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@septimdynasty
William Ritter, Jackaby
-smooches his cheek-
wow ... bretons are so friendly
𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 / 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. when the jester comes calling with his knife in the night. independent and selective cicero from the elder scrolls series. written by georgia. non-roleplayers do not reblog.
By Artem Arutyunov ©
Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha
Submitted by frostzen.
are amulets of mara only used in skyrim because the concept of travellers from other provinces wearing them without knowing the meaning and getting constantly hit on is hilarious
The Happy Warrior - George Frederic Watts
.:|| MARTIN ||:.
‵ ———— ﹥ @xdefending // ♦ :
What once was lost…
The streets are relatively quiet as she strides through the large double wooden doors of Whiterun’s gate this morning, footfalls soft yet confident against the pavement. The first thing she makes note of is a blacksmith forge along with the reminder to have her armor serviced later, once she’s changed her wardrobe and settled for the evening at the nearest inn. The few pedestrians that are about pause briefly as she passes, lingering stares pressed in slight bewilderment to her figure. She does not begrudge them for it, nor so much as acknowledge it. She is well aware of how out of place she appears, donned in aged armor that one doesn’t find just anywhere these days – especially in this cold, hard-ironed province.
She only keeps her molten brown gaze fallen comfortably on the road as she makes her way toward the Market District. With a single sweep of a glance, she acquaints herself with the layout of the territory before she climbs the steps to the Bannered Mare and opens the door, the permeation of ale and stale bread immediately assaulting her nose. With only a brief pause to survey the area, she locates the barkeep and shuts the door behind her as she approaches an available stool, an exhale of relief given as she takes her perch, her rose colored tresses bouncing lightly with the motion.
The barkeep cants her head and scrutinizes the stranger, who takes a moment to fish a small handful of coin from a satchel before setting it on the table, “I’ll take some water, please.” The Bosmer’s voice is soft, yet littered with rasped undertones that come with exhaustion and dehydration. With a nod, the barkeep accepts the payment offered and disappears behind a door to fetch the drink.
Lorelei can feel stares on the back of her head, gauged ears giving a faint twitch at the sound of whispers. Her eyes roll, resisting the urge to tell them all to mind their own, but it is far too early in the morning to cause a scene, and the sooner she quenches her thirst, the sooner she can purchase a room and simply trade the troubles of the world for slumber, if only for a short while.
.:x– @septimdynasty –x:.
𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, he could not say. he had never even considered travelling north prior to this, always preferring the green forests of cyrodiil to the mossy tundra and snow laden mountains skyrim was known for. it was luck then that his temporary companions would pass near the hold of whiterun on their way west, the warm sun and cool air unexpected but not unwelcome. it reminded him of kvatch. reminded him of home.
business had led him to whiterun, he claimed, as he bid the caravan farewell. selling small artefacts from the third era, akaviri and the like. incredibly rare and sought after. he was lying through his teeth, of course, not entirely sure if the items on his person were worth even a single gold coin. the fact that he knew precious little of this new world frightened him. terrified him, truly. but at least in skyrim his questions could be seen as nothing more than the uninformed probing of an outsider. at least in skyrim he could claim ignorance.
despite some rather obvious swindling from whiterun’s general merchant, he left the shop with more than he could have hoped for. enough to comfortably sustain himself for a short time, at least, until he found suitable work. he would have made work his first priority, if it wasn't for his body shuddering with fatigue and pangs of hunger. the smell of baked bread and stewed meat pouring from the nearby tavern was quite enticing, even more so as he made his way closer. patrons came and went, paying him little mind as he entered. that was fine, he thought. i prefer it that way.
hardly lifting his head, he approached the table nearest the kitchen and sat, rummaging through his satchel for one of the historical tomes he purchased. the tavern's serving girl passed his table not a minute later, but not before offering him the choice of food, drink, or lodging. lowering his book, he pondered for a moment before answering.
❝ ——— a mug of mead with some beef stew would be lovely. thank you. ❞
everyone: you’re the emperor’s son and it’s your destiny to save the world from mehrunes dagon! martin: uh ... ok *shatters the amulet of kings and dies* martin: *is brought back during the fourth era by akatosh* everyone: you’re the dragonborn of legend and it’s your destiny to save the world from alduin!! martin:
Akatosh: I have saved another from the sinful path of Daedric Worship.
Sanguine: You fucked up a perfectly good Septim is what you did. Look at it. It’s got anxiety.
my favourite oblivion character who absolutely did not die :)
I feel far away from everyone,
Giovanni Papini, tr. by Roberta L. Payne, from Bread & Wine; “Alone,” (via violentwavesofemotion)
brussels, belgium
sorry for not writing or posting much, depression stole my motivation like the mythic dawn stole the amulet of kings. all i gotta do is work hard and perform a ritual with rare objects to get it back!!
akatosh: listen up you little shits
akatosh: not you, martin, you’re an angel and we’re delighted to have you here