volamer started following you

volamer:

unseeing-altmers:

“Something wrong, sir?” The younger mer asked with professional concern.  ”Perhaps something I can aid with?” No excuse not to be helpful now, was there? He declined to mention his unwillingness to return to Alinor that had surfaced recently. 

“I am weary and intolerable of Skyrim and all it has to offer. I simply wish to return to Alinor, for I know my place is there,” he admitted, working himself to heave a heavy sigh before looking to the scenery in the distance, “I ache for home and nothing more.”

“Ah, I see. Familiar soil does breed a sense of contentment does it not? May I assume you have a lovely womer awaiting you in Alinor?” He found that was the typical case in the complaints his patrol oft made. On and on they would brag or pine for womeri that likely did not exist but they enjoyed creating for some reason. 

A meeting in Whiterun | Ceirria and Astarill

astarill:

unseeing-altmers:

“Good to know.” The blind womer smiled comfortably, happy to be conversing with someone who shared similar sentiments to her own. “You’re right though. It’s rather refreshing in a way, makes the room decompress.” She had never been forced to, or allowed rather, to clean or organize for fear that she would knock something over or break something that couldn’t be replaced. Those of little faith in that household. “I think the maids liked it more than I did. Less things to wash when I came home all bloody and what not.” 

He tried to imagine it, tried to sketch possible scenarios that could lead to the result of the womer coming home covered in blood. He had gotten the impression that she had not been allowed to go very far from home, let alone do much other than sitting around, so the options were limited. Did she have the habit to stroll through brambles? He decided to just ask.

“You…” he began, and frowned, “…had the habit to come home bloody?”

“Quite often, really. I had a mentor the majority of my life who rented property from my father to build a work space. For the most part he was a teacher, but his birth status was not high and he needed a second profession to keep himself afloat. He worked as a coroner in his free time and performed autopsies for the State.  Usually those who had been executed and what not. He taught me the same skills, for dexterity and protection I assume.”  

Ceirria talked idly about what she had done the last two centuries as if it were nothing, as placid as tending a garden. In reality it was probable she could carve out a being’s circulatory system in a matter of days without aid. Though it was possible the womer had become a tad rusty in the several years of off time since her mentor died. 

volkihar-reject:

“Brlliant, then,” the Breton laughed, “no one should have to go without booze money.” Willun wobbled back and forth for a moment, considering her idea. “Yes yes yes, that wold work, I think. An envelope. Made of the skin of your enemies and closed with their sinews. Adds a personal touch, you know?” He laughed again. “Just kidding. That would be far too time-consuming. Quick, deliveries need to be quick. As well, what courier would want to deliver a skin-sack?”

“Oh yes, and the skin is so fragile when dry enough to be sewn. And who has the time to tan leather solely for that purpose? Save for Argonian skin, that dries quickly into excellent leather. Tough to sew but sturdy and hardy, more so than the others.” The womer mused idly. “Make a good glue from saps and what not Argonian skin bags would work quite well I should think. Outside Black Marsh I doubt a courier would even know what they were.” 

volamer started following you

volamer:

unseeing-altmers:

“Good day, sir.” Carondiil bowed politely in greeting to his superior. “Have you been faring well, High Instructor?” 

“Salutations,” he was quick to reply. Volamer regarded the mer with an observant eye and noted Carondiil’s straight-seeming stature. “I have been graced with better days, Justiciar,” he elected to add, “I find myself yearning for Alinor. I find little peace these days.”

“Something wrong, sir?” The younger mer asked with professional concern.  ”Perhaps something I can aid with?” No excuse not to be helpful now, was there? He declined to mention his unwillingness to return to Alinor that had surfaced recently. 

Anonymous sent: Strikhedonia (again, yer own chars!)

Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”.

This was it. He was done. Utterly done. 

“I find myself unable to fully protect and serve the ideals of the Aldmeri Dominion in my current state of mind and thus find it prudent to remove myself from office and standing.” Or something like that. It had been written along with several other bits of chatter needed to seem official on parchment. True to his nature it was neatly folded and stamped, left in his commanding officer’s office in Markarth along with his uniform.

“To hell with it.” He seethed, striding out of the stone city in common clothes. “To hell with it all.” 

They’d ordered him to dispatch a child; tiny little thing he was. A mixed breed of an Altmer and another mer (he’d already forgotten the other race). The way the child looked at him and wailed for his parents… Carondiil couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring his sword down. How many times had he cried for his mother or sister when his father bore down on him like this? He couldn’t bear to become a monster.

Just like that he was done. He collected his final pay and what little he could of his pension and left the Dominion. He found a little shack in the Rift that was easily fixed up and expanded. Person who lived there last must have had a bird or something, there were huge black feathers strewn about and bits of alchemy agents left behind. 

He hired some fellows from Kynesgrove to help him repair and expand the place, creating a quaint but secure alchemist’s shop and home. Travelers going by for the hot springs could stop for food, potions, reagents or even a bed. Carondiil had an immense collection to work with. 

One night, months later, he sat on his porch in a rocking chair that could have comfortably seated a bear, going through a book on poisons by mage light when he stopped. He looked. He listened. He smiled. 

“To hell with it all.” He chuckled, closing the book and heading inside.

volamer started following you

“Good day, sir.” Carondiil bowed politely in greeting to his superior. “Have you been faring well, High Instructor?” 

A meeting in Whiterun | Ceirria and Astarill

astarill:

He arched an eyebrow. Was it sad? He had never thought so. Perhaps it was sad for his mother, who had always seemed to take pleasure in art and that type of needless luxuries, but he himself had never really known better. How he had managed to sustain a relationship with a painter was still a mystery. Well… Perhaps ‘sustain’ was too great a word. 

He chortled when she corrected and explained herself. He had never been a fan of the empty, rehearsed politeness people were forced to employ simply because they were taught that others expected it of them. On a bad day, even a ‘good morning’ could irritate him. Whenever the opportunity arose, he broke with pointless courtesies such as these. This seemed to be one of those opportunities.

“Don’t feel obliged to uphold meaningless social conventions for me,” he said, and continued, “I never cared for decoration myself, and it certainly can’t leave an impression on me now. I should think it’s practical to only keep to the things that fulfill an actual function.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “Less things to clean that way, too.”

“Good to know.” The blind womer smiled comfortably, happy to be conversing with someone who shared similar sentiments to her own. “You’re right though. It’s rather refreshing in a way, makes the room decompress.” She had never been forced to, or allowed rather, to clean or organize for fear that she would knock something over or break something that couldn’t be replaced. Those of little faith in that household. “I think the maids liked it more than I did. Less things to wash when I came home all bloody and what not.” 

vaelwynde started following you

Well this was a surprise. A mer even Carondiil had to tilt his head to in order to achieve eye contact. “Well met kinsman.” He said pleasantly. “What brings you out and about today?” 

volkihar-reject:

Willun adorned a look of shock. “How rude of him! Did he at least leave you a note? Or some booze money? Or both. Ooh! A note written on booze money.” He slapped his forehead. “Ah, yes, you couldn’t read a note.” A pause. “Unless he could have enchanted a coin with an imprint of his voice telling you a message, it would be relatively simple to have a weak illusion spell enchanted into one and it wouldn’t require a very powerful soul to send to the Ideal Masters but once he enchanted it the spell would only work once and he’d have to make sure that you were the first to pick it up but then how would he transport it to you without touching it he w-” He stopped, taking in a deep breath, as he had run out of air to speak with. “I came here for political asylum,” he continued, answering her question. “Nobody in High Rock liked me anymore so I took a small permanent vacation.”

“He sends me money every couple of weeks that I then use for booze money.” Ceirria chuckled. “The courier reads the note to me if he sends a note at all.” She gave pause, mulling over his idea. “What if the coin was placed in an envelope to be given to me?” She suggested. “If it didn’t work then I know the courier has tampered with it, yes?” All in all it seemed like a very viable solution to her inability to read. 

“I can relate.” She said in response to his explanation. “No one liked me where I was, so I came here.”

Anonymous sent: Capernoited (one of your own characters, of course!)

Capernoited - Slightly intoxicated or tipsy.

The womer kicked her feet as she sat in her chair, growing steadily giddier with every sip of Alto wine. It had become her favorite as of late; she was beginning to recognize vintages by now. The world around her felt warm, fuzzy and content. This is why she drank, she told herself. To feel like this. 

No longer was she drinking to forget that bear of a man with the strong arms and wonderful accent-

No. 

She frowned and took another swig of wine, letting it settle in her stomach as the happy feeling came back. When he had first brought her to Whiterun he’d gotten them a bottle of wine just like this to share. 

No. No no no no.Her swig was more of a gulp this time, long and drawn out. 

A familiar tingling, pleasurable and light, ran through the tips of her fingers. Yes, this was the point she’d wanted to reach. That point where she just felt good. The universe was lazily swimming in a red river of warm thoughts and sighs. 

Another bottle in hand to finish out the night Ceirria toddled up to her rented room at the Bannered Mare and proceeded to flop on the bed. The furs felt extra soft tonight. A grin slid onto her face as words tumbled from her lips:

“I only drink to be merry
But unfortunate-ly…
I’m in the wrong prison cell and the wrong company…”