{{Starter call-!}}
4 notes
·
View notes
{{Starter call-!}}
4 notes
·
View notes
So...let me guess, you are going to be yet another Thalmor I have encountered that will say believing in Talos is bad and I should believe in your gods instead?
“I care little for what gods you believe in, so longas they are gods. Talos is not ‘BAD’, but he wasand is a mere man. To worship a mortal is foolishand offensive. There is no such thing as ascensioninto Godhood, and the sooner this is realised,the sooner Skyrim will be at peace.”
2 notes
·
View notes
' you're the very walking image of a headache. '
“I don’t recall shapeshifting into a Nord.”
He bit back, offering the woman a cold glance. He would not stand to tolerate such comments.
2 notes
·
View notes
loveardently:
“ A Thalmor..? ”
Brows were raised in mild surprise to the title. She’d held little conversations with the Thalmor; most strode past her on some other highly important task for the Empire or whatever it was they served. Felt rather hard to keep track when one cared so little for such frivolous things.
“ What suspicion have I arisen for the Thalmor to deem me intriguing enough? ” Thumbs tapping idly against her hand as she spoke. Gaze lowered so that lashes hid their bright blue. As though she were taking his question into consideration. A rather humorous question, too, considering the current state of affairs Tamriel found itself thrown in.
“ Windhelm, actually. Though I prefer to keep myself distanced from such roots. ”
Aicerion had been genuinely surprised. His features softened with perplexed intrigue as he folded his arms in front of him. But what had been replaced with his former curiosity had been met with suspicion. The name did not ring pleasant among the Thalmor, the seat of the ‘true Nords’ was a laughable joke, the punchline being Ulfric himself.
“I trust you speak to me in earnest. The Thalmor
have no patience for HERETICS. How sad it
would be to see yet another among them.”
He pondered her question and breathed a soft, thoughtful air, the sharp clink of his cloak’s golden clasps rustling as he shifted.
“None, as of yet. I am on patrol. Consider the
Thalmor a fine comb, plucking out the DIRT
from Skyrim’s matted fur. A grooming well needed,
in my opinion. I must ask of your cooperation,
if you as distant as you say. If you know of any
Talos worship, I ask you alert a Thalmor Justiciar,
so that we may correct it.”
5 notes
·
View notes
SVENNTIR SNOW-SHAPER:
THE elf should have been grateful that Svenntir was not as BRASH as he thought, for if he was, the Nord would have gladly made the Altmer swallow his teeth by now. Oh, he tested him- and the Dragonborn’s TEMPER was not something to be underestimated! Even so, the scarred face remained eerily calm, not a muscle out of place. The amulet yet dangled from his fingers, swaying on the chain as Sven’s hand TIGHTENED and LOOSENED.
“I have great compassion for my people, and my home. Certainly more than you or any of your kind do.” he said coolly, nodding his head in the elf’s direction. “If I remember correctly, ‘twas I who slew ALDUIN THE WORLD EATER in the realm of Sovngarde, after all. I risked everything to save Skyrim; I’d do it again if I had to. I did not stand up to the strongest DRAGON in Tamriel just for a sniveling Aldmeri dog to tell me I cannot worship Talos.”
HIS eyes were like two sharp SAPPHIRES in his head as he stared. If he could have glared daggers, the elf would be dead as a doorknob. He placed his amulet back around his neck, where it belonged, before he SPAT unceremoniously at the other’s feet.
“EVERY person in Skyrim has the right to worship Talos if they so choose. It was not your people who gave us that right; it is not yours to TAKE AWAY.”
“I have trouble believing you. For what
man held to a hero’s standard could
possibly pick a side of a petty human war? Are you not beyond such vices?”
Human flaw, just as this false god was to be. Aicerion was at least comforted knowing that this foolish great Nord could not possibly know better from his own thick skull. He shifted, just, to move from the arch of spit hitting the ground. His suspicions confirmed correct, the Nord was a MUTT, like the rest of them.
“Compassion, you would say? Was it not your
Emperor who made a treaty with us? And now
you fight your own brethren because you are
upset that your ‘GOD’ is being doubted? We
will do as we please, for that is the AGREEMENT.”
Typical Nord, could not see past his own worthless, misplaced pride. Aicerion was thankful that Mer tended to outlive men. Regardless of this man’s ‘achievements’, he was no more than another miserable, dirt-soaked creature in need of a good whip.
7 notes
·
View notes
bansheeqceen:
Dark lips curl wickedly at his words and a soft chuckle follows. The scent of magic poured from him, that tangy small that would have sent prickles across her skin were she still alive. Sulfur clung to the clothes of warlocks, residue from their demon companions, and here she smelt none. A mage then, was his casting faster than her bow? “ Oh but I quite enjoy trouble, don’t you? ” A fight would not get her the answers she needed. Right now she needed answers.
“ As much as I love a good fight, I have need for knowledge more so. Allow me to introduce myself. ” A bow, grandiose in appearance. Just as she had been taught in the shining city that had been Silvermoon all those years ago. Etiquette she had not practiced in just as many and yet performed as if it was yesterday. “ I am Sylvanas Windrunner. Perhaps you could tell me what lands these are? I came by way of magic but I know not where I have landed. ”
Aicerion had learned that there was never a reason for someone to smile at a Thalmor member. They were offered no such pleasantries. His lips curled into a displeased frown and his gaze narrowed upon her features.
“I care little for trouble.”
And he did not care for her seeming enjoyment of it, either.
He listened to her, picking apart her tone and vocabulary, clawing for theories and answers of her being as she introduced herself. She was not of Skyrim’s ancestry, to be sure. Aicerion did not think Skyrim’s children possessed the intelligence to make such a gesture.
“‘By ways of magic’?” He repeated, dubious.
He thought her a mere drunkard. “What
unfortunate magic has led you here? This is Skyrim.”
If, truly, she had stumbled upon Skyrim by any means, Aicerion was left to wonder by what daedra she had worked to infuriate.
5 notes
·
View notes
loveardently:
“ I can feel you staring. ” A comment not made unpleasantly, even if the feeling of eyes boring into her very being was an uncomfortable sensation. One you’d fathom her used to at this point in her life. Plenty stared at the girl incapable of staring back. Usually out of curiosity as their minds attempted to piece together why she seemed in a daze.
The sensation that accompanied this gaze - however - felt different. Hands clasped before her in a somewhat peaceful gesture; head tilted inquisitively to the side. “ Has something my face done upset you? ”
Her voice had brought Aicerion from his waking somnium. But it was a FEELING of vision, and not true, and so Aicerion had made a point to push weight into his steps, solid against the ground. He was no pickpocket, and did not want to give her the impression of one.
“As a Thalmor Justiciar serving the Aldmeri Dominion, you
will be understanding that I treat most passersby with a
degree of suspicion.”
Humans, in that regard. But she did not swagger like the common Nord, she did not hulk and grunt and boast of her strength. Instead, she bled magic, black as forbidden soul gems.
“Where are you from?”
For he did not think her birthplace was Skyrim, how could it be? With her pallid, sickly skin and her muted voice. This rotten crag of a land could not have been her host.
5 notes
·
View notes
SVENNTIR SNOW-SHAPER:
THALMOR business! More like a big pile of dog shit, if Sven had anything to say about it! The fist of his shield arm clenched in what was just HARDLY restraint, blue gaze hardening with every passing moment. He wished he could just punch that smug face and be done with it, but that would not be wise. No, instead he nodded as he reached for a PENDANT around his neck.
“OH, of course. My people believe in a god that yours do not, and so we are senseless MAGGOTS who must have our traditions and beliefs flogged out of us.” Svenntir nodded as though it made SENSE, as he pulled a chain from around his neck beneath the breastplate, the one his father had given him when he was but a boy- an amulet of TALOS, worn to time yet unmistakable. A thick golden brow arched, the rest of the Dragonborn’s scarred face completely impassive.
“HERE is your proof, elf.”
And so it was true. The supposed heralded
reptile-tongued fated hero of Skyrim was as
true to the Nords as he could be. Aicerion
was REPULSED, feeling the slithering hiss
of his pride threaten to ooze from his fingertips.
But he was not a stupid man, far from, and
challenging a brutish Nord as well as a vicious,
mindless animal would be dire, no matter how
strong one claimed to be.
“I trust you are fully aware of your heretic status.
How you and your people can worship a mere
man is lost on me, but I did not come to argue
your flawed reasoning.”
Aicerion had been briefed on Ulfric and his
civil war. He pondered, for a moment, if he
could further deepen the divide between sides.
He did not enjoy the potential the man could
possess at swaying opinion. Making him out
to be a ruthless destroyer seemed feasible.
“I find it laughable, that you parade such a
meaningless trinket around. Have you no
COMPASSION for your homeland, Nord?”
He threatened a smirk, trying to gauge what
he could off of the man. Any and all information
gleaned off of this conversation would be
perused and considered.
7 notes
·
View notes
bansheeqceen:
This land was strange. Similar and yet different from her own. The Banshee Queen found herself wandering, searching for how she had ended up here. The appearance of the elf confused her. He looked like a high elf, and yet he didn’t. Was he a half breed? Perhaps. His words caused her eyes to narrow. “ Do tell me why I should listen to you? ” The she-elf raised her chin in defiance. Even if her name carried no weight in these foreign lands she was still Sylvanas Windrunner, Warchief of the Horde.
She spoke as if she were of his kind. A GNAWING
sting not uncommon among Altmer women. For
a brief moment, he considered her accent,
pondering it upon sensitive ears. He determined
she could not possibly have lingered around Alinor.
Her gait was not refined, as she would have been
taught.
“If you value keeping yourself out of trouble, you
would consider my words sage advice.”
Her defiance had irked him. She stood to him as
if he were nothing but a common foot soldier. He
narrowed his gaze upon her, wary of her rebellious
nature.
5 notes
·
View notes
rxawaken:
She had merely been traveling on the road when she heard the words spoken. At first, she did not believe it to be directed at her, or at least, she hoped not. Despite her hopes, they were dashed quickly as she finally stopped within a few seconds, and looked around, before looking at the much taller elf.
A moment passed, she pointed to him, then herself, as if to get conformation that it was indeed her that he was referring to. Truth be told, she hadn’t even noticed he had been behind her.
It was then that she noticed his clothing.
“A-Ah I see, a Thalmor Justicar. How may I help you today?”
The question was simple enough, but the words were laced with a sort of nervousness. She’d dealt with small things since her run away from Solitude from her family, such as wolves, and skeevers, a few pit-pockets, but nothing like a Justicar. She hoped word hadn’t gotten too far out yet that she was a runaway. Surely they wouldn’t send a Thalmor after her…. would they?
“I do hope I am not in trouble?”
Her nervous disposition had given Aicerion pause.
Were she not guilty, surely there would be no issue.
He looked pensive for a moment, arms folded
across his chest as he loomed over her, a towering,
pointed creature donning black and gold as he
eyed the woman.
“My business upon Skyrim is to make sure your
Emperor was not deceiving his rightful Mer rulers
when he signed that Concordat. I am merely
performing my duty by checking the civilians of Skyrim.
If you have nothing to hide, your nerves are unfounded.”
He was gracious enough to allow her to answer.
Thoughtless attacks looked unwelcome upon the
Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion, logical men
and women who far outweighed in intelligence.
They were not like Nords.
2 notes
·
View notes
Svenntir Snow-Shaper:
THE look Svenntir gave was anything but WELCOMING; his Stormcloak hackles rose with the coming of an Altmer. Elf aside, what fool had the nerve to tell the DRAGONBORN to halt? Sven had struck the heart of ALDUIN THE WORLD EATER with the sword at his hip, and many dragons even before that! He had survived Helgen, just one of only a small handful to make such a claim. If this Aldmeri joke enjoyed being alive, perhaps he would THINK before he spoke to a warrior of such fortitude so brashly.
JAW clenched, fingers tapped impatiently at the hilt of his sword. “What business have you with ME, elf?”
Aicerion had little patience for the way the man
glowered at him. Nords knew NOTHING of
respect for those of a higher power than them.
They did not know to bow before gnashing teeth
and spitting curses. Aicerion had kept his well
formed posture, though his brows twitched to furrow
at the tone in which he was spoken at.
“Thalmor business. As Skyrim passes each day,
my people find more and more HERETICS
crawling like maggots upon a dead dog. You
understand, in that regard, why it stands that
I must ask for your proof that you are not
among the insects.”
Aicerion had gall, as he held himself with a
regard more formal than attacking. Though
he was to be careful. Lady Elenwen had told
Justiciars to often approach with caution. And
one could never trust a mindless brute to not
attack at any mere inconvenience.
7 notes
·
View notes
dolose:
@epioles || starter call ➳
“Relax! Ain’t that bad!”
Alligal had plopped himself down on the
wooden chair, stretching his legs as he
slammed the tankard down in front of
Aicerion, harsh enough to be heard among
the loud voices in the tavern.
“Don’t you want to blend in a little better?”
It was that bad.
Aicerion could smell the overbearing
stench of ale and sweat, the retch-inducing
belches of drunken patrons, watching
Alligal slam his tankard down onto the
table, his sensitive hearing jarred as his
gaze slid closed in a desperate effort to
escape the problem at hand.
“I would like you to know that truly, if it
came to it, I would not spare a moment’s
hesitation to bury you alive under the floor
of this wretched place.”
Loathe he was to admit, but Alligal had a
point made. Aicerion’s duties as a spy kept
him from throttling the bastard.
4 notes
·
View notes
Starter call :; @gvildmastcr
Aicerion was, with each passing day
in Skyrim, growing more and more
adept at spotting the differences in
humans. And he had found that Bretons
may be perhaps among the ugliest of
the human races.
He eyed the man who skulked about.
A rugged, ragged face that seemed to
fit Riften’s soiled, rotten nature. Aicerion
had done well to ignore the hawks of
mucus summoned up and spat nearby
his feet. But he did not care. He had
business in that miserable Ratway,
and he stood, lingering like an aching
shadow in the Riften public, trying to
find the lone soul who would be able to
lead them there, whether they knew it or not.
2 notes
·
View notes
dolose:
Alligal had simply pouted at the comment, having
hoped that he’d have caught Aicerion in a better
mood — although he certainly had to wonder when
that had ever been the case.
“Don’t be like that…” he whined. “C’mon, let me
follow you. I’ll do anythin’. Just let me go with you.”
“Is that some sort of Bosmeri joke? I’m not
having you follow me about like a rotten mutt.
This is Thalmor business, and if you have
any concept of respect in that shrunken,
malformed head of yours you would leave,
immediately.”
He scowled, thoroughly unimpressed with the
persistent rodent halting him from his duties.
9 notes
·
View notes
Starter call :; @abovepity
The man was tall. But among Nords,
it was not uncommon. Though Aicerion
was a lean, sinewy creature himself, the
Nord in passing had smarted him by a
few inches. Something in his face told
Aicerion perhaps the man was of broken
heritage, and the thought had given him
pause to inwardly scoff, knowing most
humans did not care to keep their blood
sacred.
But he walked unlike the Stormcloaks.
Proud to smash their swords upon their
spines and utter barking laughs that jarred
the birds from trees. There was something
quieter in the man. Aicerion had remained
stoic, posture perfect as he gazed upon the
other, watchful.
2 notes
·
View notes
Starter call :; @loveardently
She looked as if death clutched her hand and
waltzed upon the flowers with her. Aicerion
had an immediate distrust for all humans,
and she was no exception. She reminded
Aicerion of a Hagraven. Something strange
and oozing magic, but he did not rush to speak
to her, instead watching her with careful interest.
One could never be too careful. Skyrim was full
of disgusting and unsightly surprises. He would
not be shocked to find her be one of them.
5 notes
·
View notes