#about ilyvi

[fatereleased]

▌𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 : N/A  ▌𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 : Single ▌𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 : Werewolf, some Destruction/Alteration, Long Blade, Short Blade, Light Armor, Unarmored,  Sneak, Hand-to-Hand, Duel-wielding ▌𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 : Deep red ▌𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 : White ▌𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 :  N/A ▌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒 : Flecksy (Horse), Hilios (Eagle) ▌𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 : Politics ▌𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 / 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 : Fishing, wood carving, hunting ▌𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 : Yes ▌𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 : Yes ▌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 :  ▌𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 : Stubbornness, resorting to violence/scathing remarks when things get personal  ▌𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐒 : N/A ▌𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : Demisexual ▌𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄 / 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 : Never thought of it/not an option ▌𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 : Being dragged back into some Daedric bullshit again  ▌𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 : Comfortable and useful- nothing flashy. ▌𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 : N/A ▌𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 : Hard to trust and rare to seek out on her own- but people can grow on her like moss on a damp rock if they’re persistent enough ▌𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 : Doesn’t quite have a sweet tooth and the goopiness is weird but she isn’t one to turn down free food ▌𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 : Sujamma  ▌𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐓 : By the waterside ▌𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐌 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 : Lakes are a little warmer further south but the ocean has bigger prey  ▌𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 : Who knows ▌𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐒 : Camping

Tagged by: @haleth-dovahkiin

Tagging: Anyone who’d like to

[fatereleased]

Darkness

When the new moons crept up in the black skies, and fog rolled in between moss and still waters, Hjaalmarch became shrouded in eerie, blanketed darkness. 

It always made the Imperial patrols skittish, their horses jumping at every snap of a branch. The Stormcloaks, too, were wary of the marshes when night set in and the unnatural silence settled upon them. It was a void, desolate place, where even the frost spiders seem to vanish without a trace as to where they went. 

It was on these nights, when the skies were the blackest and the fog was the thickest, when a pale form loomed out of the bleakness, a flick of something out of the corner of the eye, only to find nothing when attention was turned to the exact spot.

The locals whispered of the Ghost Wolf, a title rather than a description, a massive thing with teeth as long as one’s hand and eyes as bright as fresh-spilt blood. It came and went without a sound, its pale fur blending in with the wisp of fog. Granted most travelers and even other locals themselves claim it to be all rumors, but even their chuckles turn nervous when they see a forlorn print in the soft path out of town, too large to be dog or wolf or even sabercat. 

Hunters came and went through the marsh when the rumors first started, eager to prove it to be all a hoax or daedra, some called. Yet many ended up never coming out of the swamp alive- if their bodies were found at all, nature itself staking claim to their souls and not the mysterious Wolf. 

Bandits that dared to take up resident within the trees were quickly found, half eaten or half delirious, unable to stammer out anything more than a monster that lurked in the dark marsh. In recent years the rumor of vampires claimed most people’s interest, the locals ignoring the ashy piles where bodies had once been, burnt away in the morning sun when they got too close. 

Morthal’s residents merely lock their doors at night and cover their heads, ignoring whatever otherworldly noises happened outside their window in these unnatural lightless nights. It was best not knowing, not when the Wolf never hurt a townsfolk or guard.

[fatereleased]

Bedroom

The bedroom wasn’t very large, more so of the fact that there were wardrobes and chests taking up much of the space where the bed didn’t. It was the one place where Ilyvi stored the things that she wanted to keep buried, to keep secret. Hopesfire and Trueflame were locked away in one of the wardrobes, with the records she stole from the Imperials about her position in the Blades (it was a position she never wanted to be a part of, forced along like a dog on a leash, being dragged along despite her heels in the sand-). Her citizenship of Ravenrock as one of its founding members and contributors was hidden in the other wardrobe, stuffed under what little clothes she actually wore. 

The bed itself was comfortable, despite the fact she almost rarely slept long enough to enjoy it. The beast she was wasn’t craving for blood and flesh like other werewolves she had seen, a wild animal in a mortal cage clawing to get out. Instead her woes rested in her senses, always on alert and listening for trespassers within her territory (nothing was a threat, not to the wolf, but she was always on sentry, ready to defend or investigate those who dared to enter her domain). 

The quilt was, perhaps, one of her favorite things she brought with her from Morrowind (it was colorful and ancient, yet somehow still holding together for two hundred years, sewn together by someone in the Ashlander tribes who had tucked it in around her after she came stumbling back to their campfires covered in blood and sweat and ash and weariness). She was allowed to keep it, and still had the faint scent of ash and spiced stew when she put her nose to the covers and breathed. 

It was small. It was quaint. But here she could feel some comfort.

[fatereleased]

Laundry

Ilyvi had more clothes than she knew what to do with.

Granted, she never actually wore most of it, sitting in crates and boxes and tucked around fragile glass that she barely remembered stowing away. The clothes she did wear were thick, Nordic things (wool of some sort- scratchy and something that one had to grow to tolerate). They weren’t like the lighter-weight, fibrous wear of Morrowind, and took much longer to dry. She had three sets of tunics and trousers and that was as much as she bothered with, wanting to blend in with the Nord backdrop despite wishing to bribe some transient Dunmer into giving her some Dunmeri-made garb (Ilyvi would’ve bribed an Imperial for some decent cotton fabric, but that would be drawing “lines” with the locals and she’d prefer not to get involved with petty politics). 

She washed her clothes in a kettle she pulled from the well, carefully folding away the remaining clothes. Living out in the sticks as she was, she didn’t need to exactly wash them after one use, the scent of fish and murkiness permeating every surface of Hjaalmarch regardless if she went wading into the waters or not. She blended in, her scent disappearing into the mist. She got at least two days worth of wear out of them, maybe more depending on how much the scent of clean cloth irritated her before she went knee deep into the nearest muddy bank. Unless she was planning on going into town, no one was going to complain. Wasn’t like the Nords were any better. 

[fatereleased]

Ilyvi and her travelling gear 

[fatereleased]

The Firmament Meme - Guardians & The Serpent

Repost & bold what is applicable to your muse(s). Enjoy!

THE WARRIOR - last seed (august)

amber fields of wheat. hardened metal. the noonday sun. organized shelves.boiling water. stone barracks. carrying wooden crates. washing down a muddy steed. blood across the forehead. a rare cool breeze. the smell of sweat and leather. stubborn anger. honesty and trustworthiness. cracked earth. guiding a knife through a tender cut of meat. black coffee in the afternoon. stepping up when no one else will. lime green. a lounging lioness. perseverance despite all odds.

THE MAGE - rain’s hand (april)

forgetting something mid-sentence. stacks of open books. hot tea on a rainy day. frosted bluegrass. blackened fingertips. loosely tied-up hair. staying up all night to master a new spell. pencil sketches and loose-leaf observations. runed circles on the floor. quick learner. looking up to the stars. obsessive. the smell of ozone, ash, and dew. sprouting saplings. red-throated hummingbirds. curiosity. walking through a misty valley in the morning. untapped potential. creativity. the spark of innovation. forgotten leftovers. always hungry for more.

THE THIEF - evening star (december)

light hair under a dark hood. best at hide-and-seek. coy smiles. icy stares. indecisive. high expectations of others. blacks and grays. dancing by yourself. seeing your breath on a frigid night. knee-high leather boots. brass buckles and deep pockets. wearing a scarf in any season. the sound of rolling dice. sparkling gemstones. the ace of spades. whiskey with orange & cinnamon. always knows a way out. opportunist. honey on your lips and on your fingers. the jingle of keys.

THE SERPENT - wandering (month varies)

murky water in the rain. undergrowth. nicely folded sheets. the fey. glowing eyes on the water. polyglot. sitting in the warm sun on the hard earth. fated for great terror or terrible greatness. clever. knows their way around. superstitious. a rebellious child. climbing trees. the scamper of rats’ feet. vials of multi-colored liquids. shedding the past to become a new person. sensitive. insightful. able to adapt. born to make a difference.

Tagged by: @anovisxllando

Tagging: Free to steal!

[fatereleased]

What are some hard decisions that she's faced since leaving Morrowind? What are three moral pegs that she clings to no matter what?

The biggest decision Ilyvi had to come to terms with was what was she supposed to do next. Her entire life seemed to have already been written for her with prophecies and the dictations of otherworldly entities, at least up until she fulfilled everything her “destiny” foretold. Everyone had expectations of her as the Nerevarine, but she never had any expectations for herself other than to live. She had no true skills outside of being a blade-for-hire, no interest in doing politics or continuing to being a nation’s “hero”. But there was very little she could do, yet with the rising tensions with the fall of the Tribunal, she had to come with some idea and a fast one. 

Skyrim was desolate enough that no one would come looking for her, close enough to Morrowind where her presence would be overlooked for the most part, and she had so much money and stuff that, in such sudden clarity, she didn’t need to do anything. 

The second hardest decision have been where to live. The north-eastern section was too cold, Riften was too packed for her liking, and none of the other Holds held much interest. Falkreath was, perhaps, second in the running outside the marshes of Hjaalmarch, but its proximity to the border put her off. She wanted to go deep into the country, to disappear entirely, and the marshlands of Hjaalmarch was perfect. 

As for her morality, three things stand out: 

Kill fast. Death is a part of her, part of her soul. From assassin to werewolf to hunter, Ilyvi firmly believes in killing swiftly. To prolong the pain and suffering is needless and unnecessarily cruel, so her deaths are planned with teeth straight to the throat or blade to the heart. 

Steal only what’s necessary. Ilyvi does not like theft. She’s a master of stealth, her feet and paws silent, but from the first tomb she raided for a mage just to get some information, it always left a bad taste in her mouth. Since then she’s only stolen things she needs- food, keys, documents- and only if there was no other way to obtain it. 

Remain skeptical. Always. She’s seen enough people following others blindly without questioning the facts, ordered around by gods and daedra with no clear explanation as to why it needed to be done. Ilyvi has no trust in those beings who think themselves superior, will stand firm and refuse if things are demanded at her. She is no one’s slave or servant, and she’s had her chain yanked one too many times to go back to not questioning authority. Always get the full picture, always demand answers for your questions. If they refuse or deflect when their answers matter, they are not to be trusted.

[fatereleased]

what are some of iilyvi's favorite books? how did she come across her horse? what is her most hated thing about skyrim?

Ilyvi likes obscure books. This includes N'Gasta! Kvata! Kvakis!, written in the language of the Sload, a series of Old Dwemer Books which is also scripted in the native tongue. Granted, that’s not all the books Ilyvi possesses, her collection from her years of travel piling up in her storage. 

Flecksy was a gift from a very... interesting house guest she had one evening. It was in part a jab at the fact that most horses don’t like Ilyvi because of the beast, but as it turns out Flecksy is a very unique horse, and better company than some. 

She hates how the social distaste for non-Nords has surged in the large couple of years. It reminds her far too much of how Morrowind used to be, where even Dunmer born outside of its borders were considered outsiders and foreigners. As the political climate continues to simmer, it is only getting worse, and Ilyvi has an inkling that things are going to turn out in the same catastrophic ending as Morrowind had. But most importantly she thinks its ridiculous and will break someone’s nose. At least Nords are more easily swayed after getting their asses handed to them than the stuck-up Dunmer of her time.