Keep to the Pact @lyra-ivybrook - Tumblr Blog

Lyra just hugs him, randomly.

Just because.

Syrabane returns the hug.

Syrabane eventually returned home, appearing in his bedroom and grabbing a new set of robes. The other ones were ruined, the fine silks destroyed from rough handling and tidal magics. Besides, he didn't want them, not when they reminded him of what happened.

Once in fresh new garments, he smoothed the fabric down, taking a few long, slow breaths to collect himself and appear as cheerful as typical, before walking out.

"Lyra! I'm back. Are you home?" Syrabane called, heading into the kitchen to begin making food.

— @god-of-warlocks

Water dripped freely from the ends of her crimson, tousled locks, Lyra having only just finished her bath when she heard Zev call out, his cheerful lilt carrying easy throughout his manor home.

Superstitiously, her eyes darted to the blood stained leather of her old armor, and she felt a flutter of panic.

Open the door, “I’ll be down, nah halvah.”

She laid it on a little thick, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t called him ‘my joy’ in the past.

How could one think of Zevran and not think of joy?

The leathers she stuffed into a closest, wrapped in a sheet within her given room.

She’ll clean those later.

Quickly, despite how it made her skin crawl, she riffled through the drawers of a dresser and sure enough, found clothing perfectly sized to her short, diminutive frame.

Once dressed in fresh trousers and tunic blouse of sea-form green, she padded on bare feet down the hall and stairs, jumping the last flight to land nimbly, and dashed into the kitchen, her face all smiles.

“I missed you, while you were away!”

Syrabane glanced over, and his own smile seemed a bit thin, albeit genuine. "I missed you as well, sunnakynd. My apologies, I didn't mean to stay away as long as I had. I trust you were able to entertain yourself?"

If by entertainment – he meant hunting in the woodlands beyond and not for the local wildlife – then yes. She had been greatly entertained.

Well-fed, too.

“I was a little bored,” she pouted, the green eyes that dominated so much of her face widening, minutely, “but I managed. I did some scouting, looked around a little.”

She climbed her way into a chair at the table - found that her chin was level with the surface and scowled.

She’s short, yeah, but c’mon!

Peeking at him from beneath a veil of lashes, she stared at his face.

Wondering if she should push.

"How was your time away?"

Test.

A pause.

"It was alright. I worked on a project, regarding a plague that's been cropping up over the past few years." No mention of how it was in Valenwood. The virus was contained enough that it would do no good to alarm her unnecessarily. "I also handled a few meetings. Nothing too big."

An argument with his brother and father, and then with Niryna, followed immediately by the incident with Zael and Kinrou. "Meetings" indeed. But he kept the pleasant expression on his face nonetheless.

He reached for a bowl of spices with his injured hand on accident, wincing slightly when the movement caused his muscles to pull on the spear wound. He made an effort to play it off and continue cooking.

At the table while watching him like a field hawk, she had been toying with a fork at the place setting. She made a mental note of his pause – her test concluded; something had happened.

But how bad?

Lyra’s large, almond shaped eyes narrowed slightly, the brow ridges above them becoming more sharply defined when pulled in, and her long ears revolved back along her skull. Zev couldn’t see her expression with his back turned towards her, but she looked ready to pounce. And maul someone.

When she saw him wince, clearly in pain, she was immediately out of her seat and at his side, her hands instinctively lighting up with her warden’s magic.

Flowers blooming around them in a shimmering cascade of green and golden light, swirling and coalescing in a surge of powerful healing energy; pure as sunlight on skin, refreshing as a spring rain.

She didn't push yet, not right then.

Her primary concern was his physical injury, which felt like her own.

Syrabane flinched at the sudden movement—he'd never jumped at Lyra's antics before—but he didn't object, allowing her to heal him. The wound stopped throbbing, but he knew that it hadn't yet fully closed up under the bandages he'd wrapped it in.

"Thanks," he murmured. "Don't worry about it too much, though. Got into a bit of an altercation with a particularly ornery daedra."

He is lying – she would never be able to explain how she knows it when he lies but she always does. It made her heart twinge.

There was also the obvious – Zervan is Syrabane – a living God.

If he’s hurt to this degree – Lyra closed her eyes and allowed her magicka to flicker out.

“A Daedra, huh? Must have been a Prince to get a hit like that on you, nah halvah.”

Shaking her head, her hair tousled further around her antlers, half dry now, “Let me help you with cooking. But I am not touching any plants.”

"Don't worry, none of this requires plants, other than the spices. But they're imported from Elsweyr, which is what most Pact followers tend to do for their recipes. After all, plants from other countries seem to be a tad less sacred to your people."

He stepped slightly aside to allow her more access, a stepstool appearing for her. Eventually, he should move her to his keep in High Rock and take up his Breton form so that she can actually be an appropriate size for the place she stayed in.

"They're meat pies made with bone flour. Also, gravy made with beef broth."

Grinning at that, she climbed onto the stool, taking the bowl of spices into her small hands.

She wouldn’t mind the move to High Rock, not after her last encounter with a High Elf – no doubt the reason for the blood-stained leathers she had stashed away.

And forget ever moving to Skyrim – she greatly disliked Nords – and Syrabane knew that.

They tended to treat her – a full-grown Mer – like a child due to her size. The nicer ones, anyway.

“We can eat the fruit that falls from trees,” she reminded him, teasingly.

His mentioning of the beef brother and meat pies had her salivating, the small Bosmer quick to help him finish the preparations.

And all the while, if he winced, she sent a pulse of healing magicka over him.

Whatever really happened, she trusted him to tell her, eventually. After all, all they had was Time now.

Syrabane eventually returned home, appearing in his bedroom and grabbing a new set of robes. The other ones were ruined, the fine silks destroyed from rough handling and tidal magics. Besides, he didn't want them, not when they reminded him of what happened.

Once in fresh new garments, he smoothed the fabric down, taking a few long, slow breaths to collect himself and appear as cheerful as typical, before walking out.

"Lyra! I'm back. Are you home?" Syrabane called, heading into the kitchen to begin making food.

— @god-of-warlocks

Water dripped freely from the ends of her crimson, tousled locks, Lyra having only just finished her bath when she heard Zev call out, his cheerful lilt carrying easy throughout his manor home.

Superstitiously, her eyes darted to the blood stained leather of her old armor, and she felt a flutter of panic.

Open the door, “I’ll be down, nah halvah.”

She laid it on a little thick, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t called him ‘my joy’ in the past.

How could one think of Zevran and not think of joy?

The leathers she stuffed into a closest, wrapped in a sheet within her given room.

She’ll clean those later.

Quickly, despite how it made her skin crawl, she riffled through the drawers of a dresser and sure enough, found clothing perfectly sized to her short, diminutive frame.

Once dressed in fresh trousers and tunic blouse of sea-form green, she padded on bare feet down the hall and stairs, jumping the last flight to land nimbly, and dashed into the kitchen, her face all smiles.

“I missed you, while you were away!”

Syrabane glanced over, and his own smile seemed a bit thin, albeit genuine. "I missed you as well, sunnakynd. My apologies, I didn't mean to stay away as long as I had. I trust you were able to entertain yourself?"

If by entertainment – he meant hunting in the woodlands beyond and not for the local wildlife – then yes. She had been greatly entertained.

Well-fed, too.

“I was a little bored,” she pouted, the green eyes that dominated so much of her face widening, minutely, “but I managed. I did some scouting, looked around a little.”

She climbed her way into a chair at the table - found that her chin was level with the surface and scowled.

She’s short, yeah, but c’mon!

Peeking at him from beneath a veil of lashes, she stared at his face.

Wondering if she should push.

"How was your time away?"

Test.

A pause.

"It was alright. I worked on a project, regarding a plague that's been cropping up over the past few years." No mention of how it was in Valenwood. The virus was contained enough that it would do no good to alarm her unnecessarily. "I also handled a few meetings. Nothing too big."

An argument with his brother and father, and then with Niryna, followed immediately by the incident with Zael and Kinrou. "Meetings" indeed. But he kept the pleasant expression on his face nonetheless.

He reached for a bowl of spices with his injured hand on accident, wincing slightly when the movement caused his muscles to pull on the spear wound. He made an effort to play it off and continue cooking.

At the table while watching him like a field hawk, she had been toying with a fork at the place setting. She made a mental note of his pause – her test concluded; something had happened.

But how bad?

Lyra’s large, almond shaped eyes narrowed slightly, the brow ridges above them becoming more sharply defined when pulled in, and her long ears revolved back along her skull. Zev couldn’t see her expression with his back turned towards her, but she looked ready to pounce. And maul someone.

When she saw him wince, clearly in pain, she was immediately out of her seat and at his side, her hands instinctively lighting up with her warden’s magic.

Flowers blooming around them in a shimmering cascade of green and golden light, swirling and coalescing in a surge of powerful healing energy; pure as sunlight on skin, refreshing as a spring rain.

She didn't push yet, not right then.

Her primary concern was his physical injury, which felt like her own.

Syrabane flinched at the sudden movement—he'd never jumped at Lyra's antics before—but he didn't object, allowing her to heal him. The wound stopped throbbing, but he knew that it hadn't yet fully closed up under the bandages he'd wrapped it in.

"Thanks," he murmured. "Don't worry about it too much, though. Got into a bit of an altercation with a particularly ornery daedra."

He is lying – she would never be able to explain how she knows it when he lies but she always does. It made her heart twinge.

There was also the obvious – Zervan is Syrabane – a living God.

If he’s hurt to this degree – Lyra closed her eyes and allowed her magicka to flicker out.

“A Daedra, huh? Must have been a Prince to get a hit like that on you, nah halvah.”

Shaking her head, her hair tousled further around her antlers, half dry now, “Let me help you with cooking. But I am not touching any plants.”

Syrabane eventually returned home, appearing in his bedroom and grabbing a new set of robes. The other ones were ruined, the fine silks destroyed from rough handling and tidal magics. Besides, he didn't want them, not when they reminded him of what happened.

Once in fresh new garments, he smoothed the fabric down, taking a few long, slow breaths to collect himself and appear as cheerful as typical, before walking out.

"Lyra! I'm back. Are you home?" Syrabane called, heading into the kitchen to begin making food.

— @god-of-warlocks

Water dripped freely from the ends of her crimson, tousled locks, Lyra having only just finished her bath when she heard Zev call out, his cheerful lilt carrying easy throughout his manor home.

Superstitiously, her eyes darted to the blood stained leather of her old armor, and she felt a flutter of panic.

Open the door, “I’ll be down, nah halvah.”

She laid it on a little thick, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t called him ‘my joy’ in the past.

How could one think of Zevran and not think of joy?

The leathers she stuffed into a closest, wrapped in a sheet within her given room.

She’ll clean those later.

Quickly, despite how it made her skin crawl, she riffled through the drawers of a dresser and sure enough, found clothing perfectly sized to her short, diminutive frame.

Once dressed in fresh trousers and tunic blouse of sea-form green, she padded on bare feet down the hall and stairs, jumping the last flight to land nimbly, and dashed into the kitchen, her face all smiles.

“I missed you, while you were away!”

Syrabane glanced over, and his own smile seemed a bit thin, albeit genuine. "I missed you as well, sunnakynd. My apologies, I didn't mean to stay away as long as I had. I trust you were able to entertain yourself?"

If by entertainment – he meant hunting in the woodlands beyond and not for the local wildlife – then yes. She had been greatly entertained.

Well-fed, too.

“I was a little bored,” she pouted, the green eyes that dominated so much of her face widening, minutely, “but I managed. I did some scouting, looked around a little.”

She climbed her way into a chair at the table - found that her chin was level with the surface and scowled.

She’s short, yeah, but c’mon!

Peeking at him from beneath a veil of lashes, she stared at his face.

Wondering if she should push.

"How was your time away?"

Test.

A pause.

"It was alright. I worked on a project, regarding a plague that's been cropping up over the past few years." No mention of how it was in Valenwood. The virus was contained enough that it would do no good to alarm her unnecessarily. "I also handled a few meetings. Nothing too big."

An argument with his brother and father, and then with Niryna, followed immediately by the incident with Zael and Kinrou. "Meetings" indeed. But he kept the pleasant expression on his face nonetheless.

He reached for a bowl of spices with his injured hand on accident, wincing slightly when the movement caused his muscles to pull on the spear wound. He made an effort to play it off and continue cooking.

At the table while watching him like a field hawk, she had been toying with a fork at the place setting. She made a mental note of his pause – her test concluded; something had happened.

But how bad?

Lyra’s large, almond shaped eyes narrowed slightly, the brow ridges above them becoming more sharply defined when pulled in, and her long ears revolved back along her skull. Zev couldn’t see her expression with his back turned towards her, but she looked ready to pounce. And maul someone.

When she saw him wince, clearly in pain, she was immediately out of her seat and at his side, her hands instinctively lighting up with her warden’s magic.

Flowers blooming around them in a shimmering cascade of green and golden light, swirling and coalescing in a surge of powerful healing energy; pure as sunlight on skin, refreshing as a spring rain.

She didn't push yet, not right then.

Her primary concern was his physical injury, which felt like her own.

Syrabane eventually returned home, appearing in his bedroom and grabbing a new set of robes. The other ones were ruined, the fine silks destroyed from rough handling and tidal magics. Besides, he didn't want them, not when they reminded him of what happened.

Once in fresh new garments, he smoothed the fabric down, taking a few long, slow breaths to collect himself and appear as cheerful as typical, before walking out.

"Lyra! I'm back. Are you home?" Syrabane called, heading into the kitchen to begin making food.

— @god-of-warlocks

Water dripped freely from the ends of her crimson, tousled locks, Lyra having only just finished her bath when she heard Zev call out, his cheerful lilt carrying easy throughout his manor home.

Superstitiously, her eyes darted to the blood stained leather of her old armor, and she felt a flutter of panic.

Open the door, “I’ll be down, nah halvah.”

She laid it on a little thick, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t called him ‘my joy’ in the past.

How could one think of Zevran and not think of joy?

The leathers she stuffed into a closest, wrapped in a sheet within her given room.

She’ll clean those later.

Quickly, despite how it made her skin crawl, she riffled through the drawers of a dresser and sure enough, found clothing perfectly sized to her short, diminutive frame.

Once dressed in fresh trousers and tunic blouse of sea-form green, she padded on bare feet down the hall and stairs, jumping the last flight to land nimbly, and dashed into the kitchen, her face all smiles.

“I missed you, while you were away!”

Syrabane glanced over, and his own smile seemed a bit thin, albeit genuine. "I missed you as well, sunnakynd. My apologies, I didn't mean to stay away as long as I had. I trust you were able to entertain yourself?"

If by entertainment – he meant hunting in the woodlands beyond and not for the local wildlife – then yes. She had been greatly entertained.

Well-fed, too.

“I was a little bored,” she pouted, the green eyes that dominated so much of her face widening, minutely, “but I managed. I did some scouting, looked around a little.”

She climbed her way into a chair at the table - found that her chin was level with the surface and scowled.

She’s short, yeah, but c’mon!

Peeking at him from beneath a veil of lashes, she stared at his face.

Wondering if she should push.

"How was your time away?"

Test.

#rp tesblr #oc: lyra ivybrook

Syrabane eventually returned home, appearing in his bedroom and grabbing a new set of robes. The other ones were ruined, the fine silks destroyed from rough handling and tidal magics. Besides, he didn't want them, not when they reminded him of what happened.

Once in fresh new garments, he smoothed the fabric down, taking a few long, slow breaths to collect himself and appear as cheerful as typical, before walking out.

"Lyra! I'm back. Are you home?" Syrabane called, heading into the kitchen to begin making food.

— @god-of-warlocks

Water dripped freely from the ends of her crimson, tousled locks, Lyra having only just finished her bath when she heard Zev call out, his cheerful lilt carrying easy throughout his manor home.

Superstitiously, her eyes darted to the blood stained leather of her old armor, and she felt a flutter of panic.

Open the door, “I’ll be down, nah halvah.”

She laid it on a little thick, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t called him ‘my joy’ in the past.

How could one think of Zevran and not think of joy?

The leathers she stuffed into a closest, wrapped in a sheet within her given room.

She’ll clean those later.

Quickly, despite how it made her skin crawl, she riffled through the drawers of a dresser and sure enough, found clothing perfectly sized to her short, diminutive frame.

Once dressed in fresh trousers and tunic blouse of sea-form green, she padded on bare feet down the hall and stairs, jumping the last flight to land nimbly, and dashed into the kitchen, her face all smiles.

“I missed you, while you were away!”

A Reacquaintance

A sharp whistle broke through the calm of that morning.

Standing outside Zephran’s home, she waited, watching as a large red fox – her vixen Vanessa – came bounding towards her through the green foliage, her fox greeting her with quick, rapid yips that sounded like she was chuckling loudly.

Grinning, Lyra pounced on her old friend, cheered by the fox’s chirps and gekkering, nuzzling her face against Van’s own. “You still came, you're still here!”

Now, one might need to wonder if a fox (even one bound by a warden’s magic) could survive nine hundred years.

The answer would most assuredly be no.

Odds were this wasn’t Vanessa, but Lyra either ignored the obvious or this replica was a damn good one. Either way, it made her happy.

Swinging herself onto her mount's back, she patted her gently on the sides, “Let us explore a little,” she murmured quietly in Bosmer to the vixen.

#rp tesblr #oc: lyra ivybrook #cw: suggestions of self deletion/self harm possible in this thread #will place under a cut

UwU OwO

" ...Te karna is minh?"

#rp tesblr #lyra answers #bosmer language #https://lingojam.com/UnofficialBosmeriTranslator #[the f*** is this?]

Whenever Lyra would wake up, Syrabane was nowhere to be found, though he had left her a note—

Lyra,

Don't worry about me, I went to go visit a new place with a new friend. You have free rein of my house, and if you wish to visit anywhere else, I have a portal room that will take you anywhere you please in the attic. There is a ring inside a lockbox on my bedside table, wear it to return back to this estate when you are done exploring. Feel free to purchase anything you'd like and open a tab on my name.

Enjoy your breakfast! I will return soon!

— Zephran

The note had been folded and set beside a plate of freshly made Jagga Tarts, Bantam Guar Eggs, and Kollopi, likely made by Syrabane himself. It was also paired with a warm glass of milk.

It was the morning light slanting across her face that woke Lyra, eyelids fluttering and lashes the color of cinnamon lifting. Yawning, she unfurled her limbs and stretched across the bed, her nose wrinkling at the thought of anything cotton or linen touching her skin.

Oh well - she had gotten used to such things many, many years ago in Alinor, Y'ffre forgive her. Besides, Jenassa had insisted on sleeping in a ‘proper’ bed with ‘proper’ bed linens. Pfft. My sweet, silly lass, Lyra thought fondly, and mournfully.

Those days were gone, over – days spent tangled like the roots of the Falinesti tree together, strands of black ebony coiled around her fingers, and their laughter shared between kisses.

Sitting up in bed, she knuckled the remaining sleep from her eyes as she swung her legs over. Due to her diminutive size, she had no choice but to hop down to her feet – the bed no doubt constructed more for High Elves.

It took her a moment to become aware of the note and the food laid out on the table – waiting for her.

Taking the missive in hand, she began to eat the breakfast left for her while reading, occasionally making a non- committal hum every now and again. Some things never changed, she thought, her lips twisting in wry affection.

Zev was still Zev.

Finished with breakfast, she folded the note and tucked it away into one of her many hidden pockets, her bare feet padding silently out of the guest room and down the hall. Those bright green eyes, which dominated so much of her face, peering with curiosity into every unlocked room she came across as she wandered Zephran’s home.

Turns out, he had many unlocked rooms! She might need to say something about that.

Finding the master bedroom, she unabashedly hopped up on his bed and crawled over to the bedside table, riffling through it even after finding the ring and sliding it on her slim finger.

“Huh, where to go then?” she muttered, afterwards, her head tipping back as she considered the empty ceiling, as though expecting it to tell her.

#rp tesblr #oc: lyra ivybrook

You have no friendsss

And the one person you want to befriend doesn't even like youu she hates you and thinks you're weird

You guys are really mean...

"Oi! He has friends, he has me!" Hissed an angry Bosmer, her hair as red as the blood she enjoyed spilling.

"Whoever this she is, is probably the weird one. And hasn't proper taste!"

Anyway -- "Piss off, anon."

Oh, hi there, Lyra!

"Hi!" The tiny Bosmer runs up and hugs his leg.

Because that she is that short.

"How goes it?"

(Syrabane pats her head gently.) It's alright. How are you?

She grins, showing off her perfectly filed teeth -- in the Bosmer tradition, "Fine, I 'suppose, except I don't know what I'm doing here. Woke up and went searching for you."

(He nodded solemnly.) Dragon Break. Again.

She huffed a bit and wrinkled her nose, "What's the cause this time? I've kept to a low profile, yeah, 'cause the last thing I want to do is catch Bal's attention. Don't suppose you've seen Lyris or the Prophet 'round?"

Oh, you're that far removed. Yeah, uh, we're in the fourth era. It's been about nine hundred years since the attempted Planemeld. I don't think Lyris and the Prophet are here anymore. Though maybe I can see about Sovngarde for Lyris...

"Never cared for Nords but Lyris was an oak I wouldn't have minded climbing." Sigh.

"Fourth Era? Nine hundred years?" That meant -- meant --

"My Jennie..."

(He winced. Welcome to surviving the relentless passage of time.) Yeah...

Her limpid green eyes briefly swam with unshed tears, Lyra rapidly blinking them away before a single droplet could fall. "I see," she muttered dully, dragging in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Joys of being soulless, huh?" In her case, anyway.

Shaking that off, "Doesn't matter anyway. What have you been up to?"

Quick to change the subject and push the moment away.

(He shrugged.) Not much. Studying. My projects. Becoming indebted to a Thalmor Emissary. Oh, right, nobody likes the Dominion anymore because it was taken over by those Thalmor zealots and they're trying to take over Tamriel.

Now that was a lot for not being much.

"What!? How we gettin' you out of that? Do you want me to --" She mimed making a slash across her throat, her suggestion clear.

"By the Root, who allowed that to happen!? The Thalmor? Our poor Queen!"

Ehh, I wouldn't if I were you. He's not your average elf. Also, they were able to do it because yet again there was an issue with the dragonborn emperors and this time Mehrunes Dagon took advantage, causing the Oblivion Crisis, and when that was resolved the Thalmor used the chaos to claim they were the ones to fix everything and overthrew the monarchy, taking over the entire Dominion.

She held a hand up, rubbing at her brow. "Hold on, hold on, what happened to Ayrenn? Everything we worked for! None of it mattered?"

Again, nine hundred years. The original Dominion is long gone, and so is Ayrenn. Time and strife don't stop for one hero's actions.

Lyra's ears twitched back, flattening on either side of her head, making her look like her vixen mount; all she needed to do was bare her teeth and hiss.

Frustration boiled in the pit of her stomach, masking the deep well of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.

She never considered herself a hero - she wasn't a good person - but she had tried, so hard, for Zevran, for Jenassa, and for a handful of others.

But it hadn't mattered, none of it.

Lowly, hoping he wouldn't catch it, "I need to eat someone."

(Syrabane sighs and kneels to pull Lyra into a hug, kissing the top of her head.) I get it. Believe me. Darien's gone, too. And I was right there with you during the chaos of the second era.

She wanted to resist it, wanted to push him away, but she couldn’t, her small arms winding tight around his neck and clinging to him like a vine. A small whimper escaped her, choked through the tears now clogging the back of her throat. It just wasn’t supposed to be like this – and hearing about Darien didn’t help.

Lyra clenched her teeth and trembled, her face crumbling. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

(He hummed a soft lullaby as he held her in the hug, trying to soothe away her tears.) I do wish I had some notable good news for you. But it will be alright. It's just a lot to absorb so soon.

Weakly, she nodded, her head finding a home on his shoulder – careful not to poke him in the eye like that one time with her antlers.

She remembered this lullaby, her lashes falling and her tears slowly drying in tracks down her tanned face. Lyra wasn’t sure if it was going to be alright like he said, feeling drowsy and worn out emotionally, but this was nice.

This felt familiar and like a piece of her past – her lost home and life.

“M’kay,” she mumbled, closing her eyes completely and snuggling.

(Syrabane smiled warmly and picked Lyra up, teleporting them both to a mortal estate he kept and finding a guest room to settle her down in the bed of.) Here you go. Get some rest, alright?

#syrabane #tes rp #right blog this time

She mumbled something back, words lost and muffled further by the way she buried her face into the pillow. Curling into a small ball, her knees drawn up to her chest, Lyra brought her hands up to nestle beneath her chin and drifted off.

Rest was a welcome respite.

Get in

Absolutely not!

"...what in the tangled roots is that!?"

Lyra shoots an arrow into it.

Nothing happens?

You have no friendsss

And the one person you want to befriend doesn't even like youu she hates you and thinks you're weird

You guys are really mean...

"Oi! He has friends, he has me!" Hissed an angry Bosmer, her hair as red as the blood she enjoyed spilling.

"Whoever this she is, is probably the weird one. And hasn't proper taste!"

Anyway -- "Piss off, anon."

Oh, hi there, Lyra!

"Hi!" The tiny Bosmer runs up and hugs his leg.

Because that she is that short.

"How goes it?"

(Syrabane pats her head gently.) It's alright. How are you?

She grins, showing off her perfectly filed teeth -- in the Bosmer tradition, "Fine, I 'suppose, except I don't know what I'm doing here. Woke up and went searching for you."

(He nodded solemnly.) Dragon Break. Again.

She huffed a bit and wrinkled her nose, "What's the cause this time? I've kept to a low profile, yeah, 'cause the last thing I want to do is catch Bal's attention. Don't suppose you've seen Lyris or the Prophet 'round?"

Oh, you're that far removed. Yeah, uh, we're in the fourth era. It's been about nine hundred years since the attempted Planemeld. I don't think Lyris and the Prophet are here anymore. Though maybe I can see about Sovngarde for Lyris...

"Never cared for Nords but Lyris was an oak I wouldn't have minded climbing." Sigh.

"Fourth Era? Nine hundred years?" That meant -- meant --

"My Jennie..."

(He winced. Welcome to surviving the relentless passage of time.) Yeah...

Her limpid green eyes briefly swam with unshed tears, Lyra rapidly blinking them away before a single droplet could fall. "I see," she muttered dully, dragging in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Joys of being soulless, huh?" In her case, anyway.

Shaking that off, "Doesn't matter anyway. What have you been up to?"

Quick to change the subject and push the moment away.

(He shrugged.) Not much. Studying. My projects. Becoming indebted to a Thalmor Emissary. Oh, right, nobody likes the Dominion anymore because it was taken over by those Thalmor zealots and they're trying to take over Tamriel.

Now that was a lot for not being much.

"What!? How we gettin' you out of that? Do you want me to --" She mimed making a slash across her throat, her suggestion clear.

"By the Root, who allowed that to happen!? The Thalmor? Our poor Queen!"

Ehh, I wouldn't if I were you. He's not your average elf. Also, they were able to do it because yet again there was an issue with the dragonborn emperors and this time Mehrunes Dagon took advantage, causing the Oblivion Crisis, and when that was resolved the Thalmor used the chaos to claim they were the ones to fix everything and overthrew the monarchy, taking over the entire Dominion.

She held a hand up, rubbing at her brow. "Hold on, hold on, what happened to Ayrenn? Everything we worked for! None of it mattered?"

Again, nine hundred years. The original Dominion is long gone, and so is Ayrenn. Time and strife don't stop for one hero's actions.

Lyra's ears twitched back, flattening on either side of her head, making her look like her vixen mount; all she needed to do was bare her teeth and hiss.

Frustration boiled in the pit of her stomach, masking the deep well of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.

She never considered herself a hero - she wasn't a good person - but she had tried, so hard, for Zevran, for Jenassa, and for a handful of others.

But it hadn't mattered, none of it.

Lowly, hoping he wouldn't catch it, "I need to eat someone."

(Syrabane sighs and kneels to pull Lyra into a hug, kissing the top of her head.) I get it. Believe me. Darien's gone, too. And I was right there with you during the chaos of the second era.

She wanted to resist it, wanted to push him away, but she couldn’t, her small arms winding tight around his neck and clinging to him like a vine. A small whimper escaped her, choked through the tears now clogging the back of her throat. It just wasn’t supposed to be like this – and hearing about Darien didn’t help.

Lyra clenched her teeth and trembled, her face crumbling. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

(He hummed a soft lullaby as he held her in the hug, trying to soothe away her tears.) I do wish I had some notable good news for you. But it will be alright. It's just a lot to absorb so soon.

Weakly, she nodded, her head finding a home on his shoulder – careful not to poke him in the eye like that one time with her antlers.

She remembered this lullaby, her lashes falling and her tears slowly drying in tracks down her tanned face. Lyra wasn’t sure if it was going to be alright like he said, feeling drowsy and worn out emotionally, but this was nice.

This felt familiar and like a piece of her past – her lost home and life.

“M’kay,” she mumbled, closing her eyes completely and snuggling.

You have no friendsss

And the one person you want to befriend doesn't even like youu she hates you and thinks you're weird

You guys are really mean...

"Oi! He has friends, he has me!" Hissed an angry Bosmer, her hair as red as the blood she enjoyed spilling.

"Whoever this she is, is probably the weird one. And hasn't proper taste!"

Anyway -- "Piss off, anon."

Oh, hi there, Lyra!

"Hi!" The tiny Bosmer runs up and hugs his leg.

Because that she is that short.

"How goes it?"

(Syrabane pats her head gently.) It's alright. How are you?

She grins, showing off her perfectly filed teeth -- in the Bosmer tradition, "Fine, I 'suppose, except I don't know what I'm doing here. Woke up and went searching for you."

(He nodded solemnly.) Dragon Break. Again.

She huffed a bit and wrinkled her nose, "What's the cause this time? I've kept to a low profile, yeah, 'cause the last thing I want to do is catch Bal's attention. Don't suppose you've seen Lyris or the Prophet 'round?"

Oh, you're that far removed. Yeah, uh, we're in the fourth era. It's been about nine hundred years since the attempted Planemeld. I don't think Lyris and the Prophet are here anymore. Though maybe I can see about Sovngarde for Lyris...

"Never cared for Nords but Lyris was an oak I wouldn't have minded climbing." Sigh.

"Fourth Era? Nine hundred years?" That meant -- meant --

"My Jennie..."

(He winced. Welcome to surviving the relentless passage of time.) Yeah...

Her limpid green eyes briefly swam with unshed tears, Lyra rapidly blinking them away before a single droplet could fall. "I see," she muttered dully, dragging in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Joys of being soulless, huh?" In her case, anyway.

Shaking that off, "Doesn't matter anyway. What have you been up to?"

Quick to change the subject and push the moment away.

(He shrugged.) Not much. Studying. My projects. Becoming indebted to a Thalmor Emissary. Oh, right, nobody likes the Dominion anymore because it was taken over by those Thalmor zealots and they're trying to take over Tamriel.

Now that was a lot for not being much.

"What!? How we gettin' you out of that? Do you want me to --" She mimed making a slash across her throat, her suggestion clear.

"By the Root, who allowed that to happen!? The Thalmor? Our poor Queen!"

Ehh, I wouldn't if I were you. He's not your average elf. Also, they were able to do it because yet again there was an issue with the dragonborn emperors and this time Mehrunes Dagon took advantage, causing the Oblivion Crisis, and when that was resolved the Thalmor used the chaos to claim they were the ones to fix everything and overthrew the monarchy, taking over the entire Dominion.

She held a hand up, rubbing at her brow. "Hold on, hold on, what happened to Ayrenn? Everything we worked for! None of it mattered?"

Again, nine hundred years. The original Dominion is long gone, and so is Ayrenn. Time and strife don't stop for one hero's actions.

Lyra's ears twitched back, flattening on either side of her head, making her look like her vixen mount; all she needed to do was bare her teeth and hiss.

Frustration boiled in the pit of her stomach, masking the deep well of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.

She never considered herself a hero - she wasn't a good person - but she had tried, so hard, for Zevran, for Jenassa, and for a handful of others.

But it hadn't mattered, none of it.

Lowly, hoping he wouldn't catch it, "I need to eat someone."

(Syrabane sighs and kneels to pull Lyra into a hug, kissing the top of her head.) I get it. Believe me. Darien's gone, too. And I was right there with you during the chaos of the second era.

She wanted to resist it, wanted to push him away, but she couldn’t, her small arms winding tight around his neck and clinging to him like a vine. A small whimper escaped her, choked through the tears now clogging the back of her throat. It just wasn’t supposed to be like this – and hearing about Darien didn’t help.

Lyra clenched her teeth and trembled, her face crumbling. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

You have no friendsss

And the one person you want to befriend doesn't even like youu she hates you and thinks you're weird

You guys are really mean...

"Oi! He has friends, he has me!" Hissed an angry Bosmer, her hair as red as the blood she enjoyed spilling.

"Whoever this she is, is probably the weird one. And hasn't proper taste!"

Anyway -- "Piss off, anon."

Oh, hi there, Lyra!

"Hi!" The tiny Bosmer runs up and hugs his leg.

Because that she is that short.

"How goes it?"

(Syrabane pats her head gently.) It's alright. How are you?

She grins, showing off her perfectly filed teeth -- in the Bosmer tradition, "Fine, I 'suppose, except I don't know what I'm doing here. Woke up and went searching for you."

(He nodded solemnly.) Dragon Break. Again.

She huffed a bit and wrinkled her nose, "What's the cause this time? I've kept to a low profile, yeah, 'cause the last thing I want to do is catch Bal's attention. Don't suppose you've seen Lyris or the Prophet 'round?"

Oh, you're that far removed. Yeah, uh, we're in the fourth era. It's been about nine hundred years since the attempted Planemeld. I don't think Lyris and the Prophet are here anymore. Though maybe I can see about Sovngarde for Lyris...

"Never cared for Nords but Lyris was an oak I wouldn't have minded climbing." Sigh.

"Fourth Era? Nine hundred years?" That meant -- meant --

"My Jennie..."

(He winced. Welcome to surviving the relentless passage of time.) Yeah...

Her limpid green eyes briefly swam with unshed tears, Lyra rapidly blinking them away before a single droplet could fall. "I see," she muttered dully, dragging in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Joys of being soulless, huh?" In her case, anyway.

Shaking that off, "Doesn't matter anyway. What have you been up to?"

Quick to change the subject and push the moment away.

(He shrugged.) Not much. Studying. My projects. Becoming indebted to a Thalmor Emissary. Oh, right, nobody likes the Dominion anymore because it was taken over by those Thalmor zealots and they're trying to take over Tamriel.

Now that was a lot for not being much.

"What!? How we gettin' you out of that? Do you want me to --" She mimed making a slash across her throat, her suggestion clear.

"By the Root, who allowed that to happen!? The Thalmor? Our poor Queen!"

Ehh, I wouldn't if I were you. He's not your average elf. Also, they were able to do it because yet again there was an issue with the dragonborn emperors and this time Mehrunes Dagon took advantage, causing the Oblivion Crisis, and when that was resolved the Thalmor used the chaos to claim they were the ones to fix everything and overthrew the monarchy, taking over the entire Dominion.

She held a hand up, rubbing at her brow. "Hold on, hold on, what happened to Ayrenn? Everything we worked for! None of it mattered?"

Again, nine hundred years. The original Dominion is long gone, and so is Ayrenn. Time and strife don't stop for one hero's actions.

Lyra's ears twitched back, flattening on either side of her head, making her look like her vixen mount; all she needed to do was bare her teeth and hiss.

Frustration boiled in the pit of her stomach, masking the deep well of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.

She never considered herself a hero - she wasn't a good person - but she had tried, so hard, for Zevran, for Jenassa, and for a handful of others.

But it hadn't mattered, none of it.

Lowly, hoping he wouldn't catch it, "I need to eat someone."