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Grove Mist (ii)

©sydburon - November ‘15

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Send ‘♡’ for my muse to share positive feelings about yours. Send ‘☓’ for some not so nice thoughts about your muse from mine.

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At first, Swallows-Ink thought a traveler coming to aid him was a good idea, a potential opportunity at the very least. When two gleaming red eyes beamed through the dark, accompanied by pinpricks of orange, any scrap of hope he held was dashed.

Swallows made no sound, his breathing shallow and dim from exhaustion. When his eyes met the other’s, somehow he mustered the strength to try and crawl away from the other. His eyes were blank and wide with terror, blinking through the blood that ran down from his forehead.

“I don’t wwh–w-want—” was all he managed, collapsing and falling back against the ground as he pushed away. It was a bad fall, his form thudding dully against the dirt as his arms were too weak to catch himself. Even still, he tried to drag his body away from the other, brain addled with pain and confusion and fear most of all. Finally, the argonian, weak beyond belief from blood loss and adrenaline that didn’t quite fire up and lack of sense, giving in as his face skidded into the dirt.

He lay in a wheezing, bloodied heap, eyes wild with horror and all the cornered nervousness of a beast that had tried to learn the shape of man. He had either submitted himself to the thought of death pounding in his head completely or simply lacked the strength to even move, eyes squeezing shut as he waited for the traveler to approach.

{Open}

The day was only beginning to darken when Rowan set out from Lakeview in Shadowmere’s saddle, Sos in hand with an arrow nocked upon its string. With his keen eyes on the lookout for unwary deer and elk, he’d been hunting the woods of Falkreath for no more than an hour when his senses were abruptly assaulted with the sharp, metallic smell of mortal blood, and when he rounded his horse to catch sight of an injured wanderer sitting down against a nearby tree, his face contorted with surprise.

“Seachad am Dhia,” he cursed, immediately steering Shadowmere in the stranger’s direction and spurring him into a hurried canter toward the wounded traveler’s side. Dismounting quickly and situating his bow around his torso, he wasted no time in going to them and crouching before their injured form, running his night-sensitive eyes over their trembling body to assess whatever damage they’d sustained. “It’s all right, I’ve no wish to harm you – how badly are you hurt?”

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FIRST THREE IN MY INBOX GET KISSES

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His brow creased, taken slightly aback as he fiddled with a little dwarven cog on the edge of Vek's desk.

"No. Yy-you're the last, correct?" his tone was careful, "Ha---have you met any other of your kind after... the "disappearance"?"

"Y---You're Dwemeri, aren't yy-you?"

“Yes. Do you have some inquiry that my supposed Dwemeri intellect can satisfy?”

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how to keep track of multiple roleplay blogs at once

you don't

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submitted by thadarkone 

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Swallows tried again to crack a small grin-- a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and fell at her feet with all the wellmeaning eagerness of a puppy, but a grin nonetheless.

"I'd oo-only hope so," he shuffled aimlessly at his bag's contents as if he was... reluctant to meet the other's eyes. "Thank you. You're a th---thaumaturge too, right? Not ma-many around these days."

☤ >B)

“I dd–don’t think it’s too bad, miss,” piped Swallows-Ink, smiling timidly and unlatching the buckles on his satchel. He made quick work of taking a damp cloth to the thin cut stretching the length of Ma’Jaara’s palm, carefully brushing his finger across it to apply a thin salve. Tentatively, the argonian begins wrapping up her hand in cloth, gently turning it over in his hand and taking a glance up at Ma’Jaara when he was done.

“That’s not too tight, i-is it?”

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"Right, ss--ssorry, sorr-ry," Swallows breathed, hardly daring to even look at the other. The blade in his hand shook, not from the fear curdling his stomach but this time from how tightly his fingers curled around it, whiteknuckling the hilt with dread. His throat constricted as he tried to unclench his jaw, forcing himself to relax in the presence of the imposing woman.

"Youu--u just-- you just almost walked i--into a trap..." His voice was barely a sigh outwards, limbs drawing close to his trembling form and legs stiff as he took a tentative step forwards. "N--nevermind. You're r-right, I'm sorry."

"I w-wasn't worried. Maybe I was a little bit concerned, but that's nn--not the same thing." (for any muse BB)

//*Picks the worst muse to have interact with Swallows*//

Calamity hardened her gaze on the Argonian, which seemed to be shrinking as he collapsed in on his own nervousness. She crossed her arms at her chest and snorted at the pathetic sight.

“I know worry when I see it. The hesitant and pathetic plague of mortals. What weak scraps of imagination you have, you use to belittle yourself and harm your state of being.” She turned her nose away from Swallows, then her body followed the pivot and soon she was talking lumbering steps away from him.

“Concern is a brave man’s excuse to weasel himself into the happenings of others. Worry is…” She turned partially so she was looking at the lizard over her shoulder. “Worry is the saddening disease that’s rattling you like an autumn leaf.”

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"Don't say th---that," breathed Swallows Ink, voice quiet as death and pupils narrowed to barely visible slits, bisecting pale pink irises as he watched Adendryn unblinking. He swayed in an unmoving wind and took a step closer, face tipped forward imposingly and shoulders slumped in fear.

"He will hear you."

The argonian said no more, pulling his hood low over his still-gaping eyes, starting down the path away from Riften.

"I ww-was doing my job. Wh---what's your excuse?"

"I feel many things-- nausea above all."

“That’s what happens when you kill.” He stepped over the corpse of the guard.

“It ain’t free. You take their life, and in the end of the day, they took a piece of yours. It’s a cruel trade.”

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Swallows Ink stood stock still, eyes wide as the moons and mouth twisted into a tight grimace.

"I know."

The handprint emblazoned on his chest seemed to burn through the cloth of his surcoat and singe the inside of his ribs as he pulled his scarf lower over the emblem, reaching down to heft the cadaver over his shoulder. Swallows had killed countless people in cold blood, but the still-warm feeling of skin against his hands always sent bile sliding upwards in his throat and teeth grinding against one another.

"But animals m--must kill to eat and we are a-animals," he stated blankly, throwing the body over his shoulder as his expression turned listless. "You c---can have whatever loot you pick off of him; I'm only h--here for the contr-tract."

"I feel many things-- nausea above all."

“That’s what happens when you kill.” He stepped over the corpse of the guard.

“It ain’t free. You take their life, and in the end of the day, they took a piece of yours. It’s a cruel trade.”

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Dragonsreach from below

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Rocks surrounded by lush green Moss by Batikart on Flickr.

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new art challenge:

draw the squad like this

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