The Arians

❛ ║ norokyolsil.

His pitiful demeanor would be more satasfying if she herself weren’t in a similar state. However she has worn clothing of a warmer persuasion since coming to Skyrim, and therefore isn’t the shivering mess he is.

The memories of an evening worse than this come to mind, when Falkreath awoke one morning and found a third of their residents passed. “We’re lucky,” she says. “Dawnstar and Winterhold see this every day.” A fact she would not know, had he not sent her to those frozen hells on gods forsaken missions. The very memories of those places chills her.

ICloser to the fire she scoots, boots mere inches from the flickering wisps. She has never minded the heat. With a sideways glance she asks, in a nearly inaudible murmur, “Was it like this where you grew up?”

❛ NOT THIS COLD. ❜ And it’s spoken through grit teeth and a level voice —- as level as he can manage to make it when his shuddering his made it FAR past his throat and up into his very head. He pauses for a moment in his speech. She can wait. He must pull himself together before he continues SPEAKING, lest she really judge him more than her usual sum. In that pause does he himself move an inch closer to the fire, curling into himself and the BLANKET around his body, allowing no room for the cold of the wind to creep in and dig its cold claws into him.

❛ High Rock was more temperate than this, by far. ❜ To have to DREDGE up old and faded memories of his birthlands seems strange to him, now, so many decades away from them all, so many EXPERIENCES between it all. And having never thought of them for years, the webs glide ‘round his memory; he squints at the flames. ❛ I liked it better than NORTHERN Skyrim, that’s for sure. One of the reasons I try not to go up there. ❜

#mxrcer #v; the past is in the past #t; untitled

Ella remains frozen and silent as she listens, only her eyes moving as they dart from flame to his. With each biting gust she ducks her head down and shivers, each as violent as the last. The fire does well to warm her, but stillness combats its effects. There is no room to move in the cave, though, so she sits in dismay in the clammy coldness.

In the quiet, enduring what she hates most about the gods-forsaken country, it is difficult to imagine why she left Hammerfell. The Redguards had few qualms with her. They adored her uncle. It was her home. Why did she ever leae?

"I hate the North," she whispers. "All of Skyrim, actually. As soon as I have enough money, I'm moving back home. To warmth, and sanity, and class. Gods know these Nords have none."

A Galaxy of Spies [SW AU w/ norokyolsil]

Ella watches from the corner of her eye, paying attention to both the Padawan and Master. The charged, dark movements of the elder set her on edge. She could guess what he was reading; what she had been living.

She guides the ship into a descent. The planet does look barren, but she knows better. If she had her sister’s talents, she would be able to feel the hundreds of souls beneath the surface.

Her expression matches the zabrak’s, brows raised and lips pursed in utter puzzlement. “Yes. Wildoak. Have you been here before?”

As both look at him, Anarion shrank back a little, blinking. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… Yes. I was born here. But– Elweth Wildoak, that’s my mother’s name.”

Bren breathed in quietly, then looked at Ella. “This complicates things. If the Empire has access to the Jedi Archives, and discovers we escaped, then we won’t be able to stay here for long.”

Anarion blinked again, wincing. “I-I’m not sure that’s the only complication… She’s my mother.”

Bren gave a small sigh, and moved the youth’s chair to look at him. “Yes. I know. For now, you need to just focus… We may be guaranteeing ourselves hospitality. We may be walking into a trap. If you aren’t focused, you won’t know the difference.”

Anarion didn’t look convinced, but he breathed out slowly, and nodded, seeming determined to at least try things Bren’s way.

#wewillnotbow #v;sw #t; a galaxy of spies

Ella had been in many a stressful situation, but this was a new level. Showing up to an ambush wouldn't be a problem if she were alone; soliders fell over their feet to appease her, a High Colonel and daughter of a Sith.

"Get in the back," she says. "I'm going to cuff you when we land. If we meet Troopers, I'll figure out how to get you free. If not, all is well." Regardless of the calm she tried to exude, her breath shook. Her feet tapped an irregular rhythm onto the metal floor.

In wavering tones she asks, "Try and focus, please? I'd love it if you could tell me what we're walking into. If you can't, though, that's okay." Her eyes watch the monitor. There is not a flicker onscreen. Shee doesn't let her guard down.

❛ ║ norokyolsil.

A bemused expression tilts her lips, despite that she is still cold and sore. She flips down her hood and allows her curls to spill free. The touch is like ice and she pushes them over her shoulder so that the warmth of the fire will melt the sheen of frost clinging to it.

Watching him brings back memories of an old hunt, during which she had caught sight of a baby whitetail making its first trek into the outside world. It shook as he does now, and looked just as miserable. Rarely does she act kind towards those that annoy her, but she considers this an exception. Besides, letting your boss die is a surefire way to loose your job.

With no words nor a single look at him, she unclips her blanket from the pack and rolls it towards him. “I grew up in the desert,” she says softly, “And even I am not so cold. Are you alright?”

BUT HE’S TOO cold to shoot back a distasteful comment, perhaps some off-color remark about how she’s cold enough anyways not to be COLD, about how she belongs in this weather: but he does not escape to narrows his eyes and glare towards her. His lips are FAR too cold to do anything but press against each other, as though to seal the warm air in his mouth might somehow KEEP his extremities just as warm.

He doesn’t want to accept the blanket. To ACCEPT it would surely be to show her that he, for the first time in his life, really does need her help. He doesn’t want to SHOW her that, doesn’t want her to know that she’ll help him immensely, doesn’t want him thinking he’s weak. But he shakes so much just THINKING about the comfort he rejects that he soon reaches over for the roll. Unrolling it carelessly, he soon wraps it around his SHOULDERS and buries half of his face into it.

His gaze returns to the fire. He is all right —— he’s only cold, that’s it. Anything that REACHES his bones plagues him severely: the chill fingers of death included. And he glares at the fire for some time before finally GLANCING towards Ella, before his soft murmur. ❛ I don’t like this weather. ❜

#mxrcer #v; the past is in the past #t; untitled

His pitiful demeanor would be more satasfying if she herself weren't in a similar state. However she has worn clothing of a warmer persuasion since coming to Skyrim, and therefore isn't the shivering mess he is.

The memories of an evening worse than this come to mind, when Falkreath awoke one morning and found a third of their residents passed. "We're lucky," she says. "Dawnstar and Winterhold see this every day." A fact she would not know, had he not sent her to those frozen hells on gods forsaken missions. The very memories of those places chills her.

ICloser to the fire she scoots, boots mere inches from the flickering wisps. She has never minded the heat. With a sideways glance she asks, in a nearly inaudible murmur, "Was it like this where you grew up?"

A Galaxy of Spies [SW AU w/ norokyolsil]

Hands move over straps and buckles, safely holding the woman to her seat. She had once made the mistake of not doing so once. Her wrist still ached where it had broken and long healed. “No.” She smiles at the Padawan, and checks that he is all settled. “They are silent in their dissention, a wise decision. They go along with the new order, and quietly plan lend hand to the rebels. It is a slow path to success, but it assures their success. Now, ready yourself.” Bren is good, she notes, and pulls the throttle into lightspeed. A few seconds later, they emerge on the outskirts of the new planet. There are no Imperial patrols nearby, but she takes care as she heads to the waypoint. “Her name is Elweth,” she tells the Jedi. “She is a good friend. We’ve been working on saving you all since Order 66. You will be safe here.”

Anarion nodded, making sure he was fastened in, but wincing as they made the jump to hyperspace. He breathed out in relief when they were in normal space again, and cast an eye back to Bren, as if to see if the older Jedi had noticed his reaction, but the Zabrak was hunched over the datapad with a dark expression on his face. The youth decided, instead, to look at the planet.

“There’s not a lot there… I don’t even see any settlements. Just– desert.” His eyes flicked over its surface, widening with surprise. He had expected something a little more… well, not this, from the place he was born. “I thought this was a mining planet… It looks so barren.”

At the name, though, he looked at her, his expression shocked. “Did– did you say Elweth? Is… her last name Wildoak?”

That brought Bren out of his reading. He gave Anarion a curious look, then glanced expectantly at Ella for a reply. “You know this friend, Padawan?”

#v; sw #t; a galaxy of spies #wewillnotbow

She guides the ship into a descent. The planet does look barren, but she knows better. If she had her sister's talents, she would be able to feel the hundreds of souls beneath the surface.

Her expression matches the zabrak's, brows raised and lips pursed in utter puzzlement. "Yes. Wildoak. Have you been here before?"

memeroundups

Send ‘rough touch’

memeroundups:

and the generated outcome will be used for a small drabble scenario or starter { tw violence, possible noncon/dubcon implications, nsfw }

Your muse throws a punch at mine.

My muse throws a punch at yours.

Your muse suddenly grips my muse’s hair.

My muse suddenly grips your muse’s hair.

Your muse roughly grabs my muse’s arm.

My muse roughly grabs your muse’s arm.

Your muse grips my muse’s hips.

My muse grips your muse’s hips.

Your muse wraps their hands tightly around my muse’s neck.

My muse wraps their hands tightly around your muse’s neck.

Your muse slams mine against a wall hard.

My muse slams yours against a wall hard.

Your muse pushes my muse to their knees.

My muses pushes your to their knees.

Your muse bites mine.

My muse bites yours.

Your muse clutches their hand tightly around my muse’s mouth to silence them.

My muse clutches their hand tightly around your muse’s mouth to silence them.

Your muse grabs my muse’s wrists.

My muse grabs their muse’s wrists.

Your muse attempts to shove away mine.

My muse attempts to push off yours.

Your muse roughly kisses mine.

My muse roughly kisses yours.

Your muse pins mine onto the ground.

My muse pins yours to the ground.

Your muse delivers beatings to mine.

My muse delivers beatings to yours.

Your muse breaks my muse’s arm.

My muse breaks your muse’s arm.

Mun chooses.

#ask meme

❛ ║ norokyolsil.

She counts in her mind the seconds until he moves from the frostbitten mouth of the cave to the warmth of the fire; forty two and he finally swallows his pride. It always amuses her to see how far he will go to protect his ridiculous ego.

For a few minutes more she breathes and sows the reward of the flames. Her heart quells its rapidfire rhythm, her cheeks turn from ashen to flushed. When her fingers have once again gained feeling she sits up and removes her pack. She opens and overturns it, spilling forth their food.

Her pale eyes, painted golden by the firelight, hold onto his. “Eat. You look worse than death.”

HIS GAZE MOVES from her own to the food, but he doesn’t move for at least half a minute. Seldom do his eyes stray but to look TOWARDS the crackling flames for the length of a heart’s beat before he’s back to looking at the food again. He’s hungry, but MOVING too early or too often will just cause him to freeze right up again, and he’s not one to like that very much. Before, he’d been FAR too deeply pleased with himself to let her know that he suffered even a blink of pain, but the cold has sucked the resolve STRAIGHT out of him. Now, he only wants to stop shaking.

Which he does, for the most part, by the time he REACHES for a roll of bread. No words escape him before he begins eating; instead, he merely moves closer to the fire && GLARES back towards it.

#mxrcer #t; untitled #v; the past is in the past #'TOUGHEN UP'

With no words nor a single look at him, she unclips her blanket from the pack and rolls it towards him. "I grew up in the desert," she says softly, "And even I am not so cold. Are you alright?"

❛ ║ norokyolsil.

Ella follows after in a similar fashion, though her expression conveys little of the hastle. Too tired is she now to show anything beyond her normal complacency. The cave isn’t large, just a shallow and short gouge into the hillside. It is deep enough that if they retreat far back, the cold won’t be much a concern.

She dismounts her horse haphazardly, knees shaking once her frost covered boots touch the ground. Her immediate impulse is an ancient one, from thousands of years ago when man was not so mannish, and hibernated come winter. She wants to lay down and sleep, just rest for as long as is possible. But that will only end in death.

From Brego’s side pack she retrieves a large bundle. The smartest thing she brought- three logs. They are large enough to provide some hours of warmth, but not for the whole night. Eventually, they will have to enter the storm again.

It takes five minutes for her shaking hands to set the logs, surround them with stone, and create the fire. Not flames does she see when they spring up, but life. Warmth. Then she simply sighs, and lays down beside the fire, as close as safety permits. It feels like sunlight.

HE WATCHES AS she makes the fire, making no move to come towards her: it seems to him as though she is content to do it HERSELF, though his actions are also colored with selfishness ( he doesn’t want to help, doesn’t want to move from his spot against the CAVE wall ). Everything he touches seems to be warmer than him, but it’s still the chilling touch of the storm that he feels CRAWLING beneath his skin to enter his veins and surge into his core. He’s shaking —- almost uncontrollably so, having never taken much LIKING to the cold —- and it makes him feel as though he’s exposed to her and to the rest of the world.

Dropping his head, he finally shoves aside some of his DIGNITY and moves towards the fire, where she’s already taken to lying next to and reaping its warmth. A good idea. And he SETTLES himself next to her, glancing towards her for another fleeting moment before curling up, an arm around his knees, and SCOOTING nearer the flames. The heat produced is evident, though he still shakes for quite some time, nose buried in the BONES of his knees until he can finally move without much tremor at all, until he can lay himself by her && push his face into his KNEES instead.

#mxrcer #v; the past is in the past #t; untitled

Her pale eyes, painted golden by the firelight, hold onto his. "Eat. You look worse than death."

rpmememaker

Write a “roses are red, violets are blue” poem and send it to my muse.

#ask meme #aweeh

ohcaptainmycaptain1918

If you lost me in a crowd, what "offensive" thing could you yell that'd be GUARANTEED to track me down? :P

#ask meme #pfttt

Okay! I will not be on till Tuesday but imma try to get replies done, as I finally found my reply list. I owe: hardbittenhearts scalesandsecrets wayofthevxice

#outofdragons

A Galaxy of Spies [SW AU w/ norokyolsil]

norokyolsil:

“Everything on the new channel is a lie,” she mutters. Her hands move over the controls, now guiding the craft into the air. The atmosphere slips by, and the ground further away. “If it says a planet is dangerous, assume that it is safe. The new criminals are any loyalists, members of the Order, and anyone who opposes their rule.”

Ella looks down at the map and she beams, because finally something is working out in their favor. This is a planet she knows. A planet on which an old friend resides, and where their safety is guranteed. “It’s perfect,” she chirrups.

Into the computer she types the coordinates. At warp-speed, they’ll be there in just an hour. “I know someone there. She will give you two room and board for as long as you need.”

Bren chuckled at her description, and nodded as Anarion handed back the datapad. “Sounds about right… That will do fine. Trusting your judgment on this.” He moved to the back, taking the datapad with him. “Strap in for lightspeed, Padawan. I’ve got some reading and watching to do.”

Anarion watched Bren go, then settled into the chair next to Ella, staring at all the dials and buttons in front of him. From somewhere in his memory, the names and functions of a lot of them sprung to mind, listed off in rote memorization. It was a nice distraction from… well, from the anxiety building up every second they stayed in the planet’s orbit.

“If the people on the planet oppose the Empire, won’t it be watched?” he asked quietly.

#v; sw #t; a galaxy of spies #wewillnotbow

Hands move over straps and buckles, safely holding the woman to her seat. She had once made the mistake of not doing so once. Her wrist still ached where it had broken and long healed. "No." She smiles at the Padawan, and checks that he is all settled. "They are silent in their dissention, a wise decision. They go along with the new order, and quietly plan lend hand to the rebels. It is a slow path to success, but it assures their success. Now, ready yourself." Bren is good, she notes, and pulls the throttle into lightspeed. A few seconds later, they emerge on the outskirts of the new planet. There are no Imperial patrols nearby, but she takes care as she heads to the waypoint. "Her name is Elweth," she tells the Jedi. "She is a good friend. We've been working on saving you all since Order 66. You will be safe here."

Me: accidentally says something that implies I have emotions

Me: oh no

#about cynric

A Galaxy of Spies [SW AU w/ norokyolsil]

Ella hastily slides into her seat and codes in the starting sequence. The ship hums to life and she instinctively scans the programs, checks that all diagnostics are in the clear. As usual, they are.

“Two minutes,” she tells them. “The booster fuel needs to mix, and the coils need to heat. I’m sorry. These ships are built for cargo transport, not speed.” She casts a glance over her shoulder, takes note of how awkward they look.

As the mechanic systems boot up she moves to the back, gives Bren a handheld. Her eyes never meet his. “Read up. You’re not a Jed anymore. Not if you want to live.” Back to the front she drifts, giving Anarion a cursory look over as she does. She can’t get his familiarity out of her head. “You. Do you have any safe havens in mind, or shall I choose?”

Bren snorted, taking the device. “Jedi is sort of a life-long commitment, Ella…” he muttered, looking it over. He could no more stop being Jedi than he could stop being Zabrak, but saying that would take more time than they had at the moment.

His eyes flicked over the news bulletin on his screen, looked like some kind of daily update on … wait, was this the only holo channel left? Some Imperial propaganda station? He squinted at it as he continued to read. It was typical, as propaganda pieces went, all about the glorious Empire, squashing rebel insurrections , etc. etc. but he definitely noticed the large-print at the bottom reminding all Imperial citizens that the Jedi Order were dangerous, traitorous criminals to be hunted and reported on sight. There were places to go to remind said citizens of the full story. He resisted the temptation to go there, yet, and began to flick through data for possible safe systems instead. Bringing up a few, he handed the device to Anarion, who was staring at Ella wide-eyed.

“You want me to choose where to go?” Anarion asked, blinking. He glanced between them, then took the datapad and stared at it, hesitantly paring down a few planets. “Um… This one’s my birth planet. It’s close by. But I– You know I don’t really remember my family that well… I don’t know if it’s safe.” He read through the information, then said, “It says it’s full of criminals. That doesn’t sound good.”

#wewillnotbow #v; sw #t; a galaxy of spies

"Everything on the new channel is a lie," she mutters. Her hands move over the controls, now guiding the craft into the air. The atmosphere slips by, and the ground further away. "If it says a planet is dangerous, assume that it is safe. The new criminals are any loyalists, members of the Order, and anyone who opposes their rule."

Into the computer she types the coordinates. At warp-speed, they'll be there in just an hour. "I know someone there. She will give you two room and board for as long as you need."

A Galaxy of Spies [SW AU w/ norokyolsil]

Ella watches with jaw agape, eyes lowered as the two perform a feat that many men could not. Her cheeks are flushed, lips pulled. It is a terrible thing to feel upset upon witnessing their talent, but she does. Twenty-six years she had been privy to the talents of Forcelings; her whole damn family is full of jedi and rogues alike. She is the odd one out, the weakling born with a midi-chlorian count that was laughable.

‘No. Anger and jealousy are the path to the dark side. Don’t think like that.’

“Yes,” she answers. “This way, young one.” The young one that looked familiar, despite that she had never seen him before. The boy who eerily resembled someone she had met on her travels, but who’s name escaped her.

She shoulders her pack and takes off loping across the dark, dead ground. Running from the tomb and the jedi, running from their presence and constant reminder that every day, their brethren were dying.

The two set off behind her, Bren keeping in the back, with a watchful eye around them. When they reached the ship, he stood with his saber hilt in hand, ready in case they had any unexpected company.

“Hope your ship’s ready,” he said, glancing back. “Anarion, you get inside, quickly.”

The boy nodded, and ducked inside. Once the two others were in, he backed through the door, then sealed it shut. No trouble… yet. The two stood awkwardly inside, until Anarion drifted over to Ella–and the cockpit–with a sense of urgency.

“How long until we’re in the air?” Anarion asked.