Felvos Arelvvyn

Prompt #4 (06/22): Write about a personal struggle your character deals with. Is it an external force like poverty or an internal conflict? How do they live with it day to day? What are their coping mechanisms?

Felvos often thought back to that night, holding the cup of wine and Adrianos’s blood. He’d reached a point in his life where he’d thought there was nothing to lose and all to gain. He did not regret his choice, he simply wished there was another way.

He watched Ferdyn and Adrianos perched on a rock nearby speaking of the netch herd floating in the fields below. His shriveled grumpy heart was fuller than it ever had been before and yet, it ached. Felvos may have not worshiped the Three as religiously as other mer, but the afterlife was ever on his mind. Ferdyn would not be able to call on him… not after what he’d done to share the burden with Adrianos.

Prompt #3 (06/15): Write about one of your character’s rituals. What makes them a creature of habit? This could be anything from their breakfast preferences to religious activities to the way they prepare before battle, or even a literal magical ritual.

Every new day in the apothecary had its tasks, services and inventory to tend and when it was time to travel northwest into Skyrim, Felvos’s priorities changed with it. But nothing came of greater importance than his daily bath. 

When the doors were closed for the evening, Felvos stripped his outer garments. His boots, sash, belts, gloves- down to his long linen tunic. He indulged dinner in comfort with Adrianos, helping him clean the plates afterward before making his way upstairs to their chambers. Fresh water was brought up from the spring and distilled earlier that day, pumped into the tub with a well lever. Then an order of salts, oils, and fine vvardvark milk soap was mixed into the water and heated with an atronach stone.

For exactly an hour, Felvos would soak in the bath, nursing his pipe and submerging his whole body save for his head in the water so every ounce of his skin would be treated to the soothing cocktail. Only after his hour of soaking would Adrianos be welcomed to join him. They often partook in grooming each other.

Prompt #2 (06/08): Write about your character from someone else’s perspective. Is your chosen POV a friend? A rival? A lover? A stranger? Do what you want with the prompt! You can use it to explore hidden aspects of your character or portray them in a new light.

“So what is he like, Ferdyn? Your Telvanni father? Is he odd and recluse like they all are?”

She laughs. “Odd, yes. Recluse? He gets out quite often. He explores a lot of places. I think he just doesn’t like people very much. He likes food though. And if you get him talking about fungal varieties, he will talk for hours.”

“Sounds like you in the kitchen. And at the food table at every party.”

“Wh-- I’m not anything like him!”

“...Sure.”

Prompt #1 (06/01): Write about one of your character’s “core memories”, a specific moment/event in their life that has stuck with them all this time. 

She was no more than a writhing worm when she was placed in his arms for the first time. A tiny face flushed and wrinkled in an ugly wail. Felvos looked down his pointed nose at her, ears twisted back in annoyance. This helpless, pathetic little thing was what Wizard-Lord Vvyn tasked him with creating? What had cost him his pursuit to Spellwright? Felvos exchanged a narrow-eyed look to the weary woman recovering in bed nearby- his wife, who returned a stare with equal disdain. They tolerated each other at best. “Make it stop,” He groused about the noise, pushing the babe back into the nursemaid’s arms. He was convinced the larval state of a dunmer was not something he wanted involvement in. The deed was done, right?

Felvos would later find himself without choice. For some time, he stayed distant from the babe. She was an affront to his senses and her cries caused his chest to ache strangely. But even more strange was a growing disdain for the Wizard-Lord sweeping the baby off to her own chambers more and more often. Was it resentment? Or perhaps a streak of jealousy? He could not reason why this irritated him so, but after four moons, he’d had enough. 

“If you do not raise her, then I will.”

Felvos scowled at his mother, plucking the baby girl from her pillows on the floor. “If you will not allow me to become your Spellwright then she will become one greater by my hand.”

The Wizard-Lord smiled against the tip of her pipe, watching her son storm out of her chambers in a flurry of silk fabrics, entirely pleased.