Behold the future, behold the Thalmor!

He followed her out into the chilly Skyrim morning, the cold air sending shivers down his spine. His Thalmor robes weren’t nearly enough to keep him warm. “This is miserable, I can’t wait to get started.”

Arin tossed Aronil the cloak, thinking with a distasteful ‘hmph’ that the colours would clash. She shrugged her pack onto her shoulder, pinning a guard with an icy stare. “You looked cold,” offered Arin, saying no more. 

“I can give you a few lessons on the road,” said the womer, giving her friend a smile. “They aren’t too hard to use at all, once you get the hang of the arm movements. I suspect you would work better with swords.” 

She took one of the sweetrolls with an utterance of ‘thank you’, and promptly stuffed in into her mouth, sneezing quietly when the icing sugar drifted up her nose. They exited the inn and- to her relief- found that they were the only people about, aside from a few guards beginning their morning patrols. They were of no concern. 

He followed her out into the chilly Skyrim morning, the cold air sending shivers down his spine. His Thalmor robes weren’t nearly enough to keep him warm. “This is miserable, I can’t wait to get started.”

M U N  |  I N F O R M A T I O N

name: Blair nicknames: B,  wishlist nickname: something involving bones or w/e height: 5′7′ eye colour: blue hair colour: black/brown ethnicity: white lives in: Washington/California (depends on the time of the year bcuz school) relationship status: open relationship character(s) most identifies with: jade goddamn curtiss from tales of the abyss hobbies: games, drawing, writing, researching special talent(s): ability to launch into a discussion on poisons when drunk  warning/disclaimer: I drunk blog sometimes, also sometimes i disappear because of mental illness/chronic pain struggling with: not procrastinating like an asshole

M U S E  |  I N F O R M A T I O N

name: Aronil nicknames: Aron wishlist nickname: none height: 6′8 eye colour: gold hair colour: black ethnicity: Altmer lives in: Markarth, originally from Alinor relationship status: single but with a lot of one night stands special talent(s): destruction, fire magic more specifically  warning/disclaimer: AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH he’s the actual worst. he’s an awful drunk gluttonous crankpot who is either kissing ass or snapping at you...or roasting you and your village alive. struggling with: not being a drunken asshole

IN CONCLUSION

Her makeup was smudged and her hair was a terrible mess, sticking up in blonde curls. Even so, she found the situation appropriate to laugh- very subtly- at Aronil’s mussed appearance. Using the sleeve of her discarded nightdress, she wiped off whatever residue remained, tying back her hair with a leather strap. She managed to get on the rest of her armor, cursing its many straps and buckles. It was a beautiful set, but an absolute pain in the ass to get on. 

Arin slid her daggers into their sheathes, slinging her bow across her shoulder and tying the quiver at her hip. She would not bother concealing any weapons; this was no covert mission. And besides, she was still armed to the teeth without them. 

“ Unless you’re in the mood to go seduce a nordic noblemen or otherwise slash their throat in order to steal their inheritance be my guest..” The inquisitor answered firmly, not in the mood to deal with fussiness. No it was not ideal to stay in such pitiful conditions, but work was work, and if this was what had to be done to infiltrate the stormcloak capital, well then he had no qualms whatsoever.

“ As you said Aronil..One cannot be too selective..” The altmer answered- albiet a slight smug at using the justiciar’s quote against them.

The fat Altmer was taken back by his ally’s suggestion to seduce a noble. “I would never, ever sleep with a Nord.” He folded his arms over his chest in disgust. The very notion was enough to make his stomach flip. He wasn’t opposed to murdering a nobleman but that brought back the issue of having an entire city of angry Nords after them.

“Dicks dicks dicks dicks dicks,” she muttered, the words stringing together confusedly. The Altmer had never coped well with mornings. Her pillow was flung at her sleeping companion violently as she tried to hop into her armor, which was being especially difficult. It was like it could sense her panic. 

In her frantic rush, Arin managed to knock over an empty bottle of wine, causing it to crack and break. The womer whipped her head around to face her associate, eyes wide and unbound hair bouncing comically as she hopped around on one leg, having managed to put the other in one of the arm holes. 

The wine bottle on the other hand was more than enough to wake him up. “What on Nirn was that!?” He shouted, fireball at the ready in his hand. He then turned to his companion. 

“Did we really sleep that long? Shit.” He tore his blanket off and glanced out the window a moment before turning his attention to the process of getting dressed. Thankfully he had slept in his under tunic. His own black hair was a mess that covered most of his face but for now he paid it no heed. He just tossed on his outer robes, straightening them slightly. He decided to leave the gloves for later.

“Indeed,” she muttered, beginning to feel the effects of fatigue. It had been a long journey. “The earlier, the better. Preferably when it’s still dark, so the innkeep doesn’t notice that we’re gone until later. The journey takes about an hour, on foot. The Sanctuary shrine is the closest by far, and we can seek asylum with the Brotherhood, if you don’t fancy sleeping out in the wild. I’m a fellow assassin; they consider me a part of the family, even if I’m not an active member.” 

Arin let out a small snigger, waving apologetically and settling into her bedroll. “I’ll shut my trap. Gods, I talk too much.”