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imperialnord:

Someone is doting on a certain blonde little boy, and seems to be quite oblivious to anyone around her. You may need to speak up to get Mama’s attention, she is so very distracted by a loveable, shaggy little bear cub named Vigi.

"I was unaware you had another child." He comes in peace, for once, and he means her no harm. Hallbjörn is a grown man and he knows when to put a quarrel to rest. Truthfully, he could not hurt a mother with her children-- could not hurt her children either. It wouldn't be like him. "He's a fine young man."

#imperialnord #—ve; main #—ti; waging war #{ B) B) B) B) B) B) }

fabledflower:

✾ — The darkness of the night was a perfect cloak, a perfect way to hide without the heaviness or the heat that extra clothing afforded. The sound of her small, gentle feet picking their way through the forest was so natural and common to her that for many, many moments, Romy did not remember her new life – the one back at the inn with the wide-eyed, shaking children, and the man they called ‘father’ and she called Vater.

The woman was walking in silence, light eyes captured by the ground, following the smell and feel of the world beneath her outstretched fingers, her hesitant feet. She could hear the sound of the wolves in the distance, could already feel their heartbeats syncing with hers once again, begging, reaching, scraping, clawing their way back to her…

Come home, Romy. Vater’s voice echoed against her skull, even as she moved, fingers dancing across the tree barks. Come home.

Not yet. For the world she now lived in, while lovely in itself…

… was not home.

Romy was beginning to lower herself to the ground, walking carefully and gently, near like a crab, when she heard the sound of a branch break behind her. Her body tensed, her heart began to race and, without any hesitation, she spun around, slung her bow from over her, and leveled an arrow in the direction of the noise.

He can barely believe he's free, can barely believe that there are no Imperials chasing after him, can barely believe that he is feeling the wind upon his face and smelling the fresh air. Hallbjörn expected to die in that prison, expected a pitiful death, starving and shaking and suffering, if they did not put him to the axe. The Gods are being quite kind to him with this chance, with this opportunity to get as far away as possible.

Maybe he will go to Dragon Bridge when he has recovered. Right now, he doesn't trust it not to be a trap, however.

Hallbjörn limps and stumbles through the trees, wearing little more than the rags he's been stuck in for weeks. He is so very far from healthy; weakened and broken and probably suffering from a hundred more things he hasn't figured out quite yet, but that won't stop him from moving forward. He needs to find himself some aid, then he needs to return to Windhelm. The plan is formed, he only needs to survive long enough to see it put into action.

Something that suddenly seems unlikely after his latest spill. The cracking of twigs and branches alerts somebody, he realizes while he's picking himself up off of the floor. The great bear of a man does not falter, however, when he realizes there is an arrow trained upon him (for he is used to such things and refuses to cower in the face of Death.

Hands only raise to show that he means her no harm-- and he definitely looks as though he's incapable of bringing any to her. He is weak and he is shaking. If she attacks, it will only make her a coward.

"If you intend to kill me, do it quickly," he says. "I mean you no harm, however." Fingers splay out briefly and he swallows, deciding he might as well admit to what she already knows. "I could not harm you even if I wished. My name is Hallbjörn-- and I require help."

#fabledflower #—ve; main #—ti; prisoner of war #{ NAH no worries!!#no point in wasting a decent starter !#& gently sets this as newly escaped hallbjörn bc apparently i need these feels }

smell: burning wood

Burning buildings and people screaming, begging and pleading and crying and making so many desperate sounds that he can't block out. Even the smallest of campfires brings the memories flooding back. Memories of terrible choices, memories of a boy so blind where the war is concerned.

He'd been an idiot child, too caught up doing whatever it took to help his family. Slaughtering innocents just for the smallest amount of gold.

He still remembers walking through charred remains, still remembers the dead livestock and the scorched bodies. Back then, he had not been proud, but he had not felt such guilt over the matter either. He had earned coin, had managed to keep his family fed for a few more days.

It had been worth it. At the time.

Hallbjörn stares down at the most innocent of fires for a time, reaching out briefly to let the flames lick his fingers, and then completes the movement to pour a fair amount of water over them.

What a shame the memories are not extinguished as well.

#—ask meme;#{ WELL THEN }#—canon;#formerbravo #letters;

ursiines-blog

"I could kill you!" { sends u a meme u reblogged 2 hours ago bc i'm a cool cat }

Put one of these in my askbox to see how my Muse reacts.

Anger fits into the places left empty, squeezes in between the cracks of lust and love and broken things filling Ursine’s soul. The anger is like a balm, bringing with it something burning, alive, and it soars through her like an eagle at his words. They are both angry and drunk, full of hatred at the world that they direct at each other. Only at each other, because Ursine would die before she let his hands touch anyone else.

“Then do it!—” She screams at him, the feeling contorting her face into something vile and dangerous—something to be feared and cultivated and quaked at. But he had never quaked. He only pushed, pushed and pushed until she was full of him. The volume sends pain through her throat, swollen with bruises already starting to turn into a faded yellow handprint, a perfect match to the one he had around her throat a couple nights before. He still bore her nail marks around his eye. She pushes him, hands at his shoulders, forcing him back. She’d never backed down. She pushed, pushed and pushed until he was full of her.

“But you won’t,” she snarls then, sauntering up to him like a cat that got her cream. Fists grab ahold of his shirt and she jerks him forward, none too gently—when were they ever gentle?—and their lips are smashing together in practiced form; rough and sharp, biting until lips bled and full of anger, until they were full of quiet sorries and hesitant soothing, only to repeat the ugly cycle over and over again. He tasted like alcohol. She pulls away and pushes him back until he hits the wall behind him. He was bigger, and she knew his temper, but that’s what she wanted; she wanted to see the same ugly rage mirrored in his expression. She craved his pain.

“You l o v e me too much.” Tone mocking, goading him, but words all too true. They did love each other… in the only way they knew how.

#—what it is to burn;;#abuse // /#ursiines #fuckin fuck

ofmagicandice

Since memories triggered by scent are the strongest...

gracefulbigfeet

send my muse a scent and see how they’ll react to it.

PLEASE

#ask meme;#amazingly enough i'm actually gonna do this one

would anybody like to plot some longer threads/aus?

#tbd;#—outofcourage;

dethri:

”Your hospitality is most appreciated — I have journeyed quite far, and yours is the first camp I have happened upon. -—— Perhaps, I could simply rest my feet and warm my hands at your fire; I would not wish for you to be put out in the cold at my expense.”

"The cold does not bother me," he all but promises with a shake of the head. "I am a man of harsh winters and icy summers. I will not be facing anything I'm unused to should you decide to take my offer. But I understand."

#dethri #—ve; undetermined #{ YO THAT SOUNDS RAD THO }

leucouslycan:

She quickly falls in stride with him, hands loosely grasping the string of her bow slung over her shoulder. "Althea. It is a pleasure to meet you, Hallbjörn. Not all that I have met are as quick to help me as you are.”

"I am only quick to help because I am also headed to Whiterun," he admits. "I have some business with some burly Nords that refuse to take sides for such foolish reasons. --What of you? Why does Whiterun call your name?"

#leucouslycan #—ve; main #—ti; waging war #{ B) B) B) B)#u love all my muses i'm truly amazed }

formerbravo:

"No. He will live, and he will remain in my custody for as long as I see fit. You will have to return to your beloved Ulfric empty-handed, I’m afraid."

"You and I just developed a problem," he states. And that's the end of it. Already his hand is edging towards the hilt of his hammer.

#formerbravo #—ve; main #—ti; waging war

leucouslycan:

"Ah…” She never should have left Bruma. "If you do not mind accompanying me, I would greatly appreciate your help. I, uh, am not native to Skyrim."

"I already figured that out," he laughs. But he'll nod and start walking promptly. "You're lucky I have nothing better to do today! What is your name? I am Hallbjörn."

#leucouslycan #—ve; main #—ti; waging war

brongrohiik:

“I need a drink.”

"Then pull up a chair. I could use the company."

#brongrohiik #—ve; main #—ti; waging war

imperialnord:

"It will not be I who kills you.”

No. She will not kill him. Not now. It is so very rare she finds a worthy adversary, someone she has just as much curiosity for as she does hate—she should have left by now, should have smashed him in his bloodied face again and tightened his shackles and broken him, not stand and have a conversation. He is eloquent and does not cry—maybe that is why. She does not like crying. Does not like weakness.

And he is strong. And he does not spit at the mention of her brother, does not slander his name with “Dunmer fucker!” or “Grey skin lover!” as the others do. And maybe that is why it stays her fists for the time being. She still hates him. But it is not enough, not right now, for her to torture him further.

”The Imperials despise selfishness…” she swallows. Both sides have their reasons—have their loyalties, but where does Agni stand? She fights under red banners with silver Imperial armour—but her fellow soldiers stand with their loyalties under the Empire, through and through. The Stormcloaks stand by Ulfric’s ideals and their country. Agni… she fights for one side but does not truly have reason enough o do so—just selfish familial vengeance. "I am more often than not scolded for stepping my toe out of line—for a lack of faith in the Empire. My own agenda… aided by this side. Nothing more.” They are treasonous words, and should a young recruit been listening, he may have certainly blabbed about it to a superior—and swiftly received a beating from her for it, for she is intensely talented at lying. There is a curiousness in how she watches him, how she can see the pain in his eyes and still, he manages to smile. Never, never, has a prisoner smiled at her. It is a smile as if he pities her. And she truly doesn’t blame him. For she is pitiful as probably the lone Nord on a side which tears her apart. And it causes her face to twist for a moment before kneeling down.

She undoes the shackles at his wrists—nothing more. He is still tied into this place in other ways but——this does make his task sufficiently easier.

”I suppose it would not be my problem were you to escape,” she says to the floor, elbows on knobby knees. What is she doing? Legs stand and head to leave the room—"The Recruits are fast but stupid. Good night, General. ” Her voice is not kind—it is flat and laced with—what?

Curiosity of a challenge.

Eyes will not leave her as she moves. What, exactly, is she planning? Does she mean for him to run, for her to chase him and cut him down? Or have one of the recruits do it? Or does she, for some reason unknown to him, truly wish him his freedom if he can prove that he is worthy of it?

He doesn't move. Not an inch, not even a fraction of an inch, for he does not trust her. He respects her, yes, but that is an entirely different matter. A woman he respects may still offer him up to the wolves if she sees a need to-- and he cannot understand at all why she may wish to set him free.

Large hands massage wrists as he watches her leave, and he does not offer her a single word in response. She means to test him, to see if he can rise to her challenge, to see what kind of man he is. Hallbjörn is tempted-- so very tempted-- to run straight for it, though he is no fool and knows that would only end in his death.

So he waits. And he waits. And he waits.

It takes him a very long time before he rises to his feet and, injured as he is, begins to limp and lope and stumble through cold, cold corridors. Bare feet make very little noise upon the stone floor and fingers trail lightly across rough walls as he goes. Often he will pause, either to recover from the intense pain he feels from moving or just to avoid any guards on their way past.

He gets so far in his state, can almost taste freedom when he feels eyes upon his back. The Legionnaire barely has a moment to cry out before the bear of a Nord descends upon him. It is a short fight and, by some minor miracle, Hallbjörn ends victorious. The poor boy ends up with his own sword through his neck and the elder man quickly makes his leave. As quick as he can, at least, stumbling and wincing and so very nearly crying out in pain a few times.

And then there is the feel of the breeze upon his skin, the smell of fresh air and the sound of babbling streams.

Hallbjörn blinks, screwing his eyes closed before looking out into the near pitch black of the night. His heart thumps. And again.

He is so very nearly f r e e.

#imperialnord #—ve; main #—ti; prisoner of war #{ SHEEEE-IT }

wilyways:

███ ➸ » — Hawke takes a deep breath and holds it, loosing the arrow at the assassin behind him. The shaft quivered in the other man’s neck before he fell to the ground, face first and bleeding.

She lowers her bow and exhales, tossing a glance toward the heavily-armored giant before her. “You should be more careful, ser. All sorts of disreputable types roam the city at night.”

"I needn't fear disreputable types," he says, smiling a moment later. "Most fools can recognize the plate of a Templar and, to be frank, I can deal with the rest of them easily enough."

It is only now that he moves, turning to look briefly at the assassin lying dead behind him. Whether it be for him or the Champion before him, Hallbjörn doesn't really know-- but he supposes that he can't really ask, can he?

"My name is Hallbjörn. Thank you for potentially saving my life."

#wilyways #—ve; and never to rule over him

"I thought you were different."

He is different. Beneath all of this blood and gore, he is a good man. Hallbjörn fights for a cause he believes in, fights for his kinsmen, fights for Skyrim. Even if he must bloody himself, must hurt those who may deserve a second chance like the woman before him— unlike so many others, he does it with a heavy heart.

They share Nordic blood, they share the same lands and they share the same hopes for their kinsmen. They want peace, they want freedom and they want an end to this bloodshed. At least Agni will get the latter now, at least when this battle is over it will all be over. He will have seen so many things and they will stay with him until he is within the walls of the Hall of Valor, but it will be over and any amount of suffering will be worth it.

He grips the spear tightly, almost certain that he may snap the thing in half if he isn’t careful, and looks down at the Imperial Nord knelt before him. Such a fine Stormcloak she would have made. One of the best, he would say. But she chose her side and she stuck to it as any good soldier would, even though she will now die because of her choices.

“You were a fool.”

Hallbjörn tries to move himself, tries to strike her down and send her off to Shor, but he’s frozen. As if Skyrim herself has set her ice into his bones and into his being and kept him stuck there so he may not be able to slay the Captain before him. Part of him is so very thankful, but the rest of him only wishes to do what he is meant to do. As a soldier. As one of Ulfric’s soldiers.

She has lost the war. He knows of her family. She has lost the war. He cannot steal her from them.

"But even fools are right sometimes."

Backward he steps, grip upon the spear releasing promptly. The weapon drops to the ground and his eyes do not set upon it again. This war has been hard enough on the families of Skyrim, on the families of the soldiers fighting so valiantly for their cause. He cannot make Agni’s family suffer any further when he claims to only wish to give them a better Skyrim, a better home— a better life.

The Gods would surely strike him down where he stands were he to end her life. And failing that? He would no doubt do it himself.

#—ve; main #—ask meme;#—ti; a war won #imperialnord #{ whispers yolo as i give him two separate timelines for the end of the war lmao }#{ BUT HECK I GOTS MYSELF SOME FEELS }#long post;#letters;#blood / / /

formerbravo:

”Effort? That is laughable, at best.” The thief lifts her chin slightly, shoving a foot backwards to knock her prisoner onto his side. "I will give you one last chance to leave, kinsman.”

"As I told you; I cannot leave. He is to die or he is to become a prisoner of the Stormcloaks. Take whatever information it is you need from him, but I will not leave."

#formerbravo #—ve; main #—ti; waging war #{ super rude }

just--another--shadow-deactivat

( Angst Me No More — Ask Meme )

SEND ME ONE OF THE FOLLOWING TO SEE HOW MY MUSE REACTS.

"Are you sure?"

"I never meant to hurt you."

"Forgive me."

"I don’t understand."

"Have you ever been afraid like this?"

"I don’t want to talk to you anymore."

"You wouldn’t understand."

"How could you do this?"

"Your problems are not of my concern."

"I don’t get it."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nobody else seemed to notice."

"I thought you were different."

"Do you love me?"

"I understand."

"Mind if I sleep here tonight?"

"How long has it been since you last slept?"

"I never meant to hurt you."

"Can I trust you?"

"I’m so sorry."

"Don’t go. Please."

"I’m the same, you know."

"Just go. Leave."

"And if I don’t?"

"You lied to me."

"I thought it would be easier to leave."

#ask meme;#whispers yolo

leucouslycan:

"Oh, Gods—" She’s quick to pull out her map, but it does little good, evident in how she glances back up at the Nord. "Which way is Whiterun, then?"

"Opposite direction," he says, pointing off in the correct way. "Just follow the signs and you will find it easily enough. I could show you the way if you liked?"

#leucouslycan #—ve; main #—ti; waging war #{ WE COULD'VE HAD IT AAAAAAAALL }

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