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@quanalil
reblog this if i can tumblr im you, just slamming a muse or plot idea down in front of you
this doesn’t mean that you have to accept or agree with the idea - i’m just a scared little turtle that would like to know if that’s something that you wouldn’t mind so much
> I live! I have a full-time job now and I am constantly exhausted so my ability to do creative things has been severely depleted, but I did make a Quanalil in HeroForge recently so. Ta-da!
Also: local slimy bastard vampire makes appearance in D&D game as a red herring NPC, more at 11
reblog if you are firmly against the use of AI in roleplay spaces. this is not the place for AI-written drivel or generated images.
@dragxnsfire replied:
Their little dance set Anovis's teeth on edge, lips drawing thin as he passed a hand over a green-runed tome— one of his great-grand uncle's, from long, long before he was born; it reeked of Apocrypha, but he didn't get to be picky about his research materials. "Most people are," he shot back, "given your nature and your patron. You wouldn't know about the House of Troubles, but we Dunmer all learn of them." He traced a triangle— shoulder, shoulder, forehead— before returning to organizing his books. Anovis swallowed֫— hard— at the continued mockery, squeezing his eyes shut, his hands glowing hot with magic. Who did this leech think he was, exactly? "No," he said, voice finding a new bite. "You may not have a single drop of my blood; even if I liked you— which, to be clear, I do not— I am in no state to bleed." He opened the book at his side, glowing green cubes rising from the pages. Glyphics. Just what he needed to draw out memories from his time on Solstheim. He turned back to the guest he'd reluctantly accepted, eyes narrowing. "So, you may help yourself to some wine, flin, or water, or you may be on your way, Guild Brother."
This response only seems to fuel Quanalil further, his grin broadening.
"Ohoho, so you do have some bite in you," he remarks with barely-restrained and sinister glee. "That's more like it. I do so love a little spice-" he punctuates the sentence with a false lunge: leaning forward sharply towards Anovis' neck, but letting his teeth snap audibly shut on air after only a few inches of movement. He just wanted to see the smaller mer jump.
Regardless of whether he got that reaction, he'd withdraw with a mean-spirited cackle of laughter to start sauntering towards the exit. "You'll learn to love me eventually~"
|| Dragxnsfire || Indie Multi-muse TES RP, featuring the Dragonborn, the Vestige, and Morrowind-era RP || 21+ || D & D, Baldur's Gate, LOTR, and Dragon Age AU blog
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quanalil:
“Aw, nothing witty to say~?” the vampire croons, returning the dagger he’d been using to pick the steel claws of his gloves clean to its sheath at his hip. Leaning back, he all but drapes himself over the back of the chair he waited in, clearly making himself comfortable. Provocative: goading. He accepts the satchel with a surprising degree of delicacy, tucking it amongst his things with a low hum.
He simply sits, then, waiting for a reaction to his lingering presence. A grin curls across his face when he gets that reaction: a flash of wicked teeth.
“I’m glad you asked,” he purrs. “There is indeed something else I require, but we’re having so much fun here. Why don’t you try to guess?”
Anoivs continued to focus— perhaps a bit too hard— on his work, at least for a moment. “No,” he retorted simply, before turning back to the thief. “I don’t have much interest in banter, usually. Especially not with one with teeth like yours.” He shifted, ears flicking as he watched his visitor drape himself over a chair— one Anovis himself had grown not a few months prior, his finest work at the time. “We Telvanni aren’t afraid of much, but—” he drew a short breath— “that doesn’t mean we want vampires around our tower. Especially when we have elder family members visiting.”
He waited once more for Quanalil to leave, growing more anxious by the moment. Surely there was nothing more here for the vampire— especially if Anovis refused to partake in whatever game he was playing; but the longer he waited, the thinner the Telvanni’s patience became.
“Fine!” he cried, thread of patience finally snapping. “What do you wnat— blood? I’ve got none to offer, so if that’s what you’re after, you’d better get on your way. Gold? I don’t have any of that, either. I returned from Solstheim without a drake to my name. So tell me— it will be easier for both of us.”
The scrape of the chair's feet across the floor, and suddenly the vampire was on his feet- and entirely too close. Well into Anovis' personal space, Quanalil loomed over him with a sinister grin and an unpleasant glint in his ember-glow eyes.
"But you are afraid of me," he all but croons, finding far too much joy in tormenting the Telvanni. He leans slightly closer still, his hands folded neatly behind his back. He clicks the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth in that classic scolding 'tsk tsk' sound, shaking his head slightly.
"Such a terrible host, refusing your guest a drink," he chides. His gaze lingers on the other mer's neck. "You look healthy enough to me to sacrifice at least a little to your dear Guild-Brother."
He leans another inch closer. "I promise I can be gentle."
quanalil:
With similar hound-like loyalty, Quanalil and his own steed- a sturdy black creature called Wraith- followed not far behind the former general in silence. He paused his horse when Manarion came to a halt, side-eyeing him for a few moments before finally speaking.
“Remind me what we’re supposed to be looking for?”
“There is supposed to be a Dragon Burial Mound somewhere around here.” Manarion replied, adjusting his grip on the map so that Quanalil could see. Hurricane took the opportunity to nibble on some snowberry bushes nearby, his tail swishing lazily. “I think on the hills somewhere.” The older Altmer replied.
“Sooooo a mound of dirt, surrounded by conspicuously-placed rocks, on top of another mount of dirt,” he clarifies dryly, his gaze sweeping over the map to take in some of the details once more before returning his attention to their surroundings for sign of their target.
“...Can a dragon become an undead, do you think?”
quanalil:
“You said it, not me. I was merely referring to your height,” Quanalil replies, gesturing vaguely up and down with his dagger for emphasis. Manarion was, after all, a good foot-and-a-half taller than Quanalil himself.
“Does Giant blood run in you as well, or just dragon?”
“Of course you were.” Manarion drawled, still working away at the task at hand and not exactly looking at Quanalil as he spoke. “Why do you ask?” He said, finally pausing to look up at the other Altmer. While he was usually quite willing to talk about things, even genial at times, there were some personal questions that warranted a prickly response from the old High Elf.
Quanalil clicks his tongue, scoffing.
“So testy,” he remarks, going back to helping carve up the slain cat. “I was just teasing you, but I’ll take your answer as a ‘maybe.’ At least if you don’t have Giant blood in you, you certainly have one of their clubs up your ass.”
"Dalamus, you're bleeding." - Quanalil (@quanalil) "Really? No shit?" - Dalamus
the vampires are bickering
quanalil:
Instead of any form of anger or offense, it is smugness that crosses Quanalil’s features; his lip curling not in a snarl, but in a wicked grin.
“No offense taken. You’re welcome. Greedy, overconfident little wretch, that one… his excuse of a coven was pathetic,” he drawls, finally stepping forward out of the treeline and into the light to approach the fire. He halts again a comfortable distance from the little campfire, crosses his ankles, and allows his legs to just fold under him: dropping from standing to sitting cross-legged in one easy, fluid motion.
“…Eggs inside of smaller eggs,” he echoes, mulling over this phrase. “…I don’t get it.”
Anovis’s heart clenched, and he prodded at the fire more fiercely, brows furrowed as he stabbed at the dying embers. The wicked grin across the vampire’s face was almost an insult; a reminder that the bloodsuckers couldn’t really empathize with their victims— at least, not in the Telvanni’s mind. “Pathetic or not, he tore dozens of families apart. Not just my own. I wouldn’t be proud of it myself.”
He watched the vampire sit, and he tave a soft huff. “You don’t have to ‘get it’,” Anovis retorted with a slight, lop-sided smile. “I’m Telvanni; we explore what could be, what might never be— anything that seems too strange for any regular mage. But think about it! Could be a useful way to, say, protect kwama eggs— they’re rare enough as it is, and with an extra layer, they’d be near-guaranteed to stay safe!” The silver-haired mage’s smile fell, and he waved a hand.
“Listen, don’t give it too much thought. We’re still working on it. How to communicate it.”
The sense of triumph in Quanalil’s expression completely evaporates, morphing into a deadpan stare.
“You are rather dense, aren’t you,” he utters dryly, eyes halved. “I said ‘you’re welcome.’ Because I’m the reason Piquine is gone. Him, and his coven. I killed him.”
He huffs. “So this magic of yours is only useful on eggs, is that what you’re saying? Does it have any practical application for other things? I was of the impression you were working on magic using eggs, not magic for eggs.”
dragxnsfire·:
Anovis’s breath caught in his throat; he hadn’t wanted to speak it aloud— it only reminded him that he would never see his love again, that she was well and truly gone. But he nodded silently, and looked down at the little fire he’d built, and his soaking socks drying on a spindly tree branch. “Right. To a vampire,” he repeated quietly. “I hear someone’s killed the leech— Movarth Piquine. Good riddance to him. He— he was a wretched creature, even for a vampire… I hope he’s in Coldharbour right now, suffering at the hands of Molag Bal himself.”
He stopped quickly, though, and looked up at the taller mer. “N-no offense, of course! He just… he took quite a lot from my family.” The wizard swallowed the lump in his throat, glad that Quanalil seemed more interested in ovamancy than making a meal of him.
“Yes,” he said with a small grin, “magic with eggs! Or, rather, magic involving eggs. Eggs inside smaller eggs, that sort of thing.” He waved his hand. “It’s…. convoluted. Difficult to explain. And we’re still working out the kinks, but it’s a fascinating idea, don’t you think?” His smile fell as he moved to sit beside his fire, and poked at it with the end of his staff. “It doesn’t have much use— but I’ve found a way to help the Guild, even now that I’ve moved away from Riften.”
Instead of any form of anger or offense, it is smugness that crosses Quanalil’s features; his lip curling not in a snarl, but in a wicked grin.
“No offense taken. You’re welcome. Greedy, overconfident little wretch, that one... his excuse of a coven was pathetic,” he drawls, finally stepping forward out of the treeline and into the light to approach the fire. He halts again a comfortable distance from the little campfire, crosses his ankles, and allows his legs to just fold under him: dropping from standing to sitting cross-legged in one easy, fluid motion.
“...Eggs inside of smaller eggs,” he echoes, mulling over this phrase. “...I don’t get it.”
quanalil:
“…I don’t eat much, myself,” he remarks after a beat, pulling his dagger from its sheath at his hip and moving to help with the task at hand. “But I’m sure Faendal can help find use for this. Bosmer, you know.”
The elf in question follows Quanalil’s lead to help carve up the dead cat, saying nothing. Many hands make light work: between the three of them, this process likely would not take terribly long at all.
“Besides, I imagine a mer of your stature can eat a fair bit,” Quanalil adds, unable to resist saying something on the matter.
“I do not like to assume things.” Manarion said, as he continued on with his work. He did allow Faendal to help, giving the Bosmer an approving nod. Despite his gruffness, he had recently showed signs of approval and acceptance to Faendal and even Quanalil if they helped out and worked hard. “I am well aware that I am fat.”
“You said it, not me. I was merely referring to your height,” Quanalil replies, gesturing vaguely up and down with his dagger for emphasis. Manarion was, after all, a good foot-and-a-half taller than Quanalil himself.
“Does Giant blood run in you as well, or just dragon?”
quanalil:
As Manarion’s blade plunged into the feline’s neck, two more bolts pierced its hide: this time in the chest, no doubt puncturing its lungs as they became embedded deep into its sandy-coloured fur. Not that it was needed: the Dragonborn’s blow was no doubt already lethal, as blood immediately began to gush from its wound.
This fight was over just as quickly as it had begun, the great cat gurgling a final snarl as it staggered and slumped over onto its side to perish. Quanalil simply straightened, stowing his crossbow once more over his back as he observed the beast’s final seconds.
“Pitiful.”
Manarion rumbled idly in response, neither an agreement or a disagreement. while he eyed the sabrecat’s corpse with a slightly tilted head. After a moment, he kneeled down, grabbed a dagger from his boot and started to set to work skinning the beast. He was a practical mer; food was there, they could sell the pelt, teeth, and eyes. “Hope you are going to be hungry later.”
“...I don’t eat much, myself,” he remarks after a beat, pulling his dagger from its sheath at his hip and moving to help with the task at hand. “But I’m sure Faendal can help find use for this. Bosmer, you know.”
The elf in question follows Quanalil’s lead to help carve up the dead cat, saying nothing. Many hands make light work: between the three of them, this process likely would not take terribly long at all.
“Besides, I imagine a mer of your stature can eat a fair bit,” Quanalil adds, unable to resist saying something on the matter.
16. What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?
WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS
Anyone and everyone, honestly. Any disagreement he's had with a person would probably crop up in those internal arguments, regardless of whether or not he "won" the initial disagreement. He likely also practices debates in his head to get out of potentially being caught Committing Crimes by a guard. Most interesting, however? He'd occasionally have mental arguments with his parents, and over things they've never discussed.
What’s the lie your character says most often?
WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS
I mean, Quanalil lies all the goddamn time. It's an integral part of his survival, to get away with being a vampire, thief, and assassin. But for a more meaningful answer...
"I don't care."
He pretends not to care about anything or anyone, but that's not really true. He is not a particularly emotional, affectionate, or compassionate person, but that doesn't mean he is entirely devoid of feeling. There are people he cares about and would grieve the loss of, if only in private. He has a soft spot for children, though he would never admit it: he does not feel nothing, when desperate orphans like Sofie of Windhelm beg for coin. Quanalil is not a good person, to be clear, but there exists a heart in him, however blackened it may be.
17. What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?
WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS
The thing he notices first is his forehead and his facial scars. He has a bit of a Widow's Peak, and he thinks his forehead is too tall, but any hairstyle that might mask either one, he can't stand. He also has some minor scars that he does not care for and thinks are far more prominent than they actually are.
I imagine that, however, most people are too busy looking at his eyes to notice these things. His tattoo and use of very dark and heavy eye paint really draws attention to the eyes, and combined with the way his vampirism affects the colour, he has an intense gaze.
