about how some people in this room aren’t getting along with other people in this room. Xelzaz: Why did you say that so vaguely? Redcap and I are literally the only people you called in here.

Auri: If Val and I were drowning, who would you save? Ieama: You two can’t swim? Val: It’s a hypothetical question! Who would you save? Ieama: My time and effort.

Remiel: Some of us are still ‘it’ from a childhood game of tag. Gore: Way to just fuck me up on a Tirdas, sister.

Nebarra, to Ieama after a long ass fight: When surrendering, Reachmen, you are supposed to hand the sword over HILT first.

Taliesin: Can you pass the salt? Val: Can you pass away? Taliesin: Too much salt.

Gore: I’m Bisexual and confused. Gore, during the College of Winterhold quests: Not at the fact that I’m a Bisexual, I just don’t know what the FUCK is going on.

Val: What do I get out if this venture, Remi? Remiel: A night of fashion, mischief, mayhem, and possible death. Val: Ooh, check, check, and check; not sure about that last one. Remiel: It won't be you. Val: I'll get my coat!

Redcap: Sorry. Me Eat. All. Contact. Lenses. Xelzaz: It’s fine. I’ve seen enough.

Val: Gore won’t wake up, what do I do? Remi: Did you try kicking him? Val: Yes. Remi: Then I’m out of ideas.

Xelzaz: What's gone wrong, Remi? Remi, to the Proplyon projection: Hey! That’s a rude thing to say to a person. Just because I’m calling doesn’t mean there’s a crisis! Xelzaz: That’s technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling? Remi: Well... There’s a crisis.

Rhin: My toxic trait is that I truly believe I could win a fight against anybody if I was mad enough. You might have the strength and size, but I have the pure, unfiltered rage.

Hold guard: You have the right to remain silent. Gore already in the cell: I choose to waive that right! Gore: *screaming*

Taliesin: We vegetarians love the environment. Carnivores are sick freaks. Auri: How can vegetarians possibly love the environment!? You keep eating all the fucking plants!

Remiel: Thought I was meowing back at a cat for the past hour, but it was just me and Redcap meowing at each other from different rooms in the house.

Alias: None Nicknames: Lark (Abbess), Trouble (various sources) Race: Akaviri Faith: Jhunal

Background: Left at the Temple of Jhunal as an infant, she was raised by the Abbess and taught the ways of the Owl. A small child with red eyes was a strange sight in Winterhold, but there was little around to spread the curiosity of herself further than the town. This was precisely what her parents had wanted, as her existence was in danger the moment she was born. The abbess had made a promise to two runaway blades that she would keep their child safe from the Thalmor, and if that meant hiding her parentage from her until she was ready to hear it, it would be done. Unaware of her past for a long time, Laaza grew up in an unconventional, but happy environment. Always wanting to learn, but always trying to get where she was told not to, it was all the Abbess could handle keeping the temple and her young charge safe. She was never satisfied until she unraveled whatever thing she had set her eyes on, just to understand. As she grew, her wanderlust became a too strong pull to stay in the temple, and after almost 3 decades, she asked for help acquiring some gear to set out and explore. The Abbess was reluctant to let her go, but she was not unkind; she was her own person, and she knew well enough that to tell her no would mean her ward would find another way to leave the safety of the temple. So, she found her armour, found her weapons, and gave her the letters her parents left her that explained why they could not take her with them. At their last goodbye, the Abbess bade her write to her of her travels. It was all she could ask of her; to satisfy her own worry for the young woman now, as she tread a path on her own now. The letter in hand, her goals were clear; find the fate of her parents, if she could. The Abbess taught her kindness, and she surely tried to be so every day, but Thalmor’s influence on her own life left sour thoughts within her. She had held little opinion of these ‘Thalmor’ prior to leaving the abbey, but the letter sparked a hate for what they took from her before she even knew what could have been; and as much as the anger burned, she knew swinging at such a hornet’s nest would be her doom. For the meantime, she searches out for any trace of where her parents went, taking bounties to keep gold in her pocket, and learn more of the world through experiencing it, rather than another old book. Personality: Not fully naive to the world, but has little experience in the actual world outside her home in Winterhold. She is kind first, and curious to a fault; indeed, some things she has followed lead to more danger than what the discovery was worth. Regardless of that, she is more than equipped for studious endeavors when she has time in the bigger cities, being raised in the temple and living well within the colleges’ influence. Her disposition towards new people is to always see the good in them first, but trust her instinct when something seems amiss. She makes friends easily and has little difficulty engaging in talk with most individuals. A temper forged through the teachings of the Abbess and the temple occupants in her formative years proved to shape her into a reflective and open-minded person, for the most part. Her hatred is primarily reserved for the Thalmor, in any case, and if there is any chance to ‘handle’ them, she will take it. There is enough of the Abbess’ voice still in her mind to avoid directly opposing them though; staying hidden and off of their radar is her best course of survival.

Personality: Not fully naive to the world, but has little experience in the actual world outside her home in Winterhold. She is kind first, and curious to a fault; indeed, some things she has followed lead to more danger than what the discovery was worth. Regardless of that, she is more than equipped for studious endeavors when she has time in the bigger cities, being raised in the temple and living well within the colleges’ influence. Her disposition towards new people is to always see the good in them first, but trust her instinct when something seems amiss. She makes friends easily and has little difficulty engaging in talk with most individuals. A temper forged through the teachings of the Abbess and the temple occupants in her formative years proved to shape her into a reflective and open-minded person, for the most part. Her hatred is primarily reserved for the Thalmor, in any case, and if there is any chance to ‘handle’ them, she will take it. There is enough of the Abbess’ voice still in her mind to avoid directly opposing them though; staying hidden and off of their radar is her best course of survival.

Fighting style: Laaza was trained with most forms of melee combat, but possesses magical adaptability, able mostly to heal and conjure weapons for the most part, she favours a sword-and-board type style. Her magic is not on par with most mages, but her repertoire of spells mostly are an ‘in handy’ basis of use, rather than all out destruction. She holds some favour to use poisons in her fights unless ran out, but does not have the full aptitude to create them herself, and thus relies on other alchemists to resupply when she can. After assuming her role as dragon-born, she felt an obligation to learn as much of the language as possible, the powers granted with the shouts gave her a undeniable edge in battle, and the curiosity in her veins begged her to learn as many as she could, at the very least to document for her scholarly friends and for her own wish to learn.

Ieama

6 months. 28 days.

Gore finished cleaning his catch of the day and got ready to cook. Salmon. He turned to see the Breton mage, his saviour, sitting next to a flat wetted rock by the fire. His nose caught the scent of some herbs and butter in the small bowl she was mixing. Guess I get to sit pretty and wait for dinner, then.

Underneath the herbs and the fish, the smell of a wet dog clung to the air near her. A grunt snapped out of his thoughts. He saw her hand outstretched. He handed her the cleaned fish.

Placing it on the cold flat rock, she smeared the butter between and around the meat, fully concentrating on the task with the same focus as she weaved spells in battle.

“So, Blood?” She flipped the fish with her bare hand and brushed more of her herb-y paste onto it. Her eyes never left the task, but her head turned slightly in acknowledgement. “You never answered my question over at that abandoned tower…”

“Hunting.”

“Uh, okay… yeah. But… how could you hear me?” I didn’t make that much noise?

For some reason this made her stare glaze over, through him almost. “Blood.”

“Yeah?”

“No, ech Sheostori! Your blood, I could smell it.” What language was that? The Oblivion is a sheostori?

“Oh, ah, well, guess that makes sense.” The silence spread over the two again as she resumed her task. The stone’s sizzling and popping gave way to the aroma of cooking fish which wafted into Gore’s nostrils. Yummers. ************************************************************************

6 months. 20 days.

“Do you have a last name?”

The question seemed louder and invasive in the silence that fell between him and the mage. She scrunched her face up on the right, staring in that strange way. It’s several seconds before she answers.

“I call myself Rhiatrice Adrati.”

“Do you have any other names, then?”

Those eyes. Damn them. Two different colours and just… eerie. They flash with some emotion, and her whole demeanor seems… pleased? Like he passed a test.

“Call me Silver.” The grin on her face brokers no argument, but he feels as if something shifted, like the air that breaks the storm.

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6 months. 14 days.

It had been two weeks since he was freed from that tusking beartrap, and the mag- Silver had been a boon. He was beyond grateful for someone to even think of helping him despite the risks, but he was on edge. He had yet to see her rest, and it was unnerving him more and more.

She refused to let him take watch. Not that he ever refused the extra shut eye.

She could be sleeping after him, and getting up before, it would be the best possible answer. She was somewhat energized in the mornings in any case.

But the bags under her eyes never seemed to go away.

The smell of wet dog was also still there, but not overwhelming. It had been dissipating in its pungency since he first met her. Though, a stint with werewolves further into the forest a few days past renewed the stench.

Ieama Stormblood

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Drea Windseer

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Dakar The Unclaimed

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Ynhethune

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Byron Lochatha

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Faenore

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Laaza

Alias: Rhiatrice Adrati Nicknames: Silver, Candle, Rhin, Ria, 'Triss Race: Reachmen (Boldclaw and Bear-heart Clan, Mother from the former, father the latter) Werewolf Faith: Hircine, Namira

Background: Raised in the wilds of the Reach, Ieama is a short sharp looking Reachwoman raised in the Bear-Heart clan. Her father is a hunter for the Clan, and her mother was an ex-Blades Battlemage born to the Bold-Claw clan. Her mother survived the Great War and went into hiding and eventually had Ieama, but had to flee her clan and family, in order to keep them a secret from the Thalmor. The plan worked, and she died with the justiciar thinking she had no remaining kin. Growing up, becoming a hagraven was something she aspired to do, and she did almost everything but undergo the transformation. It was discovered during her trials that she was very prodigal with most magic and though such a talent did run in her mother’s side, she holds larger than average magicka reserves for a normal person. As she took to training to become a hagraven, she also has a decent alchemical repertoire, though she knows more on poisons than potions. She traveled around the most areas of Skyrim mostly for alchemical ingredients, but she likes collecting bones and trinkets and fashioning things with her scrimshaw abilities, for extra coin on the side. Ieama uses an alias within cities to sound more Breton and to avoid Reachmen biases amongst the Nord population. She has had a few pretty dangerous ventures (we'll get into them in other posts) but otherwise, her life was quiet… and lonely. Until one day during her final trial before her ascension, she found a trapped Nord, and committed what she'll eventually claim the 'single sporadic act of kindness to set her on the doom driven path'. (She is reluctant to admit [aloud] that saving Gore was the best thing to ever happen to her, dragons returning notwithstanding)

Personality: An archetypal 'lone wolf' before the events of the game; she had little care for others aside from herself and immediate family. Even then, while she loved her father, she rarely saw her him, and her relative left 'alive' had a distant and stormy relationship. While not as callous as she was before beginning her journey, she is not a saint either. Direct and rude to most others standards, her Reachfolk outlook on things is odd at best and horrifying at worst. Ieama is blunt, and often construed as cruel in the same vein. This is because she has the type of Reachmen propriety that affords survival in the Reach, not connections within the high courts of nobility. She had to learn to hold her thoughts when dealing with people, but she is not perfect at it by a long shot. In her time before the events of the game timeline, she was without many friends, and even still has many abrasive traits to this day. While not an especially kind or warm person, (still isn’t even now) she tries for people she loves. It is a rare sight to see her openly being physical with anyone but Gore in any setting outside of closed doors unless its to keep them safe. Most of her friends are more likely to find new enchanted gears or potions in their bags over a hug. On top of that she is slow to trust.