You Can't Outrun Mortality

indie rp blog for a vampiric dunmer named nelaryn. mostly skyrim-based, will contain verses for morrowind and oblivion once i finish them

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PSA

This blog has moved to @nelaryn !

[cat-eel]

I have headcanons about what vampires should be.

[winterhold-werewolf-archive-blog]

short hiatus!

i got a lot to work on but i still wanna chat abt my ocs so feel free to message me on @blacckstar so i can keep being gay over my wolf while i work

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

@firedriestheflood | Continued from here

The fireball was definitely an overreaction. Way too dramatic. Of course, she probably wasn’t expecting him to shriek, lunge back, and end up teleporting in a flurry of violet and gold sparks- vanishing into nothing, only to reappear a minute or so later the same way. To his credit, he looked considerably abashed, ears down and face slightly lowered.

“….sorry,” he mumbled, picking at his sleeve with one hand. “I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you. I… don’t like ruins like these, they make me anxious.” Mostly he was apologizing because he didn’t really want a fireball lobbed at him, but he remembered all too well what it felt like to be talked down to nonstop. Some part of him- the part that rung truest of his realm, the Dementia that hummed under his skin- hissed at him for showing any sort of submissiveness to her, but he forced it deep, deep down. He’d deal with that later.

“I’ll hold my tongue for now.” He refused to meet her eyes, instead worrying his sharp nails with his teeth. “If you don’t light me on fire, I would greatly appreciate it.”

[kohledrogue]

Her expression remained angered even after he disappeared, but it softened at the meek “sorry.” She listened to his apology and let out a sigh. A pang of guilt passed through her, but she did her best to not show it. He couldn’t be allowed to condescend her without some repercussions; if this… partnership… was to continue, it had to be a bit less antagonistic.

She supposed it was understandable to be anxious in ruins such as the one they were currently trekking through. There was a constant threat of danger, and for someone jumpy, it was probably terrifying knowing that something could be lurking anywhere, even within in the walls. 

“Quit insulting me, and I won’t set you on fire,” she promised, keeping her tone a bit lighthearted so as to avoid upsetting him further.

With another sigh, she said, “Here,” and held her hand out for him.

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

He blinked, then allowed a small smile to twitch his mouth as he slid his hand back into hers. “I’ll do my best,” he mumbled, shifting closer. Sure, he couldn’t die, but getting set on fire wasn’t exactly great. He seemed to hover a bit, his eyes flicking around nervously.  He let her take the lead, relaxing quickly once she took control once again, this time holding his tongue.

Of course, it only took an hour or two before the sarcastic comments returned- but they were definitely more friendly, lacking the venom from before, unless they were spat at Falmer or Constructs. For as timid as he was, he would occasionally surprise her with a blast of ice or electricity that reduced his opponents to nothing (as well as the walls behind them), but for the most part he was content to let her take the lead. After awhile, his prior chattiness seemed to return.

“So! You come to these sorts of places often? I mean, not exactly a walk in the park, but.. I suppose there’s cool things here?”

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

@firedriestheflood | Continued from here

The fireball was definitely an overreaction. Way too dramatic. Of course, she probably wasn’t expecting him to shriek, lunge back, and end up teleporting in a flurry of violet and gold sparks- vanishing into nothing, only to reappear a minute or so later the same way. To his credit, he looked considerably abashed, ears down and face slightly lowered.

“....sorry,” he mumbled, picking at his sleeve with one hand. “I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you. I... don’t like ruins like these, they make me anxious.” Mostly he was apologizing because he didn’t really want a fireball lobbed at him, but he remembered all too well what it felt like to be talked down to nonstop. Some part of him- the part that rung truest of his realm, the Dementia that hummed under his skin- hissed at him for showing any sort of submissiveness to her, but he forced it deep, deep down. He’d deal with that later.

“I’ll hold my tongue for now.” He refused to meet her eyes, instead worrying his sharp nails with his teeth. “If you don’t light me on fire, I would greatly appreciate it.”

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

"I'm not a kid, you know. Stop treating me like one."

The Dunmer snorted, giving her a cold look. “Then stop acting like one.” 

The two were currently in a Dwemer ruin (Nelaryn’s favorite sort of place), walking through yet another featureless hallway. Labyrinthian indeed! The cold stone floors and walls had little effect on him, but they did nothing to improve his mood. He was quickly remembering why he hated travelling with anyone who wasn’t Martin Septim.

It was hard to be angry at someone when you were currently holding their hand like a lost child, but lo and behold, poor Ayalea was currently dealing with a cranky, clingy vampire (who may be a Daedric Prince?) glaring at her at the same time his fingers were interlocked with hers. “Look, I’m telling you, it’s down here somewhere- I’m just explaining it in simple terms, since you’ve clearly never been down in one of these things before! You’ve walked into how many bone traps so far?” 

So maybe it had been his fault she’d stumbled into a bone trap, once, but it felt good to yell at someone. He was tired, cranky, and every sound or movement was more strain on his frayed nerves. He was nervous, and therefore, he was angry. “You are a child to me, and you’re acting like one, so I’ll treat you like one.”

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

Age Difference Starter Sentences

"Are you even old enough to be here?"

"What did I tell you about coming here? You're too young."

"Age is but a number."

"Will you just drop my age and go on one measly date?"

"If I was just a few years older, I'd marry you."

"You can't tell anyone about this."

"You're too young for me."

"You're too old for me."

"Hey, I'm over 18. It's perfectly legal."

"My feelings for you mean more to me than your age."

"Ask me again when you're done with high school/college."

"I'm old enough to be your mother/father--okay, maybe not THAT old, but still!"

"This isn't a lifetime movie, I could get into some serious trouble."

"I didn't know you were that young!"

"So I may have lied a bit about my age.."

"This never happened."

"You're not being professional."

"I'm not a kid, you know. Stop treating me like one."

"So you like older men/women, huh?"

"Go home, your parents are probably wondering where you are."

"I'm a lot more mature than you think."

"I don't know if I can handle this."

"But think about it, in ten years it won't even look like that big of an age difference!"

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

//do you ever cry because brynjolf

[vampiricsuggestion]

i can only fantasize about biting every inch of you and ripping you apart.

[winterhold-werewolf-archive-blog]

//like this post for a starter!!

[gloryofcyrodiil]

[winterhold-werewolf-archive-blog]

So! Apparently when you live in the Bahamas, but have a US mailing address, Steam wants you to suffer! So I’ve decided to try and make some money on PayPal doing some cheap commissions!

Message me here, or email me at [email protected] for commissions or more information!

If you’re interested in more high-quality art, check under the cut for some (outdated) examples, and message me for prices~!

Keep reading

[vampiricsuggestion]

i was once a prince, a king, a god. this day and age doesn’t welcome us, anymore.

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

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Nelaryn eyes him warily for a moment, then very carefully places his hand in Lucien’s. His touch his feather-soft and jittery, and he allows his thumb to brush over Lucien’s fingers several times before drawing back, holding his hand again in a sort of awed silence. The feeling of warmth was by this point unusual to him (unless leeched from a stiffening corpse, one who could not deny him his affections, his need for company. But corpses were hardly good conversation partners.) This man’s honeyed words were definitely intended to be so, but they did their trick anyways; the Dunmer couldn’t help but be snared by his voice, and the promises it held. It had been so long, so very very long since anyone- no. Best not to dwell on such things. Lucien LaChance had soothing words and a sweet smile, and Nelaryn could only hope those things didn’t prove fatal with the passing of time.

“I know the place. You are correct, it will be no challenge. I will see it done, sir,” he mumbled, quietly routing his path in his head. “And when Rufio lies dead, what would you have me do?” He highly doubted he would say no to anything at this point. Brotherhood or no, he was alone and purposeless, and anyone who could offer him anything beyond blood was worth his while.

[listenerlachance]

     “I find your etiquette refreshing.” his smile is pleased “Find yourself shelter, and I will find you,” with a flick of his wrist, he produces from his sleeve a dagger so black it seems to be only crawling gold against his gloved hand. He spins it, blade in his grip, hilt towards his hopeful recruit. “Here. You have waited a long time - but you have been patient, and not idle, so please - accept this gift. It is the Blade of Woe, newly forged and virgin to blood - blessed by the Void. It will serve one such as you well - and make a fine quill with which to sign your contract.”

Rarely a recruiting goes so smoothly, and it’s a change that he does not mind. His voice takes on a softer edge. “Do not rush yourself. Your new family shall be patient for you as you have for us. Just a little longer, and you shall know the Night Mother’s embrace.”

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

He takes the blade without hesitation, turning it over in his hands before gripping the hilt tightly. Some part of him could feel it humming, thirsting for blood, speaking to him as Duskfang often did. It had a different ‘voice’, but yes, this blade would suit him well. He tucked it into his black robes, dipping his head respectfully to Lucien with a crooked grin spreading over his face. “I feel she will soon taste blood as often as the one who holds her,” he only half-joked, carefully stroking the fabric that hid his new weapon. The Blade of Woe.. certainly not a name that rolled off the tongue as easily as Duskfang or Umbra, but just as deadly in the right hands. And his hands were oh so deadly.

“I will.. try my best not to rush, sir. I have an eternity of time at my disposal- I suppose an extra day or two will not kill me… but it is best not to keep Sithis waiting, yes? I have little intention to delay.” He was getting a family. Something about that dug itself into him, a warm, eager uneasiness, a mix of emotions bubbling inside of him. He had never had a family- and had begun thinking he never would. “I am.. quite eager to proceed, sir.”

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

Gleaming ember eyes widen at his comment, and his mouth parts in surprise, but the words fail to come as he wishes, apart from a (very embarrassing) strangled squeak. He blinks a few times, then tucks his sword away and reaches out, brushing his fingertips against Lucien’s shoulder- flinching as soon as he makes contact and pulling back like he had been hurt.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you,” he eventually manages, whispering as if he’s afraid Lucien might disappear. He holds his hands close to his chest, almost defensively, afraid to move closer. This is happening. The man before him is more real than any figment of his mind, and he is offering the only thing Nelaryn has wanted for years. “And here you are, just… handing it to me?” 

He straightens then, steely resolve curling its fingers around his spine. “Tell me what I have to do. Anything.”

[listenerlachance]

     The half-touch tells Lucien all he could want to know and more. He holds out his hand, inviting it again. He deals with so many recruits that jump at shadows and slink around like feral animals, and like animals he coos and cajoles and soothes them to eat from his hand, to accept the love that he is ready to give to any child of the Night Mother, any new sibling. As Speaker, it is through him Her will is done, and so he loves Her children as She does. “The Unholy Matron has been watching you, dear child - She has taken Her time, but She has had Her reasons - and She has not been displeased.”

When he comes in the night he tells people what they want to hear - his voice drips like honey and his words are just as sticky; they have a way of clinging, the taste of them lingering. His smile is just as sweet. “Such enthusiasm. On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen - here you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood, will be complete. I do not just hand out anything - but for you, I think, it will be no real challenge.”

[nelaryn-archive-blog]

Nelaryn eyes him warily for a moment, then very carefully places his hand in Lucien's. His touch his feather-soft and jittery, and he allows his thumb to brush over Lucien's fingers several times before drawing back, holding his hand again in a sort of awed silence. The feeling of warmth was by this point unusual to him (unless leeched from a stiffening corpse, one who could not deny him his affections, his need for company. But corpses were hardly good conversation partners.) This man's honeyed words were definitely intended to be so, but they did their trick anyways; the Dunmer couldn't help but be snared by his voice, and the promises it held. It had been so long, so very very long since anyone- no. Best not to dwell on such things. Lucien LaChance had soothing words and a sweet smile, and Nelaryn could only hope those things didn't prove fatal with the passing of time.

"I know the place. You are correct, it will be no challenge. I will see it done, sir," he mumbled, quietly routing his path in his head. "And when Rufio lies dead, what would you have me do?" He highly doubted he would say no to anything at this point. Brotherhood or no, he was alone and purposeless, and anyone who could offer him anything beyond blood was worth his while.

[diivinejusticiar-deactivated201]

{{ Grumpy lemon

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