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serpentine oc rp blog written by daniel r.

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about tore - the terrible dragon priest reviving the old cult in style

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[skjeggestads]

❱❱❱  @fire-hearted || “Yeah. What are you going to do? Kill me?“

from [ bbc merlin : season 1 … sentence starters ] || accepting

“I would really rather not,” said Vith coolly. “Imagine the mess I would have to clean up. I’m merely suggesting that you should consider being more careful in the future.”

The warning sounded gentle, almost friendly - Vith’s voice was lilting, serene, the calm and strong voice of a skald. It could be mistaken by a less intuitive person to be a genuinely caring interaction. But beneath the warm facade was a cold edge, the drip of poison, a warning to the other Atmoran priest that he was fully willing and capable of using this little alteraction to his own benefit - should he need to.

[rpmemes-galore]

bbc merlin : season 1 … sentence starters

“Can you heal him?“

“Are you lying to me?”

“Did you ever study magic?”

“I know magic when I see it.“

“You can’t address me like that.“

“Are you not fond of old crypts?“

“Perhaps, but have you any proof?“

“So, how is it that you know magic?”

“What’s the point if it can’t be used?“

“I saw what you did. It was so brave.”

“I pride myself as a fair and just king.”

“Haven’t you had your fill of revenge?“

“Whatever it takes, I will make this right.“

“Everyone thought you were a real hero.”

“It was simple justice for what he’d done.“

“So, killing things mends a broken heart?“

“I thought I told you to get out of my sight.“

“They will do anything you tell them to do.“

“Yeah. What are you going to do? Kill me?“

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a genius?“

“You need to be careful who you say that to.”

“How can you go out there and fight like that?“

“I warn you, I’ve been trained to kill since birth.“

“Come on. Don’t pretend. I know what you did.“

“I don’t see that there’s anything to be jealous of.“

“What did your mother say to you about your gifts?“

“Perhaps if you found someone? If you remarried?”

“You were prepared to sacrifice your life to save me…”

“Okay, let the bragging begin. How did you manage it?“

“You are a question that has never been posed before.”

“You brought that on yourself with the evil you practiced.“

“I’m sure you’d have the pick of any lady in the kingdom.“

“I want you to swear to me what you’re telling me is true.“

“No, no. I’m sure you’re stronger than you look. It’s just…“

“See, you’re too proud to admit you were saved by a girl!“

“Wow. And how long have you been training to be a prat?“

“You are special. The likes of which I’ve never seen before.“

“I saw you fighting today. You have a very aggressive style.“

“No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny.“

“With your swordcraft and this shield, I guarantee you’ll win.“

“It must be so tough for him, with all the… girls and the glory.“

“There is only one evil in this land, but it is not magic. It is you!”

“I just hope it doesn’t involve putting yourself in terrible danger.“

“Well, I’m glad you walked away. You weren’t going to beat him.“

“Poor child. It can’t have been easy to grow up without a mother.“

“I turn to you, for I feel lost and alone and don’t know who to trust.“

“None of us can choose our destiny. And none of us can escape it.”

“I saw how desperate things were becoming. I had to do something.“

“I’m not sure fairness comes into it. You never know, it might be fun.“

“Your magic is not a toy. It’s not for you to use or abuse as you see fit.”

“I believed you. I trusted you. And you made me look a complete fool.“

“You have to show everyone that you were right and they were wrong.“

“I know what it was. I just want to know where you learned how to do it.“

“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do for him. He’s going to die.“

“You see? This is how a true knight behaves. With gallantry and honour.“

“I just don’t think chopping someone’s head off is cause for a celebration.“

“Why does everyone seem to think it’s down to me to do something about it?“

“How long are you going to keep punishing people for what happened, then?“

“But I promise you, before these celebrations are over, you will share my tears.”

“The choice was mine. My punishment is mine to bear, and mine to bear, alone.“

“I’m sure he was merely mistaken. I wouldn’t want him punished on my account.“

“I’m afraid it counts for very little as far as the king is concerned. That’s the way it is.“

“I wouldn’t say I needed exactly saving. I’m sure I would have thought of something.“

“I feel like I’ve put you in danger without stopping to ask how you feel about it. I’m sorry.“

“Would you let something terrible happen if it meant you’d stop something even worse happening in the future?“

“Well… magic requires incantations, spells that take years to study. What I saw you do was elemental. Instinctive.“

“I just came to tell you, whatever you think my destiny is, whatever it is you think I’m supposed to do, you’ve got the wrong person!“

[atonings]

@skjeggestads ♥️’d for a starter

—✕ █ ▌A disheveled appearance observed within his mirrored image, the age of experience taking a toll in the depths of his ashen features. PRESSURE on multiple sides to join with the Orlesian Wardens, a fate of which is far from keen to his sensibilities. Loghain has not forgotten so easily the sins of the last, even if the members of his Order could never truly be held accountable, regardless of region. The Inquisition, however much regarded with EQUAL skepticism, at least had the inclusion of familiar faces backed behind it.

Pensive, his glance is, awaiting the arrival of the so called Inquisitor. Scouts having already spoken of his arrival, but Loghain is not one to rush, to push others on pins and needles towards his goal. Even if the ever present grinding of his jaw seems to speak OTHERWISE. He is at heart a man who knows to appear more patient than he actually is. It is ironic then, that he only stills at the approach of a young Warden beneath his command. He’s here. Loghain steps, almost DELICATELY into the seat of his chair, hands clasped beneath the sharp jut of his jaw. ❝Bring him in.❞ Oh, how quiet and careful words slip from his tongue, a veritable emotion opposite from the fluttering butterflies within his belly.

Loghain is not ACCUSTOMED to parley with Avaar, even now, as a Warden, a man welcoming of all faiths and races. A flicker of curiosity behest in his piercing gaze, but there’s little more than VEILED interest to his name. ❝I am not the best at small talk, but I do hope your journey has not been filled with DANGER.❞

[skjeggestads]

Tore is used to parley. As his hold's Augur, he was expected to be the conduit through which his people spoke to the gods themselves. It does not make him nervous to approach powerful beings and ask them for guidance. He is not nervous now - but he is wary.

Every Warden from the south has disappeared - except these ones. He knows a little of their story from the past ten years, thanks to his advisors. That the Warden who put a stop to the darkspawn attacks recruited Loghain, fought tooth and nail for him to be her Warden-Constable, and then abruptly stepped down, pushing him into the role of Commander of the Grey. That Loghain had been there since, returning the once decimated Order into something worthy of the name again. He's even dimly aware of Loghain's more distant past, though, the squabbling of lowlanders had often passed Tore by in the details. But he's never met the man, nor is his picture entirely complete. He can work with it, but he's used to having more gristle in his mouth to gnaw than this. He sorely wishes his cousin was here instead. Tore had a way with spirits, whilst Thane Isolfr had such a knack with people that blew him away sometimes.

He is brought in before Commander Loghain, and Tore is not surprised much by what he takes as a plain greeting. Not that he's complaining, quite the opposite - he's had enough of Orlesians and Tevinters trying to play games with him, expecting a barbarian instead of a man of Tore's intelligence. A straight-forward man is a refreshing change. Tore extends a hand - a simple gesture that he none-the-less tended not to give, but he felt like this was an appropriate moment. "I appreciate you agreeing to meet me, immeasurably - my journey was uneventful. I'm hoping you'll be able to answer some questions I sorely need the answers to."

He isn't one for small-talk, either.

[skjeggestads]

❱❱❱  starter for @merians from vigdis skjeggestad

When Sigrid came to visit her in her library office in Navis, Vigdis knew it wasn't good news. She knew that expression when she entered the room. She knew that curve to Sigrid's shoulders. Her brother - her precious, stupid big brother - had managed to chase off his wife. Again. Oh, she was going to wring his neck one day! Couldn't he see how wonderful Sigrid was? Never mind, she thought to herself. He could wait. Her poor sister in law could not.

"Oh, bee," said Vigdis, wishing with all her heart she could scoop Sigrid up in her arms without risking killing her. She deserved a hug. "Come sit down. I've got coffee - would you like to nurse a cup and tell me about it?"

[skjeggestads]

Tore and the Civil War

Ultimately, Tore supports the Stormcloak inssurection, but it's not because he's a 'Skyrim for the Nords' type. It's more self-serving than that!

For the moment, I'm not going to comment on the very top of the Stormcloaks, but more on the general trends amongst the rank and file and the civilian supporters. What Ulfric personally believes is irrelevant for the moment.

"The Northern and Western Holds -- Winterhold, Eastmarch, Rift, and the Pale, known collectively as the Old Holds -- remain more isolated, by geography and choice, and the Nords there still hold true to the old ways."

This is the main driving force behind Tore's relationship with the Stormcloaks. He was himself born off of Lake Yorgrim, and when he wakes up again in 4E201, it's the part he more strongly identifies with and recognises. The Old Holds still seem to more strongly identify with the older, more nationalistic identity of Skyrim, with the old Gods and traditions, and Tore seeks to exploit that in his own rise to power. Whilst he is forced to - quite unceremoniously, after his cult are burned out of Bromjunaar - adapt his rhetoric to modern times, his whole ideology is rooted in that old flavour of Skyrim culture and religion.

Boy doesn't call himself 'The Last Atmoran' for nothing.

Point is, he thinks he can leverage that - by loudly supporting the same cause as the people with the most closely aligned belief system to his, he can work to unify the idea of the new Dragon Cult with the Stormcloak Army and the new Skyrim that might be born should the Stormcloaks win. That’s just an impossible sell to the Imperials, but he can appeal to the base that wants an older, more independent form of Skyrim to return. It'd be a sexy and powerful position to be in, to be the religious leader of the new, free Skyrim. He likes that idea a lot.

[skjeggestads]

I know Tore’s name is pronounced tor-uh because he’s my OC and I named him, it’s root is Þorír after all, but my brain insists it’s tore, like ‘tore a piece of paper’, and I’m not over it

[parviocula]

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i got one of those newfangled interest tracker thingies

[skjeggestads]

boosting this again because i have some new followers and i’m thirsty for more interactions

[haevatein]

🔥 ‘ﾟ･ ( sc ) 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 ► @skjeggestads​

“ Welcome to my table, bring your hunger. ” Once more he would pay the man a visit, this time bringing some of his own delectables to be shared. Dried meats (some of which would be frowned upon by mankind ) and mead, and - of course - Sigyn’s sweet bread.

[skjeggestads]

Tore blinked at the god inside his house, lounging with food set out on the table, looking completely delectable. Not at all unlike how he imagined the food of gods might look - miles apart from even the best human foods he could imagine.

“What are we eating?” he asked diplomatically, shucking off his cloak and hanging it up, beating off some of the snow from the bottom. Prep for Jól celebrations with the Jarl had whet his appetite somewhat, but he knew who he was dealing with, and decided best to ask.

His cat, the beautiful idiotic forest cat who had tricked his way into Tore’s house, on some level, seemed to know who was in their house too; he froze at the door with fur puffed and tail thrashing, looking to Tore for comfort.

“Don’t mind Dúnkenndur. He doesn’t like strangers.”

[skjeggestads]

sorry for falling off the face of the planet a bit, Real World Stuff got in the way, but i’m back now!

[skjeggestads]

i got one of those newfangled interest tracker thingies

[skjeggestads]

boosting this again because i have some new followers and i’m thirsty for more interactions

[skjeggestads]

haevatein​:

Whilst he let Tore settle on an answer to the question asked, Loke peered around the house– observing his sorroundings. A traditional viking house from the looks of it. Thick wooden beams for both floor and walls. One room, a large fireplace in the middle. Nothing out of the ordinary– well except maybe for that fat cat staring at the god from the warmth of the fire. Of course animals tend to know and see the presence of that which humans cannot.           The runes and herbs placed around the homestead was a give away to the keen eye that Tore practised the ways of Seiðr, however Loke already knew this. He made his way to the offerings before the Skald; eager to grab himself some of it. More mushrooms lay in one of the bowls, apples and dried meat in another, and– ah– of course, mead in a horn. This man knew how to please the ones he summons.  As he reached out to pick up som of the dried meat, Tore would finally offer his response.             A kindred spirit among the gods, eh? An outcast like Yours Truly, shunned for being who he is. Loke would cheer to that. The smile remained sly in nature, but held more genuine emotion to it. Not that tore could see it yet, but he could be secure in knowing he had given the right answer.            Loke took a bite off the strip of dried meat— venison? And responded in kind, appearing before Tore whilst leaning against the closest wall. 

           “ Well, of course– the magic does not lie in it’s seiðr that’s for sure. ”

He drew in a breath, tight, controlled, and looked upon the god now lounging against his wall, making his home look positively tiny - Tore was not a small man, he had been cracking his forehead off of doorframes since he was a teenager barely growing his first chin-hairs, but he was surprised Loke was capable of standing upright given the height of the ceiling and the height of the god. At the very least, he must be very careful to avoid scraping his head against the rafters. Tore checked one of his questions off of his list - he was definitely a giant.

"I wasn't hallucinating," he said finally, breathless, drawing himself to his full height. A strand of his long, blond hair fell from the bun it was tucked into, but whilst it would have usually bothered him - Tore was fastidious about his appearance, and his fair hair was a point of particular pride - he was too focused on Loke to fix it, too busy drinking in his fill of the sight. "I really did summon you into my home last time. You must accept my apologies for not believing you before - I have had adverse reactions to the mushrooms in the past."

A million things rushed into his head at once, a million questions he'd always wanted to ask of the gods. Were the realms beyond Midgarðr real, and could a mortal visit? How much of his seiðr practice really worked, how much was straw-clutching, and could he learn more potent kinds? Did the other gods hear his prayers? How did they feel about the Christians, who turned their people away from the old ways? How much more of their world, the world beyond Tore, was there for him to explore, to learn about? He had such an insatiable lust for answers, and for the first time in his life, he might actually get some. It was exciting, terrifying, revelatory all at once.

Where did Tore even begin?

"Are my offerings to your satisfaction? I won't have you leaving again from my lack of hospitality; I have so much to ask."

[skjeggestads]

haevatein​:

At least this time the seiðrmaður did not call upon Hveðrungr via the use of mind-altering drugs, perhaps then he should believe in his presence. As fun as it had been to mess with Tore last time, he certainly had not felt truly wanted there– a slight offence committed, but hey– he got some mushroom out of the whole ordeal. Those were put to good use.       As Tore chanted, the Sly God had yet to reveal his physical appearance, only wandering arounf the man; shrouded wih invisibility. The temperature in the room increased from Loke’s presence, and he eyed the offerings set out for him, as a treat for his summoning. crooked a smile grace scarred lips as he continues to walk idly around the mortal, feet as light as feathers against the wooden floor. 

“ Perhaps, now if I were indeed the one they call Loke…     What meaning does his name hold to you?”

His heart leapt as his home suddenly grew a few degrees warmer, and a voice made his ears perk up. His eyes opened and he looked around, trying to see the tall, red-haired vaettr who'd answered his call last time. But he saw nothing - whoever was there was choosing to keep himself hidden, for now. He paused, thinking through the words. Did the voice match the one he heard before? Possibly.

It was a test, yes? He thought about his answer carefully.

What did the name Loke mean to Tore? What would Tore see in a god pushed to the edge of his society, demonised, poked and prodded? Who had been treated with disloyalty by his kin even as his cleverness brought gifts and bounties upon his people? Who the Aesir had used as a shield, time and time again, to avoid paying for the gifts of Brokkr, for the wall around Asgard? Who was accused of all kinds of dark deeds, of being unmanly, unsuitable for Viking life, someone worthy of being shunned? A fellow seiðrmaður?

"Proof I have a kindred spirit amongst the gods, and that they hear me." Feeling good about his chances, and humourous, he added, "and he is someone else who enjoys psilocybes for more than their magical properties. Though I suppose that falls under being a kindred spirit, too."

[skjeggestads]

x || @haevatein || tore, sans psilocybin

He'd never done anything like this without entheogens to ease the process, to let his mind slip free of his body and seek beyond himself into the world beyond. Summoning spirits from beyond their world was difficult, and the out-of-body experience helped to make that connection. But given the last time he'd done this, he'd either hallucinated the most realistic spirit he'd ever encountered in his life, or summoned the Actual God, Loke, into his house, he really wanted his mind to be clear. To either set to rest his mind, or genuinely pull the god into his house to confirm it.

Offerings were set out, runes were drawn and cast, the distaff was spun with the threads to represent his fate at his feet - it was just like when he was first learning, going through the motions without the out-of-body experience that came with the mushrooms, practicing in preperation for the real thing - except this was the real thing. He muttered a prayer under his breath, breathed in deeply, and reached out beyond himself with his mind, chanted--

--and waited, until the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"--Loke?"

[drogonthered]

Extended Scene : https://youtu.be/DO4uHuuydy8

[skjeggestads]

i got one of those newfangled interest tracker thingies