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that-foul-legacy-lover · 2 years

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part two to this post <333 after you died, Foul Legacy could do nothing but wander. he had killed the god who had murdered you, rage burning in his veins, but afterwards there was nothing but cold emptiness as he cradled the remains of your body, a few flowers and a handful of dust that slipped between his claws and vanished. there was nothing for him here- not anymore, without you- so he leaves, bringing only a flower with him. the humans who spot him either know him or don't, reacting with kindness or fear respectively. as Foul Legacy wanders farther and farther from your little abode, he's greeted with fear more and kindness less, but he simply learns to stay away from mortals. he doesn't care how they react, anyway. it doesn't hurt his feelings if they scream and run away, and the most kindness gets anyone is a simple nod from him. for Foul Legacy, emotion has simply ceased to be. Morax takes him in, perhaps out of usefulness, perhaps out of pity, and Foul Legacy becomes akin to an adeptus- reclusive, immortal, and deadly- while Morax works on something of his own. the newly crowned Archon of Geo always regarded you fondly, with something between pity and kinship. you were so weak for a god, too gentle and kind to survive something like the Archon War, but there was no denying that you brought a certain light to Liyue, always looking out for the people and creatures around you. and unlike the other fallen gods, some of your essence had remained in the form of the plants in your garden, so well-tended to that a few had persevered as the others withered. perhaps, Morax muses, your return could also bring some of that light back into Foul Legacy's life. but when you finally awaken, in the reconstructed body Morax has made, your eyes are blank, void of the sweet caring from before. you sit quietly or aimlessly move around the domain, staring out the window and barely responding the questions. it's not that you're cruel or ruthless- you're just empty. Morax, swallowing his guilt, allows you to continue living in the domain in the hopes that your spark will return to no avail. Foul Legacy visits one day, to report the status of clearing the dead gods' remains from Liyue. he's unaffected, as a creature from the Abyss, and the task keeps him distracted from the hollowness that threatens to engulf him day after day. he awaits Morax's arrival, still holding his spear and blood still splashed on his armor, when you wander into the room by chance and Foul Legacy's heart stops. you stare at him, blankly, looking at his horns and glittering wings and dull azure eye, and a single tear trickles down your cheek. the next thing Foul Legacy feels is your arms hugging him as best you can, pressing yourself against his chest and crying, and he swoops down to meet you, clasping your hands in his own as he sobs, too. you press your forehead against his, apologizing over and over again, and Foul Legacy whimpers and cries and allows himself to break, the emptiness in his heart filling with overwhelming relief and joy. you're tearful, but your eyes are sparkling, and his is filled with just as much light as yours because the kind, sweet god he loves is back, you're really back, you're here. when Morax enters, slightly late, he sees you with the first smile he's seen since you perished, an old flower in your palms and Foul Legacy's cheek snuggled into your hair as he purrs, strong and rumbling with your return.

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whispers-of-masser · 1 year

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Poor Form

✧ Nebarra x human!LDB, ft. Xelzaz & Khash ✧ Fluff, maybe angst (if you squint), slow-burn with tension; 2k+ word count ✧ Mentions of blood, (poorly written) fantasy violence ♫ "Ritual" - AWAY, Echos ✒ @dalishthunder come take responsibility for this

It was the grey hour when you woke, the quiet lull between full night and the oncoming dawn. From where you lay in the tent, the only sounds you could hear were the steady breaths of your companions, the breeze rustling by outside, and the lone call of a bird, faint and dim in the distance.

Slowly, you sat up, grimacing at your sore neck and shoulders – though you had long since grown accustomed to sleeping on the ground, that didn't mean you, or your body, appreciated it. You'd have to look into getting some bed cots instead. Until then, though...

At least we stay warm through the night. The oiled leather tent kept out most of the wind, and the beasts you'd felled along the journey had long since become the bedding everyone slept on.

A sudden snore drew your attention to where Khash lay, bundled in her sleeping bag beside you, red eyes shut tight and jaw slightly parted, her sharp little teeth on display. Across from her was Xelzaz, sleeping quietly on his side with his back turned towards you; you could just make out the lump of his tail beneath the blankets. And next to him...

...was an empty bed roll, the fur still fluffed, apparently untouched through the night.

Frowning, you pushed back the blankets, habitually reaching for your sword as you rose – just in case, always just in case – and, taking care not to wake Khash, crawled quietly out of the tent.

The morning had teeth. You felt it the moment you stepped outside, the cold biting into your bare arms, gnawing through the fabric of your tunic and raising goosebumps across your skin. Your breath plumed white amidst the grey, and the dirt underfoot was cold and hard; not even the morning dew had loosened it. You found yourself wanting retreat back into the tent and burrow under your furs once more, pulling them all the way over your head and falling asleep beneath their warmth. Any other morning, you might have done just that. But...

The empty, untouched bedroll.

You squinted into the mist, eyes searching, searching... there. A figure, seated on a rock several metres away, smudged and blurred in the gloom, but glinting a familiar gold.

As you lowered your sword, a sigh slipped from your lips, drawn from some strange mix of frustration, concern, and relief.

"...How long have you been out here, Nebarra?"

"Morning to you too, guar-face," the elf drawled, and though he didn't rise, his helmeted head turned towards you. A thin layer of condensation covered the metal, droplets falling at his movement; his bangs, escaping through the visor, were damp and plastered to his helm. "And all night, to answer your question. Somebody has to keep watch."

"Obviously. But you volunteered for the first shift last night." Frowning, you looked him up and down, not bothering to mask your concerned displeasure. "Why didn't you wake me or Xelzaz? We could have relieved you. We were supposed to relieve you."

"Oh yes, a human and a lizard! I'm certain I'd feel very safe with you two on watch. Your species' eyesight is so much better than an Altmer's, after all."

Your frown deepened, brow furrowing as you stared him down. It was too early in the morning for his snark.

Wordlessly, you brought up your sword and levelled it at his throat. "I can see that gap in your armor just fine. I could kill you right now – and the same goes for whatever may have come up on us in the night."

Nebarra gave a disdainful snort, gloved hand clamping down on your blade and giving a sharp tug. Unprepared, reflexes still sluggish from sleep, you stumbled a whole two steps forward before managing to check yourself.

"Poor form," the elf sneered. "You won't be killing anything like that."

Your nostrils flared, a dozen retorts surging to your lips, but you held them all in.

He's right, and you both know it.

"I wasn't ready", "I'm still waking up", "I wasn't serious" – excuses that could get you, and maybe the others, killed. How long had Nebarra seen this in you? Why was he only mentioning it now? Why hadn't you realised it on your own, that despite your confidence, your skills, your strength – you were still very much mortal? And when had that confidence become something more dangerous – arrogance?

"...What?" Nebarra asked suddenly, drawing you from your reverie. "You have that expression again. The one where you're about to do something stupid."

"Spar with me."

"Terrible idea, absolu... wait. What?"

"Spar with me," you repeated, staring into the black of his visor. "I'm getting rusty, fighting nothing but bandits and mindless undead. This just proved it."

Nebarra was silent for a beat, his head tilting to the side. Something about the motion reminded you of a bird; the eagle-shaped helm only added to the effect. You waited patiently for his answer, wondering what exactly he had to consider –

Metal, arcing toward your sword arm.

You barely managed a dodge and a weak parry with the flat of your blade – you'd been holding it low, unready. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Clearly, Nebarra was done thinking – the two of you were sparring now.

Fair enough. Enemies wouldn't be so polite as to give you time to gear up, either. And now, for once, the odds weren't in your favour: a fully-armoured Altmer veteran with decades of experience, versus you, young, disoriented, and unarmored, only a single blade in hand.

It was thrilling.

You sidestepped another swing of Nebarra's blade – only to connect with it a moment later, coming out of the feint you had failed to read.

Sharp, stinging pain. Scarlet, dripping from your arm.

He was trying to hurt you. And you were giving him ample opportunity.

You needed to ground yourself, regain your rhythm – something you couldn't do without an opening, and Nebarra wasn't giving you any.

A glint of metal on the left – block, step back. Movement overhead, an oncoming blow – raise your sword, throw your weight behind it, disrupt his momentum.

At least, you tried. Fully armoured as he was, Nebarra had an extra thousand angaids of weight behind his swing, if not more. The sheer force of his blow knock your sword out of your hands, sending you staggering back. But the grass underfoot was slick with the morning's dew, and you were moving too fast, too unsteadily. Before you knew it, your back was colliding with the ground, and all you could see was grey sky overhead – and a golden sword coming down.

Careless.

But there was still a chance.

Contorting violently, you grabbed Nebarra's arm as the blade sailed by, nicking your face as it passed. You didn't let go of his arm just yet, though. Instead, you pulled, leveraging your weight against his, abdomen taut as you used him to haul yourself upright. Nebarra, clearly not expecting such a move, found himself betrayed by his own momentum, drawing him forward and down, aided by your weight. Gravity took care of the rest, and he crashed towards the earth, twisting even as he fell to avoid face-planting into the ground.

As he struggled to right himself, you rushed to retrieve your sword; Nebarra was already rising by the time you turned back to him.

"No you don't," you growled, charging the mer, sword raised.

His hand shot out, a ward rippling to life, though it buckled slightly under your sword's impact. Nebarra staggered, his half-risen stance precarious, unbalanced.

Now. Now. Now.

Once, twice, thrice more your sword glanced off the ward – and on the fourth blow, it shattered, leaving the Altmer open to your assault.

Metal clanged as you brought your sword down, colliding with his gauntlet as he struggled to block with it, not given enough time to raise his own sword in defense. You let the blade slide off, intending to follow up with its momentum, but Nebarra didn't give you a chance. The moment the sword glanced off his gauntlet, he lunged, catching you in the abdomen and bringing the both of you to the ground.

The tussle that followed was a blur.

His sword arcing down, yours blocking. Hilts catching, blades flying, yanked out of your grasp and his.

Panted breaths, heaving chests, grappling and rolling across the grass.

A glint caught your eye – your sword and Nebarra's, just within reach.

He saw it too, the both of you reaching out in unison for your weapons, desperate to be faster than the other.

Leather-bound metal brushed against your palm – the hilt. Your hand closed around it, drawing it in close. Brought it swiftly upwards, blade against Nebarra's neck.

At its touch, he froze – and so did you. Because resting against your own neck, biting into the tender flesh, was the edge of Nebarra's blade.

Stalemate.

Ears ringing, heart racing, you shift your gaze from the sword to the one holding it.

Hunched over and straddling you, a leg to either side of your waist, there was hardly any distance between your bodies. The beak of his helm was close enough to brush your nose; your breath fogged on the metal. His gasping breaths may has well have been your own – you could feel them, swift and hot, slipping through the gold feathers that covered his face, carrying the faint scent of wine.

Of course, he'd been drinking. It had probably kept him warm through the night – and he'd still managed to keep you off-balanced for most of the fight.

You were in worse shape than you'd thought.

That, or... maybe Nebarra was better than he'd ever let on.

"...Tonight," you breathed, staring up at him. "Let's... spar again tonight."

Nebarra grunted; you could hear the sound echo faintly in his helmet. "Fine. Don't expect me to go easy on you."

A smile tugged at your mouth – you could feel your lips crack and stretch at the motion, dried out in the cold; you gave them a brief lick before answering. "What, and this was?"

Another affirmative grunt. "I'll be sober by tonight. Unfortunately."

You snorted, then fell silent once more. With your eyes, you found yourself tracing the curves of his helm, pausing at the sight of his bangs peeking through, dark and tangled threads of gold. Something about them was like an itch you couldn't scratch, and you had the sudden urge to brush them aside, or at least tuck them back into his helm.

As your gaze drifted upward, toward the visor, a glint in its shadows caught your eye. Again, you paused, staring intently into the dark.

A reflective sheen, a gleam of crimson –

"Are you done breathing on one another, yet?"

Xelzaz's voice shattered your focus, and both you and Nebarra snapped your heads toward the sound.

The Argonian stood just outside the tent, arms crossed, head bare of its usual hood, scales shimmering in the pale light. Beside him was Khash, a shadowy smudge in the mist; her wide red eyes seemed to float amidst the grey.

"Good morning," you said stupidly, even as Nebarra scrambled to get off you.

"Why were you fighting?" Khash asked. "Did something happen?"

"For your – obviously necessary – information," Nebarra sniffed, dusting off his armour, "we were sparring. And you had better get used to it. Our dear Dragonborn and I will continue to do so, apparently, starting today."

As you sat up, you distinctly heard Xelzaz mutter, "By the Hist." When he turned his head to you once more, there was something incredibly deadpan about his gaze, an unspoken, "Really?" in his eyes.

"What?" you mouthed back, blinking at him in confusion. He only shook his head, and have no answer.

"Right... Well, let's get the fire going again, and I'll see about getting us all breakfast."

At that, Khash's gaze snapped towards him. "Ohh, Xelzaz, can I have some Hackle-lo with it?"

"Khash, you've eaten almost my whole stock."

"Oh..."

"...I'll see if I can't spare a few more."

"Yay! Heh."

"Horker stew for you, Nebarra?"

"I'm too tired to say no... but I'll watch you every moment of its making."

"Yes, yes, as usual. And what of you, friend?" Xelzaz turned towards you, and for a moment, you couldn't answer him – you'd been too distracted watching the scene unfold, a smile on your face.

"Ah... it doesn't matter to me, I suppose. Surprise me."

And so, thirty minutes later, as the sun climbed through the sky and burned away the mist, breakfast was served.

But for some strange reason, all throughout the meal, you found your gaze drawn... repeatedly...

...to Nebarra.

#nebarra #nebarra skyrim #skyrim nebarra #skyrim #i havent written action in YEARS i hope its passable #i tried to remember what my two whole gumdo lessons were like back in high school :DDD #also fyi i know ZILCH abt tes lore n stuff so uhhh pls be gentle w me on that front #i literally spent ten minutes looking up tamrielic weight measurements and then trying to convert that it to pounds and back #and apparently its only referenced in a book that appears in like four of the games so its clearly an OLD book #likely that tamriel doesnt even use that unit of measurement anymore but damnit i wanted to get SOMETHING accurate #anyway that was quite enough research for me tyvm #like mate i just wanna romance this sardonic sunflower #speaking of which i wanna give him flowers?? dont ask me why i just do #give him a boquet of yellow mountain flowers like #'i saw them and thought they looked like u'#to which he scoffs and VERY GRUDGINGLY accepts ONE #prolly tells us to give the rest to khash or xelzaz #fast forward several to months later and somehow we find that one flower v carefully pressed n preserved amongst his belongings #dont touch me i just made myself sOFT thinking about this #im literally gonna have to write it now dammit #dali this is all ur fault u have unleashed the floodgates of my garbage bin brain #........thank u :D #anyway yeah this was originally written for my ldb oc which is why the personality of the ldb here may be a bit.... specific? idk #just swapped pronouns to make it more self-insert/other people's oc friendly #anyway thank god its finally done; only took me three days #not super happy with the ending but oh well #'swhat happens when u dont write for over a year #rUST #rusty as lbd's fighting in this fic #whisper writes

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