#bendwill

[denouemente]

Dreams didn’t often come to the Dragonborn. Instead he typically spent his nights tossing and turning fitfully, plagued by the memories of what he’d done in his life and what had been done to him. Sometimes he dreamed of dragons — which, upon learning of his status, made sense. If he had to dream, he liked to dream of his true kin.

Seeing @bendwill would have been surprising if Ásgeirr didn’t expect he could do something like this — materializing into the mortal realm had to be more difficult, or at least more tedious than traveling to another sort of abstract plane of existence. His lips pull back, baring his teeth as he stares at Miraak, trying to decide how to best approach this. If all else fails, he can just wake up.

“ You. ” His tone is rather accusatory, body ready to be on the offense. “ Is it not enough to haunt my waking existence? Must you torture me here too? Lif zey naalein. Hi shur rem gut. ” If they were not in a dream, surely the ground below his feet would tremble with the sheer anger he feels. “ Rah. You have my attention. Make it quick. ”

[illithidparasite]

“&– -  How often it is that you prove decision against your usage as my host...... beyond a temporary necessity..... the correct one.” // @bendwill liked for a starter!

[eueclid]

They stare intently at Miraak, mind racing with thoughts and memories of the past week. A killing competition was normal for the two of them, really, considering the amount of crypts and bandits they encountered in their travels. And even now, Ásgeirr couldn't put his finger on what was different about this one. Maybe it was how confidently @bendwill strung up a line of draugr with magic, or how he looked ( or rather, came off, since his face was hidden most of the time ) when the Last proved that they were able to kill each draugr in a different way with the same blade. It felt different, and he didn't know why.

Or maybe he did. It was the feeling coming from his targets whenever he'd seduce them. The feeling he knew they felt before he took them to bed and sliced their throats. It wasn't very often he was on the other side of it, and in fact, it had been years since he had. Brynjolf of the Thieves Guild, and they both had been so very young. Despite his experience with the rest of it, the feelings part was something Ásgeirr was quite inexperienced with. The rest of it? He was good at. So that's what makes him move — maybe with the rest, the part he lacked would come. Miraak is talking, but he stopped paying attention long ago. He makes one fluid motion as he leans forward, moves his mask just enough from his face, and without any hesitation, kisses him.

[tidesfate]

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@bendwill

[thefouraboveall]

" No sweets? Mmm, that explains the miasma of abject misery hanging around your person."

@bendwill / 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐀𝐊. (cont)

[recitedemise]

At times, like with color, Gale remembers Miraak is all a storm. No, Gale hasn't his story, but he would wager most everything that Miraak's his share of battles. Unfortunately, nursing such thunder, a break or a shattering is destined to spring. He imagines those windows that would gleam upon the temples. Crack. Shattering in a river, it pours and pours.

It smacks around the tiles. It peals on down the halls.

Gale looks to this fury, his blistering, biting words howling high past the shelves, and the pretty painted glass lies gleaming all about them. It's a good a guess as any who will pick them up.

But maybe! Maybe in time, Gale, familiar with his breaks, will. He had pressed too longly perhaps, complacent as he's become with their fortuitous...something. He would see him as a friend, two rapacious little scholars with a hankering for spells, and he had nearly forgotten that he had never been invited. Or asked for. Right. Eyes widening, Gale, finally realizing, is all an interloper.

But that can't be right, can it?

"Oh. I'm, well, I'm relieved to hear it. In fact, I argue overjoyed may be a more fitting word," he grasps, his timbre achingly vulnerable. Why is he so bare? A weeping wound? It's terrible for his health! He bleeds out anyway. "I resent entirely the idea that this may surprise you, but there are few things I value more than our time together. That said," he nods, "my time is yours -- give or take the clumsiness. I suppose my hunger for reading goes beyond books at times. Understand, I hardly expect you to part with your secrets in an effort to sate my curiosity. As it were, there would be no end to it." He approaches. "You're a mystery, one I can respect." / @bendwill, continued from here.

[adamanteine]

“ You and Tiamat are two unlike things. Don’t fool yourself that she can ever understand you. ”

a ghost of history stumbles backwards into the darkness. it eludes her again and she almost mourns it. she wishes she understood it, wishes she could try, but following myths has always been a futile task, even for her. she watches the view from the doorway: and, wrapped up in potent emptiness, she thought she imagined the silhouettes taking shape across the street. and still, she knows what hides in the darkness. she has always known. she was so young when she came to tiamat, her chest nearly torn apart and her soul sorely bruised from the pain that had scarred her. for years, she would have sobbed at her feet, knowing there would be no comfort. shams wanted a choice and the two of them gave her the barriers, the ghosts, the inevitable curse. tiamat, however, felt more brutal than her brother. when she wanted comfort, all she was offered was the truth.

it often felt as if she walked beside her: as if she lived beneath the bridge, as if she felt the yearning of a monster. whether she ought to hate the dragoness or not, she has always felt like she was a friend not much behind. because bahamut might have been a mentor to her, but that was all he ever truly was. his goodness was radiant (and perhaps so was hers), but she knew the rot inside of her had no place in his home. so as she stares out into that inescapable darkness now, it begins to storm. thick, unrelenting, the rain soaks through the streets, the buildings, trees obediently in the way until they snap. misty raindrops blow into her eyes and nestle like needles in her skin. she lets out a breath as she studies @bendwill. how alike do you have to be to someone for them to understand you? she thinks it, but what comes out is more of a speculation than anything. either way, it is one worth making. ❛ do you understand her, then? tiamat? ❜

when she says her name, it is almost as if she's hunting for the shadow she swore she saw earlier so she can confirm it wasn’t real. it doesn't matter, in the end, because she is no longer the blind girl from before. the days before the divine statis were long gone. the cave has never been her refuge: it was only a place where she had chosen to die. in the celestial downpour that almost wiped her from the face of the earth, she still stands and with the greatest reverence she holds out her hand. to what, one may ask? everything, nothing. ❛ i know i am not, but your words aren't heard by unwilling ears. thank you. ❜ she stops, head tilting. the sorceress has never truly worshipped either gods, but she had heard whispers about the betrayer here and there. it's hard not to, considering the stories others share. it interests her, truly, because it is not often she meets someone who had dealt with the archdevil. ❛ what do you think of bahamut, then? or have you not given him much thought? ❜

[eyehunger]

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58%: A relationship between Hermaeus Mora and Miraak has a reasonable chance of working out, but on the other hand, it might not

@bendwill

[satellitewar-archived]

from @bendwill: “ how did you find me? ” at Tiber

the ninth divine stands a wall of fortitude and glittering golden armor, their earthen stance replacing the worshipped statue at the base of this altar. he has taken the place of his very own effigy — one flash of blinding light, and the roughly carved figure of talos is now a person, breathing, heavy eyes staring down into the inscrutable mask of the first dragonborn. they cannot see a face, nor can he really see miraak's eyes, but tiber knows what lies beneath. they do not need the actual frown in front of them to know the first dragonborn's expression. it is simply enough to sense it.

"getting into trouble again, i see." tiber's voice rumbles low like distant thunder over white-capped mountains. behind the wings of their helmet, the heavy armor weighted over his eyes, their expression is equally enigmatic. "were you not sent to apocrypha for your crimes?" it's quite ironic, actually, knowing this cryptic, intimidating dragon priest is much older than the god himself. the first dragonborn. the first one to shout and speak and influence dragons — tiber recalls many a tale told of miraak's betrayal and attempted rebellion. "and yet you are here, causing trouble. i will not see skyrim abused by your hunger for power, miraak. i suggest you return to apocrypha at once."

[denouemente]

@bendwill : The silence suits you. Gives you an air of mystery.

“ The silence is a result of a decade of stealth training, kruziik qethsewuth. ” He squints his eyes, glaring at the back of Miraak's head until he turns around. “ Which, by the way, I learned at great personal loss. ” His sense of self, the way he sees people, the way people see him . . . might as well take advantage of it. “ And at that, I learned it from a traitorous bitch. Zu'u drehni mos tinvaaktaas do nii. ”

[skxrbrand]

[thyunalloyed]

How does Miquella feel about Godwyn's fate?

bad. lmao.

i have a lot of feelings about godwyn's death and the things it represents ( many of which tie in to my interpretations of the erdtree dynasty as a more-than-accurate representation of a broken and dysfunctional family ) but simply: miquella views godwyn's death as an unnatural and sick act, one that he cannot comprehend the reasons behind.

that nascence miquella suffers from affects his worldview too, and gives him a childish mentality of the fate godwyn suffered and in addition the observable things it did to his family. there's a childish desire to "fix" the trauma that godwyn's death caused and a desire to undo or somehow alleviate that suffering -- we see this with how one of his motives is to grant godwyn "true death," or otherwise undo that and grant his brother life again.

it's my interpretation that miquella sees godwyn's death in the same way a younger brother would see the traumatic death of an elder sibling -- confusion. he doesn't really get how to process it, he doesn't get the finality of what happened to godwyn, he doesn't get why it's impossible to just undo or fix the situation. but he does see the pain it's caused his family, he does see how it was one of the factors that caused the shattering. one of the factors that tore his family apart.

it needs to be fixed. needs to be alleviated. this pain can't go on.

[tidesfate]

“&– - Will you meet the common end to your oddly shaped mission, or weaponize the sightless innocence.” // @bendwill liked for a lyrical starter

[f4rgd]

@bendwill : starter.

It  hadn’t  been  his  intention  to  find  himself  this  lost,  originally  he’d  thought  going  off  his  usual  tracks  would  be  fine  -  a  cause  for  adventure  while  on  a  very  dull  path  doing  a  very  dull  job,  going  to  an  even  duller  place.  But  somewhere  along  the  way  Aksel  had  lost  track  of  where  he  was  going  with  the  cart  of  supplies  behind  him  and  all  he  had  was  a  measly  sword,  a  trusty  one  at  that,  but  one  he’d  made  with  his  own  two  hands  that  would  only  defend  him  against  so  many  before  it  needed  a  fix  of  sharpen.  

The  smith  had  always  craved  more  than  what  he  had,  he’d  trained  and  fought  harder  than  anyone  he  knew�� and  yet  day  in  day  out  he  found  himself  stuck  in  the  same  routine,  held  back  by  the  confines  of  expectation  and  who  he  was  supposed  to  be,  not  who  he  wanted  to  be.  Maybe  he  had  found  himself  lost  intentionally  in  hopes  that  he  would  find  something  that  meant  he  wouldn’t  have  to  return  to  his  home.  

He  hadn’t  intended  to  run  into  any  trouble  though,  not  the  sort  of  trouble  he  now  found  himself  standing  in  front  of  hands  held  up  in  surrender.    “  Uh  -  I  think  I  took  a  wrong  direction  somewhere.  Do  not  kill  me.  ”

[recitedemise]

Every now and then, Gale would look his way. It's tame, surprisingly, considering how often his study would prod like knives. Yet, this one settles curious, so dizzyingly playful at to stir one's fears. Here, there's a warmth to his gazing, something generously colored in brown and fond; however, a wizard in his thoughts when his brilliance is endless? It's unnerving. Egad. Whatever he's thinking is foul, indeed.

"Before us would lay a vast assortment of manuals and previously believed to be long lost tomes," Gale broaches, a man built madly for the slow burn. Teasingly, he taps along a spine, something old, impressive, and elegantly embossed. "Not for the time," get on with it!, "I should wonder if any penned in your hand are slotted among them. Perhaps my mistake, however, would be rifling for a 'Miraak' like a boar to a truffle. I might fare better were I to go switching my gears to scour for a penname. The Mighty One, perhaps, or the Conqueror of the Clouds. Or—" he's glowing "-even Little Flame."

My, this brazen violet. / @bendwill.

[daandov]

“Indulge me this curiosity, Val.” Miraak outstretched his hands, an emerald green hue shimmering between palms. A spell from them cast over her, shield of magic hardening across her physique like a second flesh of ebony. He straightened out, then gestured at himself as if to say— “Hit me.”

it's been an otherwise quiet day. insisted upon by auryen after their latest priest stint , the jailor had been [ ... ] unkind to the both of them , so they were confined to the museum until he deemed proper healing had taken place. and general time for respite. valvari always known that to be a request for extra hands , as well. they were buried in the hall of wonders , where she was focused on adjusting the mask of dagoth ur when he'd called for her. as normal an occurrence for either party as it was to call your lover for a home cooked meal at the end of a long and arduous day. ( though not quite the life for them , it seemed. ) hardly moving at his voice , it'd only been when she noticed a warmth spread over her that of a summer's day , a protective shield , where she'd broken her concentration on the current task at hand to face him.

coal-bright eyes blinked.

and without hesitation , before @bendwill had even been able to finish his gesture , valvari lurched forward with bent head. though at the most last second she could possibly manage , she might've pressed upwards on the balls of her feet. sending her horns right underneath the towering nords jaw.