#breton coast

[orkazh-arts]

En tu bennak el lanneg / Quelque part dans la lande / Somewhere in the heathlands ✨🖤🤍

[corvidist]

Raven couple - Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia

[elavoria]

@nostalgic-breton-girl’s Nerevarine Lunette as a study of a painting of Madame de Staël, all dressed up to attend a fundraising dinner at Fort Moonmoth and ready to steal some hearts... and some silverware.

[theedfather]

[stressedoutart]

Summer 2022, This was a quick late evening sketch from my car of the boardwalk in Inverness, Nova Scotia at sunset. I remember painting this in early summer so the nights were still quite cold. I still have paint on my steering wheel in my car from this piece. I can't wait to see where in the world this piece ends up. It is available for sale on my Etsy store: stressedoutshop.etsy.com

[dollarstoredoodles]

Another addition to my pictogram-inspired series. This time it's Nova Scotia! Order prints here.

[allmythologies]

welsh & breton mythology: morgans

morgen are water spirits that drown men.  they lured sailors with their hypnotic voices and sat in the water to comb their hair seductively. they were believed to live near coasts, at cave entrances and at the mouths of rivers, with some held to still inhabit a cave near crozon. the morgans, who were well-versed in evil spells, would drag young men underwater and the men would never be seen again. in some versions, however, morgans carried kidnapped sailors to underwater palaces of mother-of-pearl and crystal, and married them. the morgens, eternally young, are also blamed for heavy flooding that destroys crops or villages.

[tastesoftamriel]

I hate hot food. For many reasons. I know a lot of Argonian meals are served cool/cold, but do the other races have meals intended to be the same way?

While not particularly common in some Provinces, chilled dishes can be found across Tamriel and are the perfect refreshment when hot food feels a little too weighty.

Altmer

Probably the Tamrielic masters of cold dishes, the High Elves are probably best known for their cold raw seafood dishes. Fresh fish, prawns, squid, octopus, sea urchin, and much more are sliced with a deft hand and served with wasabi and saltrice sauce. Sometimes, the seafood is placed atop rice and wrapped with a thin slice of nori to hold it together. While the idea of eating cold raw fish may not appeal to many, it's one of my favourite foods in Tamriel.

Argonians

Keeping clay or metal vessels submerged in water is an age-old Argonian technique of keeping their food cool, which is an absolute must in the hot and muggy climate of Black Marsh. Cold swamp jelly and seafood salad topped with grilled prawns and chilled marinated snails is a customary dish offered to visitors, and it's delightfully refreshing! The swamp jelly doesn't taste of much, but its soft, jelly-like texture complements the crunch of the seaweed.

Bosmer

Cold food isn't much of a thing for the Wood Elves, but one exception jumps to mind: the humble cottage cheese dip. Cottage cheese made from timber mammoth milk is aged in caves for two days, seasoned, and kept chilled. The dip is served cold with dried cured meats to dip with. It's not terribly exciting, but there's nothing quite as satisfying as eating meat and cheese in one bite!

Bretons

Chilled soufflés are all the rage in High Rock, and require lots of patience (and swearing) to master. Both sweet and savoury soufflés are served in this manner, from orange liqueur to parmesan and rosemary. My personal favourite is the chilled chili chocolate soufflé from the Rosy Lion in Daggerfall, part of their seasonal menu. The combination of rich dark cocoa with a touch of Alik'r spices is out of Nirn!

Dunmer

Chilled foods aren't an integral part of Dunmeri gastronomic culture, but certain Houses, namely the Telvanni, Hlaalu, and Redorans, do enjoy them. A Telvanni specialty is a cold chicken salad, where the chicken is marinated overnight in a blend of matcha, fire fern, saltrice sauce, and secret spices. It grilled and shredded, and served cold with hackle-lo leaves and gold kanet seeds atop steamed saltrice. However, don't let appearances fool you; any Telvanni with cold chicken salad leftovers can probably be found gobbling it at midnight straight from the cold cellar.

Imperials

The Gold Coast is famous for its chilled seafood soup, made with a creamy tomato and fish stock base, and loaded with all manner of fish and shellfish. While the hot variant from Bruma is more popular in colder climes, the cold seafood soup is a delightfully refreshing meal when beating the summer heat, especially when served with a mojito on the side.

Khajiit

If there's an excuse to make a food cold, the Khajiit will find it, and for good reason: the Deadlands-like heat of Elsweyr. Cold vegetable curries are a notable mention. Three or four small bowls of different curries, from mild okra to spicy potato, are served with moon sugar, saffron rice or tandoor flatbreads, and are meant to be eaten with your hands. I must say, though, that there's a rather jarring contrast between the cold curry and the searing heat you get from biting into a bird's eye chili.

Nords

Unlike the Khajiit, Nords look for any excuse to make food hot, with a couple of exceptions. Cold smoked salmon, mudcrab, or trout with dark rye bread is one of them. This rustic lunch dish is served with chilled horseradish cream, goat cheese, and fish roe topping, and is the perfect meal for when you want something filling that won't send you straight to sleep.

Orcs

Glass noodle salad is an Orcish delicacy said to have originated in Wrothgar in the early Second Era. The noodles, made from sweet potato starch, are thick and chewy, and are served chilled. To turn it into a salad, simply throw in some cold shredded daikon radish and carrots, sweet frost mirriam vinegar, peas, cold rare beef tongue slices, and fried chorizo. Easy and delicious, while packing lots of flavour!

Redguards

Cold foods are a welcome treat in Hammerfell, where the searing heat can be just as unbearable as Elsweyr's. Cold, pulled goat in a chilled tomato and harissa-based stew is eaten as a soup, and is a filling meal when mixed with bulgur or cous-cous. While it may sound and look a little like last night's disappointing leftovers, one bite of this on a Midyear day in the Alik'r will have you moaning with delight.

[drachenwiki]

Today, November 6th, is the feast day of Saint Efflamm, a Breton saint from the 5th century.

When Efflamm arrived at the Breton coast, he witnessed a giant dragon that received a sacrifice of royal blood every christmas. He teamed up with king Arthur, who was also hunting for the dragon, in order to defeat it.

The king fought the dragon for three days before asking the saint for some water. The saint created a spring and then decided to fight the dragon his way. He prayed through the night and then went to the dragoncave. There he ordered the dragon to haul itself into the sea, which it promptly did.

[ferdinand-du-puigaudeau-art]

-Sunset of the Breton Coast-

[chojrak-making-things]

The last world for now, in which I stayed for longer, is called “Galaad Island” or “Isle de Gallahaad” in original, since it’s French world. I don’t know who created it, but it originates from site called Simsdesignavenue, which is no longer available. The only place for now to download it, is this pack on mediafire, so catch it up and make a copy if you want.

Person which showed me this world said it was basen on French coast, with a bit of Breton climate. It’s unpopulated, but it has many tombs and it’s story is focused around Galahad, Gallahaad, or whatever spelling is possible (I’ve seen so many). He was a knight of King Arthur's Round Table and one of the three achievers of the Holy Grail in Arthurian legend. Though in this world he’s refered as “Saint Gallahad”, so I don’t know what’s behind that. All I know is that there’s his tomb, and there’s a lot of other tombs as well, so if you want to look for Grail, go ahead!

It’s very old world, probably from 2010. So it uses only World Adventures and Ambitions. There’s CC attached, which is lathern and some wallpapers. I turned it into packages and put into proper folders and it was working. So if you don’t install simpack, I made a folder with all them converted. (Just remember that world file goes into different folder than regular CC!)

Anyway, let’s take a closer look under the cut.

...

Town centre is pretty similar to the one from Riverview. It also has many parks, but not only narrow ones.

What is definitely different from Riverview, is that waterfall behind city hall.

Closer to the shore you can find something like a cottage houses. Most houses in this world have like 2-3 bedrooms, but very thin on place. I’ll show the interior set up later in this post.

Gardens and paths behind them are very atmospheric.

Other houses are simpler. They’re placed near town entrance. There’s also laundromat and cafeteria.

Going along the shore you cen see community beach.

Even further you can find a lonely wooden shack on the beach. It’s residential lot, good for those who like to keep it private.

Behind that shack there’s spacious areaon the hill where houses are rather scattered around, with only paths meandering between them.

And of course there’s pearl of this world - lathern. But it’s just decorative CC. There’s medium sized house with garden near it, and private beach.

In the middle of the island you can find another waterfall and community center / fishing spot. Fishing spot reminds me of the one in Riverblossom Hills from The Sims 2.

Near you can find another houses and something more... mysterious.

The highest part of island is kinda empty in lots. You can find there however the biggest ones, like the one bellow.

When it comes of typical interior, it looks like this.

There are also more modern houses. 

But what I haven’t mentioned earlier, there’s no starters! So eaither you need to move sims onto empty lot, use cheat, or buy unfurnished one. Only one or two could be bought unfurnished if I recall correctly.

But to not end it with such a sour picture, here you have a few more views on town. Obviously I coundn’t show all I wanted, but I started a longer gameplay in this one, so I’ll have yet occasion to spam with nice landscapes.

Thanks for reading!

...

[corvidist]

Breakwater Ravens - Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia

[wardenparker]

Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 8

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems.  ✨  Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 11.7k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** General danger, threats of violence (including threats of domestic violence), mention of infertility, some good fluff and a little bit of sexy talk for balance. Summary: The journey continues as our found family leaves the safety of their little Breton cottage for the last time and heads north toward Scotland. Never knowing how far behind them their enemy might be, every moment they are not moving at full speed is a moment of danger. Notes: This journey, for all its twists and turns, is so full of love and hope. It’s rainy where I live today, overcast and gray, and I’m taking a little bit of the love these two couples carry with them as a reminder to have an open heart and an open mind even when things seem bleak. Have a good Sunday, everybody 💖

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

By the time the first pink rays of light start to brighten the sky, the small party of horses and people is nearly three hours from your cottage. Pero’s horse is the last one. His stallion snorting slightly at the pace and the contraption strapped to his flanks as Pero twists in his saddle to look behind him and checks the path. It is not perfect, you can tell animals have been through, but not their number or that humans are on their back. It will have to do.

“At least the ferry will be easy to hire.” Bundled in extra layers in front of Pero on Caballo’s back, you point a finger through the fog at the coast that has come into view. The crossing from France to England isn’t streamlined and simple like the Chunnel. It is a floating barge on a thick, tarred chain run by men who routinely extort the travelers who have no choice but to buy their fare from shore to shore.

“Humph.” Pero snorts and shakes his head. “Let me talk to them.” He looks over to where Briac and Arwena are talking over their horses’ heads. The blankets from your bed wrapped around them for extra warmth as the temperatures are even more frigid on the coast.

“Ho there!” The grizzled looking man on his ferry barge is used to being the gruffest looking man on any given day, but this traveler slides off his horse with an angry set to his broad frame. “Seeking passage?”

Pero scowls and nods. “For us and the horses.” He growls, making sure that his cloak opens to reveal his armor and his sword. He knows men like this, men who will try to cheat anyone they come across for a few extra coins.

“Hafta do two trips.” The man grumbles after a moment, sizing up the foreigner and his war horse along with the woman still riding it. “Yer wife and girl with their horses are plenty enough for this barge to take a’once. Can’t see to sink my livelihood over a bunch of foreigners.”

“The girl and the other man go first.” Pero shakes his head, his scowl deepening. “And you get your coins when we are all safely on the other side.” He’s used to being called a foreigner, but the idea that this barge is incapable of taking all of you at once is laughable. However, he’s not going to argue making two trips but the ferryman has lost his mind if he thinks he’s going to allow you and Arwena to go alone.

“No need to be choosy ‘bout it.” The ferryman huffs, as though he wasn’t very clearly going about his job in poor faith. “It’s tuppence per crossing,” he tells Pero with a wary eye. “Should charge an extra penny for that great war horse but I’m feelin’ generous today.”

“Good then.” Pero grumbles, pinning the man with a hard stare before he turns back to walk over towards Briac who has dismounted his own horse.

“We have passage?” Briac asks, his voice lowered so as not to give the ferryman any ideas about denying them if he has already agreed.

“We do but I don’t trust them.” Pero cuts his eyes back towards the ferryman. “He wanted to send the women and the horses over without us.” He motions you to move his horse closer and from the weapons he has, he pulls out the throwing axe he had been teaching Briac on. “Keep your sword visible. You and Arwena are crossing first. Wait for us on the other side.”

“Aye.” Briac swallows his uneasiness, putting all of it aside to make sure that Arwena is safe. “I’ve no doubt that Sassenach could care for herself, but Wena? I would sooner build a barge myself than let her out of my sight.”

“As much as I know Sassenach can defend herself, I will not be either.” Pero admits, although he knows your dagger is always close at hand. “I trust four people, and one of them is in China.”

Briac is not brave enough in the moment to ask if he might be one of the remaining three, but he nods and reaches for the reins of Arwena’s horse. “Come down, love,” he urges her softly. “And stay close to me. We will cross first.”

Pero makes sure that he’s the one that helps Arwena down from her horse. While Briac has come a long way, it would do well to have everyone involved in the ferry crossing to think that the rougher looking man would be highly upset if anything happened to either woman.

“Steady on, now.” The ferryman never moves an inch from his post, waving his direction to the younger pair with their smaller mounts. “Two by two, as they say. Steady on.”

Pero nods towards Briac and motions them forward. “They will not be asking for coins until we are both across.” He calls out, seemingly reminding the boy but really sending the ferryman a warning.

Arwena does not need to be told to stay close to Briac, already able to tell from the sneer on the man's face that she wants no more to do with this ferryman than is absolutely necessary. She clings to her soulmate's hand as he leads both horses onto the barge, keeping her face hidden as best she can. If her father figures out they have fled Brittany altogether, this crossing will undoubtedly be the one he takes.

Briac keeps a watchful eye on all of the men as the two of them are loaded up and the ropes are released from the small dock. The chains are slowly dragging them away from the shore and the land that Briac has known for his entire life. "It is a fresh start." He murmurs to his soulmate as he watches you and Tovar get smaller as the ferry moves towards their destiny.

He is right. She knows he is. But that does not stop the terrifying uncertainty in her heart from bubbling up, making her bury her face in his chest to hide the fact that she is beginning to weep for having to run away from home. Leaving with their heads held high and a new life decided on would be so very different from the feeling she has tonight - the feeling of stealing away like a criminal in the night covered in a cloak of shame. "I know," she murmurs back, though it is broken by tears.

"It is going to be alright." He promises her, crushing her to his armored chest and letting her cry all she needs to against his cloak. "We are very fortunate that we are able to travel with them."

"I know," Arwena sputters again, feeling ashamed in a wholly different way for seeming so ungrateful. "I—it is—" She huffs, mostly at herself. "It is not what we had planned."

"I know." Briac lets go of her shoulder and reaches up to cup both of his soulmate's cheeks, looking into her beautiful eyes. "I would never let you marry that man, to bear his children when you are mine and I am yours. I would rather give up my mother and father, everything I know to leave now than to see that monster touch you again. To know that he is hurting the woman who owns my heart." He vows seriously.

"I love you." Those words are clear and sound even through her distress, and Arwena leans her forehead against Briac's to try to calm herself. "And I will forever be grateful that you love me."

"I love you." He promises, just like he has every time he has to leave her, although this time he is staying by her side. "As soon as I can, I am making you my wife."

"As soon as we can." Arwena nods, watery eyes clearing a little as she reminds herself to be strong for him. Briac has given his entire life for her - to keep her safe and to be with her - and she does not want him to ever regret it for a moment.

Leaning in, Briac gives in to the urge to kiss her. Something he hadn’t been able to do in the village that they had lived in.

It's soothing. Calming in a very basic way. And Arwena feels like she can breathe again when they part. "It will work out." Whether the reassurance is for herself or for him, she cannot be sure. "It must."

“Yes it will.” Briac is as sure as Arwena is, but he puts on a braver front. Pero has taught him well and he will not let him or his soulmate down. “Come, let us watch the water.” He urges her to turn away from the shore and look out towards the future and the Isles they will venture to.

"On our way to our new home." Arwena leans into his side, willing herself to be steady in the face of adversity. To be grounded and confident. To show no fear. As she has seen you be so many times before.

It takes hours. The only sounds the clanking of the chain as it rattles through the eyebolt on the ferry and the stomping of the horses’ hooves, the grunts of the ferrymen and the lapping of water against the raft. It’s almost soothing in its rhythm but Briac is happy to see the shore loom closer through the winter fog.

When the empty barge finally comes into sight on the French side of the channel, you lean into Pero's side and chuckle half-heartedly in an attempt to break the tension in the air. "We could have fucked twice in the time it took him to return."

Pero snorts, the first break in his scowl since he dismounted the horse hours ago. His answer is a squeeze to your hip before he lets go and steps towards the small loading dock to pull the chain to bring the ferry closer much quicker.

"Your kin are safe on the other side." The ferryman tells him when the barge steadies in place and he can speak to the foreigner without shouting.

“Good.” Pero nods, but he doesn’t offer anything more. Oftentimes just being quiet will garner more information than asking.

"No guarantees they'll be that way for long." He huffs, eyeing Pero closely. "Get your wife here and we'll get you across as well."

“Sassenach.” Pero looks over at you and nods, reaching for the horse’s reins to guide him onto the barge. The war horse is used to being transported and he easily follows Pero up the ramp.

"Aye." Sticking to his side is the safest thing you can do mostly because you wouldn't trust the ferryman as far as you can throw him based on Pero's description of the man.

The two of you board the barge, Pero securing the horse to the post and turning back to look towards the direction of your cottage. “How is your gato doing?”

"She was napping on that last road." Binx stretches in her pouch at the sound of her second name - since she now responds to gato without any sort of pretense or grumbling - and meows softly like she is reaching for Pero. "Yes, preciosa, we're talking about you." you laugh, glad for a reason to smile as the sun climbs higher in the sky. On any other day, you might only be waking up now.

Pero chuckles, lifting the fabric that covers the small sling that she is in and peering in at her. “She might be the most comfortable out of our group.”

"Without a doubt." It is good to hear him laugh, like a balm over your already weary soul. "She will perhaps be less so when it is time to stay awake through the night, but I am sure that sleeping in her pack all day will more than make up for it."

“It is a good idea.” He admits, knowing the cat will wake him up if there is danger and she can see and hear better than he can. Especially in the darkness. “As soon as we get across, I want to put as many miles as we can between us and the ferry.” He murmurs to you softly, where the ferryman can’t hear.

"North until we are numb at the thought of it." You whisper back, nodding slightly as you watch the French coast start to shrink. The ferryman pulls away from the bank easily enough, a sour look on his unpleasant face.

Pero’s eyes flick back to the shore before drifting over to the ferryman. “He will not try anything until he has gotten his pay.” He reassures you, knowing that a skirmish may happen, but he is ready if it does.

"I am not above singeing a man who deserves it." Arwena has your dagger, but you have fire in your fingertips. "Or worse, if need be."

He appreciates that, he really does, but he doesn’t want you to reveal your talents unless it is dire. “Not unless your life is in danger. Yours or the girl’s.”

"I don't expect him to try more than robbing us." Keeping your voice down is easy enough given the noise of moving water, and your lips being so near Pero's ear where his head is bent down beside yours. "He would not be fool enough to try to touch me with you here, and Wena is safely on shore."

“I agree.” He growls in your ear, doing it on purpose to make you shiver. “He would be a dead man, Sassenach.” He promises you. “I don’t share.”

"Cruel." Looking into his eyes it's obvious that he did it on purpose - that he did it to tease you. You tut and shake your head. "I should never have let you know how much I enjoy your possessive streak."

His chuckle is low, rough as he caresses you with it. “It is good, because it is not something that I can change. You are mine and I am yours. You are lucky I share my cheese and ale with you.” He teases, knowing he would go hungry if it meant filling your belly.

"I am lucky." You will never debate that. Not since having him in your life. Everything that you've had to go through - everything that brought you through the roller coaster of your life - was all to place you at his side. "I am yours and you are mine and that makes me the luckiest woman there is."

“And I am lucky you believe that.” Pero’s eyes are constantly moving now that he is away from the safety of your cottage. He didn’t realize until now how comfortable he had been, how settled he had become and how he viewed that stone cottage as home. Security.

Silence falls between you, comfortable yet tense for the circumstances steal the quiet that usually inhabits the stillness in moments with Pero. You have never minded not talking too much, but right now you know that his keen ears are listening for any sound out of concert or any sight out of tune. He has never really cared for open water. Not deep water. He can swim, but he doesn’t like not being able to see the shores or the bottom. To this trip that unease adds an extra layer of tension.

"Odd time of year for a family to travel." The ferryman ventures, when it is clear from his huffing and puffing that he does not care for silence. He would rather speak of nonsense than not speak at all.

“Roads are clear.” Pero grunts, unwilling to correct the man. If he thought you all were family, then he would continue to believe that. “Less thieves to kill.”

"Not exactly movin' house though, are ye? Not with three horses and no carriage." These people are infuriating in their own small way, since he can tell that you all have something to hide, and he simply doesn't know what.

“We travel light.” Pero huffs, not appreciating the questions. It wasn’t his business; his business was to operate a ferry.

"Can see that." The ferryman grumbles. It's almost as if the foreigner is being deliberately difficult and that annoys him.

There’s a slight amount of glee to be had in frustrating the man. Pero grunts and decides to toss the man some information. “Wife’s carrying a babe and wanting to be with her family while she is growing.” Useless and false as the information may be, it is a plausible reason for haste.

"Bit of a leap from this babe up to your girl." Any tiny morsel of information will do, and the ferryman chomps at it greedily. "Good on ye.”

There’s a moment where he feels you tense up and he knows that he will be reassuring you that he doesn’t care about actually having babes with you. But if someone comes looking, they will be thrown off hopefully. “It was time for another.” He grunts.

"Family will be right pleased with the news, then." The man nods as he walks with the chain to and fro on his barge. Caballo snorts as though to disagree and Binx meows softly in agreement with her equine friend, both reactions making you crack a private smile. Even the animals know this man is a fool.

Pero lets the silence linger again, determined that this man won’t learn any other useless information about his party. His hand slides around you, under where Binx is nestled and he taps your tummy in amusement. If he thinks Arwena is your child together, the years are very vast between babes.

It gives you the opportunity to nuzzle into Pero and you take it happily. Acting the devoted wife is not acting at all, in this case. The unpleasant ferryman would see nothing but a devoted couple and their grown children and that was just fine - there is just enough lie in it to throw the magistrate off the scent if he comes this way in his search for Arwena.

Finally the shoreline creeps closer. Every grunt and rattle of chains that brings the barge closer makes him tense slightly. He can make out the boy and his soulmate on the shore with their horses and he breathes a slight sigh of relief.

“What dutiful children we have.” Pero’s relief isn’t lost on you, and you send him a smile that says you are sharing that emotion right down to your bones. Being separated so early in the journey - even for just a little while - made you tense.

“Yes they are.” Pero grunts. “I taught the boy well. It would have been inconvenient to have the boy gut someone before I could get here.” Briac has never taken a life, but the ferryman doesn’t know that.

You actually can’t stop the laugh that that draws out of you, smirking and smothering the sound with both of your hands while the ferryman looks at you like you’re some kind of psychopath for finding it funny that your son didn’t kill anyone in your absence. “Aye,” you manage to agree finally, looking over at Pero with amusement still dancing in your eyes. “That would have been mightily inconvenient.”

“It would.” Pero grumbles, frowning slightly but his own amusement is evident when he looks at you. “Boy took the dagger I wanted last time.” He huffs, making it seem more like the kid had a body count.

You nearly snort, but not as seriously as you can. “Aye. He did do that. Rascal.”

Pero scowls at you slightly and glances over at the ferryman to find him very interested in his task. “Greedy.”

When the barge has finally pulled up to the ramp, you follow Pero off and take hold of Caballo’s reins while your soulmate goes to pay for your fares. Arwena and Briac look even more relieved to see you than you are them, and you accept her embrace easily. “Say nothing until we are away from this place,” you remind her - a whisper in her ear.

Arwena nods seriously, her eyes darting between you and the ferry as if to try and gauge the situation, but she doesn’t say anything. There is a tenseness now that had her worried.

“Careful on the roads east and north, if you’re headed that way,” The ferryman offers gruffly. He fidgets as he waits for payment and offers a tidbit of information that he hopes might earn him an extra coin. “Bandits about. A deformed wife ought to be safe but a pretty daughter never is.”

“Good we are going south then.” Pero growls, itching to pull his blade out and cut the ferryman’s tongue out for insulting you. “My wife may have lost sight in one eye but she is not defenseless.” He promises.

“A good journey to you, then.” Sensing the foreigner is temperamental about his wife’s disfigurement, the ferryman wraps his calloused hand around the coins in his palm and touches the brim of his cap politely. It’s more manners than he’s shown to the traveler all morning, but he doesn’t want to be run through over an offhand comment.

Pero doesn’t respond, just wraps his hand around your arm and leads you away, cursing under his breath. “We will leave and head south before we make our way north.” He tells you quietly as he leads you back over to the other couple and the horses.

“What did the bloated insect have to say?” You ask, suspecting from the shade of red in Pero’s face that the ferryman angered him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Pero growls, turning around and scowling at the man who is watching the four of you with unabashed interest.

“Alright.” Trying to force information out of Pero is as useless as trying to get a pig to stop eating, so you just put it aside for now. You’ll ask again later if you remember to - when you’re further away and he’s had a chance to calm down from whatever is bothering him. “Mount up, then. Everyone.”

It’s a waste of time, but obviously the bastard is going to watch to see which direction your horses travel, so Pero guides the group south. Hopefully if any inquire, he will have given enough misdirection.

The detour loses you valuable hours of travel, as Pero only begins to guide you north again at a crossroads around sunset after stopping for a quick meal in the cover of some nearby woods. No one on the road would have seen four people and three horses bent over a meal, and you can start north again to put some distance between you and the detour before everyone gets too tired.

Pero keeps pushing even after darkness settles on the road around you. His eyes watching for any sign of trouble as he goes. He knows that soon all of you will need to sleep, but he hopes to be several more miles away when that happens.

Arwena is the first to get tired, nearly drifting off on her mount’s back. Briac notices, his sharp eyes always on her, and jolts her awake again. “We need to break,” he calls across the group, not saying any names out loud as he had been instructed. “She’s exhausted.”

Grumbling, Pero looks around and points towards a cluster of trees about half a mile up the road. “We’ll make camp there.” He tells them, turning towards you. “Send your gato ahead to check it out.”

“You can do that, can’t you, sweetheart?” Pulling Binx from her warm and comfortable sling, you wait until Caballo has come to a full stop before putting the cat down in front of you and watching as the war horse bows his head to give Binx a ramp to safely walk down. She leaps to the ground with about two feet left and takes off into the night at full speed.

Pero grunts, patting the horse’s neck as he lifts it again. “When we find our clearing, first thing will be a fire to see by.” He murmurs to you softly. “Then we will get you bedded down.”

“I am more worried about Wena,” you admit, knowing that of the four of you, she is the least physically active and going to be the most tired by traveling. Girls of her station aren’t expected to labor in any physical way except childbirth or waiting on the men in their lives, and Briac has never asked her to lift a finger. “She has not slept in two days, amor. It is no wonder she is exhausted.”

“I know.” Pero softens as he watches her sway in her saddle. “We will let her rest as much as possible. Tomorrow she might need to ride with me if she is too worn out.” He squeezes your waist gently. “Briac has never had another on a horse with him.”

“You will keep her safe, and I will have to content myself with being close to you under blankets in the night.” It’s said softly, with nothing but pride and affection for the man who is giving everything to help the teens that have come to mean so much to you both.

“Hopefully she will be rested but, it depends on how she adapts.” The chicken that he had butchered would be dinner tonight and he knows that tomorrow will be another grueling day so he can put as much distance between the ferry and his group as possible.

“I believe she will adapt well.” She has shown more spirit in the last few weeks and months that you ever thought possible, and that is something you truly adore in the young woman. “No one fares well on two days of no sleep and the heartbreak of leaving an entire life behind.”

“I agree.” Pero can understand that, he is grumpy when he doesn’t sleep. “I am glad we have not had any issues so far.”

“I only pray we continue the same way in the days and weeks to come.” You know it won’t be that easy, but a girl can hope. Nothing is ever easy, unfortunately.

******

Even though the gato is on watch, perched up on a limb above the group and you are securely in his arms, Pero finds it hard to go to sleep. He is exhausted, but still he cannot allow himself to relax enough to ease off. Pulling you closer, he presses his nose to your neck and breathes you in, hoping to calm his nerves.

“Amor, you need sleep.” The whisper is quiet, but his shuffling about had pulled you out of a precarious sleep full of anxious dreams.

“I will sleep.” He promises, pressing his lips to your neck. “I am just on edge.”

“It is understandable.” Turning over in his arms is slightly tricky, but you manage it without ever letting in the cold, and press a kiss to the corner of his lips. “You have been a wonder, amor.”

“I have been worried.” Pero admits quietly, knowing that he can tell you such things. Things that he wouldn’t be able to say to anyone else, not even William.

"About what, cariño?" For him to admit to being concerned is unusual. Normally he just huffs and grumbles and looks concerned without saying anything. It is only in the last few weeks that he has opened up more.

“If we are caught now, it will be difficult.” Pero huffs, pulling you close. “I am afraid her father will bring too many men.”

"I have no fear of revealing myself for what I am if that is what it takes to keep all of you safe," you murmur, aware that a hardened edge has crept into your otherwise soft tone. "He will find himself engulfed in flames like men of his temper have done to my sisters for hundreds of years, and I will not be sorry for a moment."

“Not unless your life or Arwena’s is in danger.” He insists, looking into your eyes in the darkness. “Do not reveal yourself for me.”

"That may be the first request you have ever made of me that I cannot honor." Yet your eyes never leave his, as there is no remorse in your refusal. "I would sooner fight for your life than defend my own."

“And I will not be able to fight for yours if I am worried about you.” He grumbles. “Just— please, Sassenach. I need you to …be safe.”

"It will take more than that man to tear me from your side, amor. I promise." When it comes down to it, you know that the only thing scarier than having something happen to Arwena or Briac for either of you is having something happen to each other, but that is something you may have to fight for now. And if it is? You will fight tooth and claw with all that you have.

You’re stubborn. Pero huffs but he doesn’t argue. Knowing that for now it will do no good. All he can do it push you forward. Once the Bans are read and the vows exchanged, there is nothing her father can do.

"We will all live to see happiness." You're determined to see it through. All of it. From Arwena and Briac's marriage, to getting them settled, to moving on to Inverness. The only question for you is what will happen when you reach that last destination on this journey.

“Go to sleep.” Pero urges you. “Morning will come soon and you need to be rested.” He is trained to go without sleep, but he feels himself relaxing slightly because he has talked with you. Sharing with his soulmate has made him feel like he is making the right choices.

"Te amo." Two small words, but when said with honesty, they make you feel as light as a feather; and they let you snuggle into his arms a little easier after kissing him good night.

“Te amo, mi amor.” Pero hums, his own eyes closing after one last brief glance around the camp with the low burning fire and the up at Binx on her perch. Her eyes wide and shining in the firelight, obviously watching for any danger. “Dulces sueños.” He whispers, drifting off to sleep behind you.

******

The smoke curling up from the chimney makes Padrig smirk. Wondering if you foolishly thought you could protect yourself and his daughter from him. The last time he had been alone, but the three other men, one of them Arwena’s betrothed, flank his horse and it would be a pleasure to make you pay for the wound that still aches when the cold settles in his bones.

“Think the bitch is still abed?” Dergen shifts on his mount, vexed at having to chase down a bride that was already bought and paid for. Arwena should be sitting dutifully at home - or already lying in his bed - not making him galivant all over creation on a chase for a wild goose.

“There are whispers that the whore witch that lives here has taken a man in.” His lip curls in anger at the thought. She denied him and yet spreads her legs for some other? He will make sure she does not enjoy him as punishment. She will cry out for mercy before he decides if he will kill her or make her his whore. “She has probably thought the snows will keep her safe.”

“The snows and a wastrel’s cock.” The snort from Dergen is derisive and their companions bluster in inarticulate agreement when he adds: “We’ll cut it off and feed it to the red-nosed bastard.”

Snorting, the magistrate shifts in his saddle, beady eyes watching for any movement. “We will wait another minute and then bust the door down.” He tells his companions before he raises his voice. “Arwena! Come out now and your punishment for running to the witch will be forgiven!”

When there is no sound or movement from within, the other two men riding behind shift in their saddles and dismount. The axes they carry will cut down a piddly cottage door easily enough. “Arwena!” He screams again, louder this time. “I will break this door down!” He should have known that the girl was reaching out, it was bad enough that the cobbler’s son shared marks with her. But this is a betrayal.

Dergen rocks uncomfortably in place, hand on the pommel of his sword like he’s seen nobler men do time and time again. The air of importance is all he has, and he clings to it, just as he clings to this seemingly ill-fated betrothal. Marriage to his friend’s daughter will legitimize him. Bolster his ailing business and bring in the money he needs to rescue it. That she is young and pretty and will bear him many sons to continue that business is added fortune, at this point. He was certain he had managed to stake his claim in her the last time, but the girl never grew. He would have to do better the next time. “Arwena!” He calls out, gruff and sniffling with the cold making his nose drip. “If you will not obey your father, obey the man who will be your husband and come out now!”

Padrig growls, spitting out a curse and hating how she is refusing to obey him. “Bitch! You’re going to pay for this!” He promises, talking to both you and his daughter. He turns to the other men at his side. “Break the door down but don’t kill anyone yet.”

It would be comical to anyone else watching, to see two large men with frightful axes attack a door that simply swings open as soon as their blades collide with wood. They fall forward slightly, still tightly grasping the axe handles that are now firmly imbedded in the door, and look around in surprise. The fire is banked and smoldering, a few belongings still populate the shelves of one wall, and the furniture remains, but not much else. The younger of the two brutes pulls his axe free and turns to the magistrate in dismay. “There is no one here,” he reports, eyes downcast as though he’s afraid to be beaten for simply being the bearer of bad news.

Padrig huffs, not believing him as he grunts and dismounts his horse, rushing forward. His friends aren’t smart, they are dim-witted, but they enjoy the power that comes with being associated with him. Boosting his ego and doing the unpleasant tasks he doesn’t wish to do himself. The cottage is empty however and he kicks at a chair. “Fuck!” He roars. “We must find the wenches! They cannot have gotten far!” He seethes. “Briac will be beaten sorely for this.” He knows she must have gone to him. You and his daughter aren’t smart enough to plan an escape.

Dergen shoves the brutes aside, dismayed that they are now dealing with an escape and not just an attempt at hiding. He thunders around the cabin as though throwing his considerable weight around will someone shake the residents out of hiding, but what he is met with is only silence. There is, though, unfortunate evidence that cannot be denied. "They must have another with them," he reports, practically growling when he comes back out to Padrig's side. "There are four cups on the table inside."

“Then the rumors are true.” His eyes narrow and he looks around the clearing. It’s obvious now, your roof is patched and the entire area looks like a man has been working. The stack of wood high, and there had been a number of animal skins brought in by the whelp to the tanner. “Mount up, they can’t have gotten far. We will chase them down, kill the boy and the man and drag them back by their hair.”

"It will be fun to finally burn the witch." Swinging back up onto his horse, Dergen grunts and starts surveying the area, snarling at the layer of fresh powder snow that is obscuring any hoof or footprints that might have been visible even a few hours ago. "North," he decides, seeing less snow on the lower-hanging branches along the road in that direction. As though it had been shaken off by riders' heads or shoulders. "The fools have gone north in this cold."

“I told you my daughter was comely but she gets her brains from her useless mother.” Padrig snorts.

"Easy to lead astray but easier to beat into submission," the larger man huffs. "She will learn."

Huffing, Arwena’s father grabs the reins of his horse and turns his mount. “Let us go teach them lessons they will not soon forget.” He growls, eager to see you yield and plead for mercy.

******

Unprepared for a chase, the group returns to the village for warm clothes and provisions before setting out north toward the shore. It is well past midday when they arrive there and the ferryman that greets them is bundled against the cold. "Ho there!" He calls, pulling off the hood of his cloak and struggling to his feet when he sees the group of riders approaching. "Be you gentlemen requiring passage?"

Padrig grunts, sizing up the man. “Have you had many approach you today?” He asks, making sure the man sees the coin purse at his hip.

The ferryman's brow scrunches before he manages to smooth his expression, making him look dumbstruck before he attempts to look worldly. "Some fair few." He answers, shifting his weight a little. The man closest to him is tall and broad, cutting a distinguished figure in his expensive clothes. "Travel is heavy this new year."

“I’m looking for some kin of mine. Might have used your ferry.” His hand rests on his sword as he strides closers. “Two women in the group. One of them less an eye with a nasty scar.”

“Might’ve done.” He answers gruffly, unsure if he can wrench any coin from this wealthy man for the information. He did overhear the younger man speaking of running away, after all. Little whelp couldn’t keep his voice down enough. “Memory ain’t what it used to be, I’m afraid,” he says, glancing at the coin purse on the man’s hip. The group was unfriendly and unsettling, so if he’s going to share gossip he may as well be paid for it.

There’s a tense moment where he contemplates pulling his sword. With threatening the man, but he might be told lies. Instead, Padrig rocks his jaw and pulls his purse open to pull a few coppers out. “How is your memory now?” He asks, staring at the man as he drops the coins on the ground.

The pennies hit the ground without a sound, but the ferryman doesn’t miss the chance to count them in the air. Three pennies is a start - a decent start at that. But only a start, since he’s not dunce enough to chance getting cursed by that witch without having something to show for it. “Aye, seems to me they came through with two men,” he offers, scooping the coins out of the dirty snow on the ground. “The older woman’s husband is a foreigner. Whelp talked local, though.”

Dergen snorts. “That ain’t her husband.” He chortles but Padrig sneers at the idea of there being a potential foreigner. What type of foreigner? What was this man and why had he come to the village he controls. “When were they here?” Two more pennies come out to clink against the others on the ground.

“Not sure. Didn’t recognize the accent.” The ferryman doesn’t scramble, but his hand quickly shoots forward to scoop up the newly dropped coins and he inspects the now five in his hand with greed. “First light,” he reports, when he deems all the coins to be real. “An’ if he weren’t her husband, they’re at least soulmates. Shared the scar and all.”

That is news. Some that makes the magistrate hiss in anger. The bitch managed to summon her soulmate through some black magic no doubt. Wanting to protect herself from him. It wouldn’t matter, no one would stand in his way. His eyes flit over to the barge. “We need to get across.” He pulls out a gold piece and holds it up. “This is yours if you tell me what direction they went on the other side.”

That much gold would feed his small family for the whole winter, and the ferryman swallows thickly as he stares at the coin. “S-south, my lord,” he answers as soon as he opens his mouth. “They had provisions plenty and seemed to be fleeing, but the foreigner said they were headed south.”

“South.” He smirks and nods, this time handing the coin to the ferryman. “They are fleeing. The witch kidnapped my daughter and dragged her from her betrothed.” He motions towards Dergen. “Get us across.”

“Ye best know, then.” The ferryman jumps forward to take the reins of the horse the betrothed man was riding when he hops down, and does the same for the rich man’s mount. “They’re claiming her as their own. Calling her daughter.”

Snorting, Padrig shakes his head. “Fools.” He spits. “The witch has been a blight on my village that I tolerated for too long.” He grins at the other men he rode with. “Tonight, we will see if she will squeal when stuck with a stake.” He chuckles at his own crude joke, even though it does not make sense.

Four men and four horses fit easily on the ferryman’s barge no matter what he had told the deceitful group this morning - and now he is doubly glad that he had overcharged them. “The foreigner looked a warrior,” he offers, wondering if there is still coin to be had in more information. The group had made an impression on him. “Wears armour and rides a war horse.”

“Memory is a lot better now.” The magistrate quips, smirking slightly. “What else. Everything this time.”

“Comes and goes with age, milord.” The ferryman mumbles sheepishly. Not that he feels any remorse, he just doesn’t like being called out. “The girl and the whelp seemed…secretive. Whispering together when I took them across. She was mighty fearful, but I suppose she knew you’d be findin’ her soon enough.”

“She believes she knows better than her father, than her betrothed.” He growls, shaking his head. “The whelp wants to entrench himself in my family and means to do it through her.”

“She’ll learn soon enough.” Dergen grumbles, shifting his cloak on his shoulders. “Mercy is a reward, not a right. Have to earn it, she will.”

“When you plant your seed in her, she will learn that we have done her a blessing.” Padrig nods, although he’s more eager to get his hands on the bitch that gave him his scar on his thigh and to see what kind of man has a soul that is bound to the devil.

******

Each day that passes is the furthest Arwena has ever been from home. Every hoofbeat to the tightly-packed earth the sound of her former life being left further in the past. There is nothing but newness now, yet a sense of comfort is impossible to ignore when the night’s campfire is lit and the four of you crowd around it and wait for your evening meal to cook. Game is scarce on the road but not impossible to find and Pero is a formidable hunter that has taught his impressive skills diligently. Briac’s talents with a bow are to be envied - and the large hare that you split between you last night with a handful of stewed mushrooms sits warm in her belly even this morning.

Sharing Pero’s horse as she now sometimes does, Arwena’s keen sight is helpful at the front of the group of travelers. She can spot the signs of life from a far-off village or a bird that may be their midday meal with much more ease than the others and more than that - she knows the bird songs that will bring them to the group to keep their bellies full and their minds clear. A different kind of huntress, but skilled nonetheless. This morning the skies are murky, warning of snow that will slow their progress. There is hope, though, as Arwena points to a speck on the horizon in the distance. “A village,” she tells Pero with certainty. “If snow is coming, we may be able to lodge in someone’s barn until the storm is over.”

Pero looks over at you, seeing the exhaustion on your face despite your determination to move forward. He nods. “It will be good to give the horses a rest. Look for a place away from town.” He calls out to you and Briac.

The sound of your name brings your attention from the road and you steer Arwena’s docile horse toward Pero to catch up with him in just a few extra strides. “Are we sheltering from the storm?” You ask, knowing that powering through a heavy snowfall would be dangerous for the horses.

“We are.” Pero nods and looks over the landscape. “Look for shelter away from the main village.” He orders you, knowing you understand that the fewer people see your group, the better.

It takes a bit of searching to find a farm with a big enough barn on the outskirts of the village, but that is a good thing. Staying hidden is imperative, and all of you know that. Arranging your hair and a head covering for modesty, you can keep your eye hidden so as not to alarm anyone who may be in the farmhouse when you leave Pero, Arwena, and Briac on the edge of the road. It’s best that you approach and not any of them alone, and you knock swiftly on the door hoping the owners are home. Smoke curling out of the chimney says they are, but you simply can’t assume.

There is shuffling inside, the scrape of a bar being lifted, and the door opens with a blast of heat from a fire. “Yes?” It’s a man about Pero’s age, confusion and surprise written on his face. He hadn’t been expecting visitors. A woman, most likely his wife is peering towards the door from her place in front of the pot, stirring its contents. “Who are you? Why are you out in this snow?”

“My family and I are traveling.” The safest lie is the one closest to the truth, and you’ve been telling people that Arwena is your daughter, Pero her father, and the truth that Briac is her soulmate. Of course, you never have used your real names along the way. “We are not beggars or brigands, only traveling on our way north and hoped you might be kind enough to let us shelter in your barn until the storm passes.” As if on cue, a few snowflakes fall from the sky, lighting on your shoulder. The man need never know that you summoned them yourself. “We can offer coin in thanks.”

The man who owns this cottage frowns, looking around you to the three that are waiting near the road. He shakes his head. “Barn isn’t fitting.” He tells you gruffly.

“If repairs are needed, my husband and boy can make them.” It would be easy enough for you and Arwena to do a lot of chores as well, but you don’t say so. The man has no need to know of your magic. “Please. We ask nothing more than shelter.”

“Harold—” His wife huffs at him and he twists around to look at her.

“Put some water on to heat.” He tells her before he turns back to you. “I meant that I cannot allow you to stay in the barn when my wife and I have room in front of our hearth.” He tells, giving you a small smile. “Especially a family.”

“I—” If you weren’t so bone tired you could break right down and cry, nodding your thanks to the man’s wife and to him as well. “Thank you,” you sigh out, rubbing your cold arms. “You are blessedly kind. God grant you every happiness.” The grateful rambling gets the better of you for a second before you nod again. “We will put up the horses before coming inside. I will make the evening meal, in thanks, if you will allow it. I’m told my cooking is my blessing.”

“Come inside and warm yourself.” He insists, opening the door wider and motioning you inside. “I will go help your men with the horses.”

“I thank you.” Carefully lifting Binx out of her bundle at your chest, you whisper quickly in her ear - to give Pero her signal that everything is safe - and set her off in the direction of your small family before stepping into the warm cottage. “And thank you, mistress. You have a good heart.”

“Call me Claro.” The woman wipes her hands on her apron and rushes over to help you out of your many layers. “We could not call ourselves God fearing if we turn away poor souls in this weather. The barn is for the animals, the home is for people.”

“Not everyone has space to spare, and we would not dream of asking for more than is necessary.” The space she has cleared in front of the hearth is large, and the farmhouse even has a loft where you can see bedding peeking out at the edge. It’s well-appointed and clean, and probably a better welcome than you would get at an inn. Not to mention far less conspicuous.

“We have not yet been blessed with children.” She murmurs softly, a slight sense of melancholy in her tone. Her fingers quickly help pull the layers off you and she stares at the sling when it is revealed. “You– I saw a creature run off. Was that in here?”

“A very clever cat that has been my companion for quite some time.” Even the mention of Binx is enough to bring a smile to your face, and you lean closer to the bright fire. “She is quite the mouser. If you have issue now, you will not by the time we leave.”

“That is brilliant!” Claro’s eyes widen in delight as she examines the little sling you created. “Keeping her warm and safe under your layers while you travel. Have you come far?”

“Sometimes I cannot tell if it is days or weeks,” you joke, not wanting to give an exact time frame in case someone comes through the village looking for you. “She is patient while we ride, though. Which is a mercy.”

“That is good.” She turns back to put a pot of water over the fire to warm. “You do not have to help cook. I know you must be tired.”

“Please allow us to show our gratitude in some way?” These people that you stumbled across are kind, there is no doubt about that. But food and wood for the fire and even drinking water are all very real resources that will be depleted as they share their space with you, and you don’t want them to have to go without even for a moment down the line.

“It has been a long time since I have cooked with someone.” She offers shyly. “My mother passed on two winters ago and it has been just myself and Harold rambling around here.”

"I would be honoured to share your hearth with you." It sounds like a fine way to pass the evening, and you know Arwena will join in as well when she comes inside, glad for the company and the warmth. "My daughter is a deft hand with cooking as well."

“You have a daughter!” She exclaims, her eyes widening again happily. “Oh, Harold must send her in!”

It was a lie of convenience, as most people just assumed that Arwena was yours and Pero's, given her age and her closeness with you. Even though you still call each other sister to some people you've met on the road, it is nice to think of the kind of family you might have had if not for unfortunate circumstances. "I am sure she will come in with her betrothed. They stick close together."

“Lovely.” She sighs softly and rushes about to make sure that she pulls enough supplies out to make a larger dinner than what she had been making for her and Harold. “I am glad you found your way here before the snows were too bad.”

A soft tapping on the door frame is what heralds Arwena’s entrance, as she pushes open the farmhouse’s door with relative ease and quickly steps inside. “Here she is.” She has Binx in her arms and is shivering a little, and you stand up to immediately let her sit in front of the fire where you just were. “Come get warm, my girl. These good people are kind enough to let us into their home.”

Arwena gives Claro a soft smile and introduces her. “Hello. I am Arina.” You had all decided that new names for the three of you - you, Briac and Arwena - would be safer to use amongst strangers. Pero’s name was not known to her father so it was not an issue. “Thank you for your kindness. We are eternally grateful.”

“You are most welcome, Arina.” Claro smiles warmly. “Your mother was just saying you travel with your betrothed?” A storm in these parts at this time of year could last anywhere from an afternoon to a few days, so getting to know their lodgers was only polite.

“I am.” A quick glance in your direction confirms that you have deemed them to be trustworthy with the little information that has been decided is the official story of the ‘family’. “It is very fortunate that my mother and father find my soulmate to be very agreeable.”

“Cailan is a good boy.” Briac’s false name falls from your tongue as naturally as breathing, and you lay a hand on Arwena’s shoulder to give it a supportive squeeze. Letting her know that everything seems safe for now. “As handy with a needle as a bow, bless him. Good hearted, too.”

“It sounds as if your little family is very blessed.” Claro hums happily, pleased that the people who have come are pleasant and seemingly hardworking. “My Harold cannot sew to save his poor soul but his way with animals is wonderful.”

“A wonderful virtue in a farmer,” Arwena offers, holding her hands to the fire as you help her to strip off her layers so the heat can penetrate to her core and warm her up that much faster. “Father has a deft way with animals as well. Sometimes I think he likes them more than people,” she jokes, and shoot you a teasing grin.

Claro giggles and draws out some of the heated water out of the pot into a bowl and sets it on the table. “Let me get some rags. I am sure that after traveling, you would like to clean up.”

“You are most kind.” It’s true that you haven’t been able to clean up in more than a week now, and the opportunity is more than welcome. Even Pero will be glad of it, as accustomed to regular baths as he had from in your little shared cottage.

“I believe in treating other as you would hope they would treat you.” Claro brings a stack of rags and motions towards a screen. “Use as much water as you would like. I am heating more.”

About the time that you and Arwena are feeling satisfactorily clean again, the farmhouse door opens once more to admit the three men from the cold. Harold’s expression of skepticism has vanished and even Briac is smiling despite his exhaustion. Pero looks mildly less annoyed, which makes you smile when you emerge from behind the screen with scrubbed-clean skin and your hair careful re-styled as much as styling ever could be in under the circumstances.

Pero hates having you out of his sight, so his relief when he sees you makes the furrow of his brow even out. It has been stressful on the road, knowing that Arwena’s father is no doubt tracking your group. Not able to lock you away and guard the door has made him surly and now that there is a roof over your head, he is pleased to see the smile on your face. “The animals are resting.” He murmurs, reaching for you and pulling you close. He doesn’t kiss you right now, unsure of how these kind strangers would react, so he merely presses his forehead against yours.

“And how does my husband?” The small cue lets him know the white lies you’ve told about your family – namely that you are a family. Your arms around him are the most relaxing thing either of you has felt in days, the pure simplicity of simply being able to hold each other not being lost on either of you.

“Better now thanks to our hosts.” Pero had thanked the man while storing the animals. Trying to give him some coins for your stay, but he had refused. Insisting that their company was payment enough, although he had not turned down Briac and Pero’s offer to hunt in the morning.

“We were most lucky to find them.” You can agree to that entirely, and sink into Pero’s tight embrace without hesitation. After the couple has gone to bed tonight, you and Arwena will most certainly cast a blessing and a spell of protection over the farmhouse to keep Claro and Harold safe.

Claro bustles around the house, obviously thrilled to be having people in her home. The winter was isolating and they rarely ventured into the village unless necessary so it is a treat to have people other than each other to talk to. She dumps the bowl out the door and pours a fresh one, steam rising before she puts it back behind the screen and motions towards Briac. “Please, feel free to clean up.” She insists warmly. “I will warm some mead to make your insides toasty.”

“Go and wash,” you murmur, urging Pero toward the screen with a gentle prod to his side. “I know you miss having a bath, despite what you might insist.”

He huffs at you, rolling his eyes slightly but he starts to peel the layers off quickly. His sword swings and he glances over at Harold. “We will keep our weapons nearby, but not on us, agreeable amigo?”

“Aye.” Harold does not know what ‘amigo’ means, but the sentiment is appreciated. He can understand wanting to keep valuable arms nearby and the traveler’s sword looks as though it costs quite a bit of coin. “There is nothing about for some distance but the woods, and if wild animals make their way inside we will be glad to have an armed swordsman.”

Pero nods to Briac to start removing his own weapons and armor. “Thank you for your kindness. My wife and daughter are in need of rest and warmth.” It’s amazing how they believe that Arwena is your daughter since she looks like neither one of you, but they have not questioned it. Family can be found as you like to tell him.

“Without wishing to be rude, may we ask why you are traveling through quiet country in the dead of winter?” Harold sits down with Claro and puts one hand to his wife’s back, rubbing it softly out of a long-internalized habit. “Seems to me to be inviting danger unless it could not wait.”

“It could not wait.” Pero has been a liar most of his life, although once words just fell from his tongue, he has a hard time lying to these good people. Although now the lies are for your protection so he continues on. “My wife’s father is dying and he wishes to see his treasured daughter one last time before he meets his maker.” He had decided this would tug on heartstrings as the four of you travel. “We are trying to get her home as quickly as possible.”

“We are sorry to hear of it.” Claro nods solemnly, thinking of her own departed mother. “Do you have much further to travel?”

“Aye,” you nod, thinking momentarily of the enormous difference between where you’re going now and what it would take to get home to your actual father in twenty-first century America. “Another week, we expect. So long as the skies to not delay us too many times.”

Skittering behind the screen once he is sans armor, Pero barely keeps from groaning at the warmth of the water and feeling clean. As much as he would want to strip down and wash every inch of his body, he doesn’t take too long, knowing the boy would like to clean up as well.

It doesn’t take long until Claro and Harold are engrossed in conversation with Arwena and Briac, sitting before the fire and sipping mead while the stew assembled by all three women bubbles away over the fire. Arwena is explaining some of the herbs she had added to the food that Claro had never seen before, and is teaching the farmer’s wife what you know to be a very basic potion of good intention, under the guise of showing her a delicious drink to warm her cold bones. You lean back, stuck to Pero’s side like glue, and sigh softly. It has been twelve days on the road now and this is the first time you have had to stop for a storm, but you were lucky to find people such as this and you all know it. For now, the luckiest part is that you can be held in this man’s arms again for more than just your sleeping hours.

“It will feel good to sleep inside tonight, amor.” Pero hums, his hand tightening on your waist briefly before he relaxes his hold.

“It will be good to feel warm down to our bones.” Turning your head slightly lets you leave a kiss on his clean jaw and you smile. “We will all feel better after tonight.”

He hums, eyes sharpening brightly for a moment before he blinks, back to the same dark amber that they normally are. “Gato is enjoying the fire. Not having to stand watch.”

“She does love a warm fire.” Even in summer, Binx could always be found at your hearth as you cooked and made your potions, enjoying the crackle and pop of the flames. “I wonder if you will fully rest tonight, amor? Try to let yourself believe that the night will be calm.”

“A barred door will go a long way.” He admits quietly. Even though the gato was standing watching, he still woke through the nights most times. The last one asleep and the first one awake. “Plus having you close always comforts me.”

“I am always close to you.” Squeezing his hand tightly, you quickly make sure that no one else is paying attention before turning entirely to face Pero. “But there is…there is something I have been thinking of, if you have a mind to speak of it with me?”

“What is that?” Instantly, he knows you want something, but he doesn’t know what. Whatever you want though, if it’s in his reach to give it to you, it’s yours.

“I have given the situation most of my thought since leaving the cottage.” You admit. On the road there is nothing to do but keep watch and think. Drawing yourself up so you can look him in the eye, you give his hand another tight squeeze. “And I have decided that I do not wish to go back through the Stones.”

The rare sound of your real name falls from his lips, eyes narrowing as he searches yours and widening when he finds nothing but honesty in them. “You want to stay?” He whispers, dumbfounded by the idea of giving up the ease in which you had lived your life before coming back here. “With—” he swallows harshly, unable to ask the rest of it.

“With you.” That is the entire thrust of it, so to speak, and you swallow down the tears starting to prick at your eyes. “I would rather spend a thousand lifetimes here with you, cariño, then even one without.”

“I will— you will never regret it, amore.” He promises you, knowing he will break his fucking back to give you all the luxuries this time can afford. His hand finds your cheek and his thumb grazes the bottom of the scar that adorns your ruined eye. “I do not deserve someone as beautiful as you. Inside and out.” He admits. “But I am grateful the stars decided you should be mine.”

It had become clear to you, over the weeks and months, that as curious as Pero was about the future? He had very little desire to visit it. When that was finally clear to you, the decision seemed to make itself. The answer is right in front of you, in the form of a flawed man doing his best, and being better than he will ever give himself credit for. “Does that mean…” you have to laugh at yourself, holding back tears on a bench in the home of complete strangers. “Does that mean that you might want to stay with me, as well? Lay down your sword and make a life together?”

“Where you go, I go.” He tells you seriously. He had decided that he would go to your time. Despite his reservations about it. If it meant being with you, he would go back to fight those monsters in the East again, as long as you were there.

“Then perhaps we will find somewhere further north.” If nothing else you still need to get Arwena and Briac to safety, and you rope both arms around Pero to hold him close to you. “Somewhere we do not have to be outcasts.”

“Wherever you wish to go.” He promises, knowing that he will travel wherever.

A small giggle escapes you, a breathy thing full of love and joy, amused at how sincerely and quickly he is ready to promise to stay at your side. As deeply and truly in love as you have found yourself, he is matching you in every way. “Te amo con todo mi corazón.” I love you with all my heart.

“Eres mi mundo y mi todo.” You are my world and my everything. It was crazy how quickly you had become the most important thing in the world to him. A little lost, or purposeless when he had found you - rather, you found him. All that matters now is that you are together and you are happy. When you smile, it is like the heavens are shining on him.

Taking the moment for what it is, a soft kiss between you feels like the sealing of a pact, and you savor it. Who knows what will come on this long road you have chosen, but with Pero by your side you feel certain that you can manage anything that comes your way.

“I wish—” his eyes drift over to where the two couples are talking and he wishes that this was a safe place for the four of you. He could see them enjoying the kind couple’s company. His voice lowers even more. “I wish to marry you. When we witness the children wed.”

“Yes.” Nodding against him, you press another kiss to his lips before finding his eyes staring down at you in earnest. “Every time I call you my husband without it being the truth, my heart hurts.”

“You are already my wife in my soul.” Pero murmurs. “We are just making it real in the eyes of God.”

“Some would argue that that is the most important part,” you remind him. Unable to stop smiling, you nuzzle into him again and sigh. “I will do everything I can to make you happy, amor. I promise.”

He frowns slightly, shaking his head as he looks at you in bewilderment. “You already make me happy.” He promises you. “You are safe. You love me. I am happy.”

“Then I will continue to love you, and continue to be safe, and you will stay happy.” If it is as simple as that? Then he will never have a heavy heart again.

“I will stay happy.” He agrees, tugging you closer and he can’t help but lean in to let his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “Be even happier if you take the breeches off tonight and let me inside you. I have missed your warmth.” It had been too cold, too dangerous to undress while camping. He had rubbed your clit almost every night, but he has not been inside you since the cottage.

Barely managing not to snicker, you bite back a broad grin that tells him you’ve been waiting for the very same thing. “The barn,” you whisper back, laying a kiss on his pulse. “We will excuse ourselves to check on the horses.”

Pero shakes his head, smirking at you. “I was thinking in front of the fire. You can keep quiet, amore. Keep my cock warm for me?”

“Lusty, incorrigible man.” Even so you nod, flush with liquid heat and desire at the mere suggestion.

Pero chuckles quietly, knowing that if he were to slide his hands between your thighs he would find you wet. “Wait until we have a room in an inn to ourselves, amore.” He promises with a wink. “I will show you everything I have thought about while we have traveled.”

“That will make for a very memorable wedding night, I think.” And a very vocal one, if you know you and Pero.

Pero grins, a small growl that makes Binx lift her head and glance over at the two of you before dismissing it as just the humans doing their thing before she stretches out again in front of the fire. “As soon as the snow clears.”

______

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[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … December 14

c.530 – Venantius Fortunatus (d.circa 600/609) was a Latin poet and hymnodist in the Merovingian Court, and a Bishop of the early Catholic Church. He was never canonised but was venerated as Saint Venantius Fortunatus during the Middle Ages.

Born in Treviso, near Ravenna in Italy, he spent his time as court poet to the Merovingians. After visiting the tomb of St. Martin of Tours at St. Hilary at Poitiers, he decided to enter a monastery.

He continued to write poetry, some of which have a permanent place in Catholic hymnody, for instance the Easter season hymns "Vexilla Regis"��and the "Pange Lingua" (Sing, O my tongue, of the battle). Three or four years before he died he was made bishop of Poitiers. Although never canonized, he was venerated as a saint in the medieval church, and his feast day is still recognized on 14th December each year.

Like Paulinus of Nola, St Venantius's poetry also includes some decidedly secular verse of the romantic sort. That this celebrates male love is clear from its inclusion in the Penguin Book of Homosexual Verse.

"Written on an Island off the Breton Coast" You at God's altar stand, His minister And Paris lies about you and the Seine: Around this Breton isle the Ocean swells, Deep water and one love between us twain. Wild is the wind, but still thy name is spoken; Rough is the sea: it sweeps not o'er they face. Still runs my lover for shelter to its dwelling, Hither, O heart, to thine abiding place. Swift as the waves beneath an east wind breaking Dark as beneath a winter sky the sea, So to my heart crowd memories awaking, So dark, O love, my spirit without thee.

Fortunatus died in the early 600s. He was called a saint after his death, but was never formally canonized.

1791 – Today is the birthday of the Irish poet Charles Wolfe (d.1823). Born at Blackhall, County Kildare, Wolfe attended Trinity College, Dublin between 1809 and 1814 and was ordained as a Church of Ireland priest in 1817. He is remembered for his poem "The Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna", written in 1816 and much collected in 19th and early 20th century anthologies.

Wolfe's sexuality is often disputed, many believe he was homosexual. He certainly had an extremely intense friendship with the Rev. Thomas Meredith for whom he wrote two gushing epithets. Wolfe died from tuberculosis caught from a cow at the age of 32. Yes. A cow. Even into the mid-20th century tuberculosis was commonly transferred via milk.

1901 – King Paul of Greece (d.1964) reigned as king of Greece from 1947 to 1964. He may have been bi-sexual.

Paul was born in Athens, the third son of King Constantine I of Greece and his wife, Princess Sophia of Prussia. He was trained as a naval officer. On 9 January 1938, Paul married Frederika of Hanover at Athens. They had three children.

Before his marriage he is alleged to have invited the homosexual literary muse, Denham Fouts, on a cruise of the Aegean Sea, perhaps because they were lovers. However, Fouts's friend John B. L. Goodwin said Fouts often made up stories about his life, and literary critic Katherine Bucknell thought many of the tales about him were myth.

During most of World War II, when Greece was under German occupation, he was with the Greek government-in-exile in London and Cairo. From Cairo, he broadcast messages to the Greek people.

Paul returned to Greece in 1946. He succeeded to the throne in 1947, on the death of his childless elder brother, King George II.

1951 – Today's the birthday of American actor and puppetteer Paul Zaloom. He's best known for his role as the character Beakman on the television show Beakman's World, based on the Universal Press Syndicate syndicated comic strip You Can With Beakman and Jax created by Jok Church.

Paul Zaloom was educated at The Choate School (now Choate Rosemary Hall) in Wallingford, Connecticut, and began his entertainment career at Goddard College with artists in residence the Bread and Puppet Theater, a troupe specializing in self-invented, home-made theater. One of their performance locations was Coney Island, where Zaloom is said to have given advice to the "unofficial Mayor of Coney Island", Dick Zigun, on how to bring in the crowds. In his solo work he utilizes found-object animation, in which he takes objects as varied as coffee pots and humidifiers and turns them into elements of political satire. His personal politics are liberal; he has referred to Elizabeth Dole and Margaret Thatcher as "right wing nut jobs." He has also been a fierce critic of U.S. foreign policy since the early 1980s, having helped to lead a disarmament march during the Cold War.

In 1992 Zaloom starred in the cable TV children's science program Beakman's World. The show moved to CBS in 1993 and aired for four seasons. Zaloom has also written, designed and performed eleven full length one-man shows, including Fruit of Zaloom, Sick But True, Mighty Nice, and The Mother of All Enemies, the latter a shadow-puppet show featuring traditional Middle-Eastern comic puppet character Karagoz. His latest effort tackles social issues such as privacy, the war on terrorism, and discrimination based on sexual orientation and ethnicity. Aside from shadow puppetry, Zaloom's idiosyncratic work utilizes techniques such as overhead projection, government document expose, cantastoria picture performance, toy theater, as well as hand, rod, found object, and dummy puppets.

Zaloom has described himself as "a Gay, Buddhist, agnostic, quaker, secular humanist knucklehead."

1955 – Hervé Guibert (d.1991) was a French writer and photographer. The author of numerous novels and autobiographical studies, he played a considerable role in changing French public attitudes to AIDS. He was a close friend and lover of Michel Foucault.

Guibert was born in Saint-Cloud, Hauts-de-Seine, to a middle-class family and spent his early years in Paris, moving to La Rochelle from 1970 to 1973. In his teens Hervé Guibert lied about his age to work at the magazine 20 ans eventually leading to a job with Le Monde. After working as a filmmaker and actor, he turned to photography and journalism. In 1978, he successfully applied for a job at France's prestigious evening paper Le Monde and published his second book, Les aventures singulières (published by Éditions de minuit). In 1984, Guibert shared a César Award for best screenplay with Patrice Chéreau for L'homme blessé. Guibert had met Chéreau in the 1970s during his theatrical years.

Guibert's writing style was inspired by the French writer Jean Genet. Three of his lovers occupied an important place in his life and work: Thierry Jouno, director of an institute for the blind whom he met in 1976, and which led to his novel Des aveugles; Michel Foucault, whom he met in 1977; and Vincent Marmousez, a teenager of fifteen who inspired his novel Fou de Vincent.

In January 1988 Guibert was diagnosed with AIDS. From then on, he worked at recording what was left of his life. In June the following year, he married Christine, the partner of the late Thierry Jouno, so that his royalty income would eventually pass to her and her two children. In 1990, Guibert publicly revealed his HIV status in his roman à clef "À l'ami qui ne m'a pas sauvé la vie" (published in English as To the Friend Who Did Not Save My Life). Guibert immediately found himself the focus of media attention, featured in newspapers and appearing on several television talk shows.

Two more books also detailing the progress of his illness followed: Le Protocole compassionnel (published in English as The Compassionate Protocol) and L'Homme au chapeau rouge (published in English as The Man In The Red Hat), which was released posthumously in January 1992, the same month French television screened La Pudeur ou l'impudeur, a home-made film by Guibert of his last year as he lost his battle against AIDS. Almost blind as a result of disease, he attempted to end his life just before his 36th birthday, and died two weeks later.

1960 – Bob Paris, American bodybuilder and Gay rights advocate, born; The former Mr. Universe, and International Federation of BodyBuilders professional bodybuilder, Bob Paris is a writer, public speaker and civil rights activist. He acknowledged his sexuality in the July 1989 issue of Ironman magazine and has graced the covers of scores of magazines worldwide. After Paris officially came out as a Gay man in the media, he and his then-partner, Rod Jackson, became involved in marriage equality advocacy, started successful non-profits, lectured on a wide variety of Gay civil rights issues, and made many television, radio, newspaper and magazine appearances. The two separated in 1995. Today, Paris lives with his spouse of eleven years, Brian, on an island near Vancouver, British Columbia. Bob and Brian were legally married after Canada equalized the marriage laws in 2003.

In addition to his writing career, Bob Paris remains a committed civil rights advocate as well as a motivational speaker, model and actor. In 1998, he made his New York stage debut, starring at Carnegie Hall opposite Bea Arthur, Sandy Duncan and Tyne Daly in the Broadway musical, Jubilee as the character Mowgli. He is one of the subject of photographer Herb Ritts' gorgeous book, Duo. His official website is: http://www.bobparis.com/

1968 – Yotam Ottolenghi is an Israeli-English chef, restaurateur, and food writer. He is the co-owner of six delis and restaurants in London, as well as the author of several bestselling cookbooks, including Ottolenghi (2008), Plenty (2010), Jerusalem (2012) and Ottolenghi Simple (2018).

Ottolenghi was conscripted into the Israeli Defense Forces in 1989, serving three years in IDF intelligence headquarters. He then studied at the Adi Lautman Interdisciplinary Program for Outstanding Students of Tel Aviv University, where in 1997, he completed a combined bachelor's and master's degree in comparative literature; his thesis being on the philosophy of the photographic image. While working on his thesis, Ottolenghi served as a night copy editor for Haaretz.

In 1997, Ottolenghi and his then-partner Noam Bar moved to Amsterdam, where he edited the Hebrew section of the Dutch-Jewish weekly NIW and considered getting his doctorate in comparative literature. Instead, he moved to London to study French cooking at Le Cordon Bleu.

Ottolenghi met his partner Karl Allen in 2000; they married in 2012 and live in Camden with their two sons, Max and Flynn. In 2013, Ottolenghi "came out as a gay father" in a Guardian essay that detailed the lengthy process of conceiving Max via gestational surrogacy, an option that he believes should be more widely available to those who cannot conceive naturally.

Ottolenghi served as a pastry chef at three London restaurants: the Michelin-starred Capital Restaurant, Kensington Place, and Launceston Place in Kensington New Town. In 1999, he became head pastry chef at the artisanal pastry shop Baker and Spice, where he met the Palestinian chef Sami Tamimi, who grew up in Jerusalem's Old City. Ottolenghi and Tamimi bonded over a shared language—Hebrew—and a joint "incomprehension of traditional English food".

His debut cookbook Ottolenghi was published in 2008 and has sold over 100,000 copies. Six volumes have followed: the all-vegetable cookbooks Plenty (2010) and Plenty More (2014); Jerusalem (2012); Nopi (2015); the dessert cookbook Sweet (2017); and Ottolenghi Simple (2018).

Ottolenghi's bestselling cookbooks have proven influential, with The New York Times noting that they are "widely knocked-off for their plain-spoken instructions, puffy covers, and photographs [that Ottolenghi] oversees himself, eschewing a food stylist". In 2014, the London Evening Standard remarked that Ottolenghi had "radically rewritten the way Londoners cook and eat", and Bon Appetit wrote that he had "made the world love vegetables".

1989 – Amini Fonua is a Tongan competitive swimmer.

Fonua was born and raised in Ponsonby, Auckland, New Zealand to Tongan lawyer Sione Fonua and British-born mother Julie. He holds dual Tongan and New Zealand citizenship. His family includes two other sisters.

Fonua's swimming career began at the Roskill Swimming Club based at Cameron Pool in Auckland, coached by Sandra Burrow from 1999–2007. He broke numerous Auckland and New Zealand Age Group Records under Burrow's tenure. He then moved to West Auckland Aquatics in 2007, and was coached by Donna Bouzaid. In the Fall of 2008, Fonua enrolled at Texas A&M on a swimming scholarship. While at Texas A&M he was a peer voted Team Captain, Big XII Conference Champion, NCAA All-American, and recipient of The Aggie Heart Award. He graduated with a Telecommunication and Multi-Media degree, with a Minor in Creative Writing in May 2013.

He was the first Tongan swimmer to win a gold medal in international competition, when he took gold in the 50 metre breaststroke at the 2010 Oceania Swimming Championships.

In preparation for the 2012 London Olympics Fonua was trained by New Zealander and designated head coach for Tonga, Jon Winter. He served as his nation's flag-bearer in the 2012 Summer Olympics Parade of Nations. As a swimmer at the 2012 Summer Olympics, he competed in the Men's 100 metre breaststroke, failing to reach the semifinals.

Fonua made an international comeback at the 2015 Pacific Games in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea. He created history by becoming the first ever Tongan athlete to ever win 3 Gold medals at a Pacific Games by sweeping the Breaststroke events, setting 2 Games Records in the process (50 m and 100 m Breaststroke). He is the only Tongan athlete in history to ever hold dual Oceania and Pacific Games titles.

Fonua is openly gay and an advocate for LGBT rights.

[stressedoutart]

Summer 2022, Inverness beach, Cape Breton. One night we had a really trippy purple sunset, I believe this was mid summer, early August. Very hazy out. I really tried to capture it in a messy painterly style. This painting is now located in Indiana with a friend of mine who purchased it on my Etsy store. She said it reminded her of my hair, which is my favourite colour, like this painting: purple.

[nientedenada]

Some Mixed Ayleid/Colovians for the Collection 

Originally posted on r/teslore. A good reference next time someone tells you that people in Elder Scroll exclusively take on the "race" of their mother.

Which collection? you may ask. Why, the one that comes up in the comments of any discussion post on inter-racial marriage and children in Tamriel. You'll find all the usual examples in this post and the comments, but I've found an example I've never seen referenced before.

From ESO's Gold Coast Zone, the story of Lord Faleria and his elven children: The Lost Fort Faleria.

In short, during the Alessian sect's rise, Lord Faleria secretly married an Ayleid scholar. To hide the family from the Alessians, he and his wife carve out a secret magical underground living space, murdering the Minotaurs they hire for the job. She dies giving birth to their third child, and he confines his "elven children" underground to keep them safe.

The children grew into adults, rarely seeing sunlight. Well into adulthood, his youngest son could not take his confinement any longer. He managed to escape, and did so easily and often. Inevitably, as these things happen, the son fell in love with a merchant's daughter. Soon, she was with child. The girl's family, horrified at the child's Elven traits, forced the young woman to confess that her lover was Lord Faleria's son. Horrified at being discovered, Lord Faleria took his grandson and hid him with the rest of the family.

When the Empire comes calling to siege his fort, he destroys his fort, his besiegers, and his family, then seals himself away as a lich whom you have to face in the associated quest.

The details of this text are supported by the quest, and by the tombstones you can find of his children and grandson.

Epitaph for Lucina Faleria The tombstone of Lord Faleria's oldest child Let the Weeping Cease Lucina Faleria Died S Dawn 19 421 Age 47 years Epitaph for Neransi Faleria The tombstone of Lord Faleria's middle child May My Actions Bring You Peace Neransi Faleria Died S Dawn 19 421 Age 38 years Epitaph for Ianus Faleria The tombstone of Lord Faleria's youngest son Boundless Eternity Awaits Us Ianus Faleria Died S Dawn 19 421 Age 35 years Epitaph for Maxivian Faleria The tombstone of Lord Faleria's grandson You are the Light in My Darkness Maxivian Faleria Died S Dawn 19 421 Age 1 year

As well as being a great and awful story, this is as far as I know, the only identification of a specific person in lore as inheriting "elven traits". The possibility is mentioned in other places, and generally was observed as happening with the Bretons, but here we have the full genaeology of such an individual, with the family history of the unfortunate Maxivian Faleria.

Maxivian's mother was Colovian. His father Ianus was the child of a Colovian father and Ayleid mother, and referred to as "Elven". Maxivian's "Elven traits" were obvious enough to out his father's identity.