#anovis || thread

[dragxnsfire]

❝ skilled, lethal and good-lucking. yep, it’s a curse. ❞ - @quanalil

Anovis frowned as he listened to the Altmer speak, ears flicking back as a slight sneer pulled at his lips not— not that he'd ever allow the vampire to see, of course. That would be a dangerous proposition indeed, to do anything more than offer passive agreement in response. "That certainly would be difficult to endure," he said with a huff, stepping away from his enchanting table, and holding up the small satchel of enchanted rings to the vampire. "Not something I've had to deal with, but I'm sure someone does. Here—" he held out the sack— "for the Guild. I trust these will be put to…" Well. They certainly wouldn't be put to good use, but he could hardly throw a stone without inditing himself. "Put to use."

He turned back to his work bench, and began casting another ritual, expecting Quanalil to see himself out, or do something. When he still sensed the vampire's presence, the wizard peered over his shoulder, silvery brows furrowing. "You do know how to leave my Tel, yes? Same way you got in. Unless… there's not something else you need, is there? I was hoping to see to this business before my family returned from Riften.

[dragxnsfire]

❝ look. if you’re trying to get to know me - don’t. ❞

The Telvanni looked up and down the massive mer, and rubbed his hands together; he'd been warned that the ex-Thalmor was... a lot, but he hadn't quite expected to meet a mountain of an Altmer. Anovis held a small parcel in one hand limply, gripping the neck of his heavy cloak in the other, securing it against the bracing wind.

"I should like to get to know the fellow my only child's been hanging about with," he said with a nervous chuckle, and leaning into High Hrothgar's spartan awning, "as I'm sure any parent should." He coughed into his arm. "If nothing else, can I come in? It was a long, long walk up here. B'azura, the wind nearly knocked me right off the mountain!" He held up a small basket— kwama eggs, scrib jelly, all sorts of foodstuffs from Morrowind. A particularly expensive peace offering. "So? May I join you all in the..." He grimaced as he looked past Manarion's arm. The inside of the monastery looked nearly as cold as the outside. "In the less-cold?"

[dragxnsfire]

@vampiric-bite || starter call || no longer accepting

The ex-thief huddled close to the fire, holding his hands over it; all the power of the once-Great House Telvanni, and he was stuck camping in the wilderness like a common brigand. Such was the price, though, of being unwilling to pay the fees of the Kynesgrove tavern. He shifted, moving to set a pot of water to boil over the fire, when he heard a sound in the bushes.

Anovis stood quickly, dusting the dirt and leaves from his robes, eyes straining in the low light. "Ah, you must be—" He stopped. The stranger's eyes were glowing. Not his contact from the Guild. "You aren't from the Guild," he said slowly, backing toward the fire. Now that he could make out the shape of the vampire, he drew a short breath. "I do hope you're not here looking for a meal. I wouldn't make much of one, I assure you."

[dragxnsfire]

@aetherianxarchive || Starter for Risha-dar

Anovis sat before the fire in his Tel, trying to focus on the latest spell scroll before him; if he was to impress the House— such as it was, these days— he would have to keep working on it. Even if it meant working through the night and into the morning, and neglecting his duties as a father, a grandson, a great-grandson. And, if the khajiit's presence was a sign, an associate of the Thieves' Guild.

The Spellwright hadn't noticed the other thief at first— after all, he'd been engrossed in his work, hunched over the paper, writing furiously, as if his life depended upon it. But the soft footfalls finally caught his attention, and he stood, brushing the ink from his hands— onto his robes. "Risha-dar!" he breathed, offering a quick bow. "Y-you must be here about the gold. The gold..." He turned back to his desk, casting a quick spell to release the lock on his safe. "... for Sapphire. I told you all I'd be good for the loan, and here it is." He rubbed his hands. "Probably helps that a Tel costs nothing but time and energy. All I really needed was the foundation, and the seeds."

He frowned, ears flicking. "Unless you're here for something else? Forgive me for assuming, but I didn't believe the Guild wanted anything to do with me, now that I'm back on the 'straight and narrow'." He rolled his eyes. "Have to be, now that my grandfather lives here." He cleared his throat, shifting where he stood. "So... can I get you anything? Tea? Or..." He looked back to his cupboard. Nothing but food for his grandfather's pet daedroth. "Tea?"  

[dragxnsfire]

Starter || @quanalil 

No matter how many times he washed, Anovis still smelled of the Riften cistern; perhaps it was inevitable, that his time in the Cult of Miraak and then the Thieves Guild would forever mark him through this stench— or, perhaps, it was simply all in his head, and he would smell the cistern no matter how long ago he'd been a thief.  The Telvanni spellwright sat on the bank of the river, wringing his unnaturally silver hair, in little more than his underclothes; traveling from his Tel in the Rift to Windhelm was not a short journey, but he had to make it. If for no other reason, then to try to convince his widow's family that he hadn't meant to abandon her, and their child.

He frowned as he heard a rustle in the bushes, eyes widening as he turned to the sound, a hand glowing with magic. "Hello?" he called, standing slowly, looking more like a hunted deer than a Telvanni wizard. "Is someone there? I-if you need to share my fire, you're more than welcome. I don't want trouble, you see, I'm just traveling."

[dragxnsfire]

90 :3c

Anovis || answered || Spotify Wrapped Song #90: SAD

For once in a very long while, Anovis's home seemed positively electric with energy: a few oathmen from Morrowind, his grandfather's machines and scrib and cliff racer— gods above, how did the old mer get a cliff racer?— and his own experiments neglected and boiling over on the alchemy table. It was all the mer could do to avoid popping off at everyone; truly, it was moments like this when he understood why the Magisters, however many there were left, enjoyed their solitude. Mephala's webs, why were Tels so loud?

There was a crash, followed by a what could have only been a dwarven machine malfunctioning; it certainly sounded like it, with the whirring and popping, and the shout of one of the young Oathmen, followed by Revus's frantic reassurances. Anovis pinched his nose, peering into the room; sure enough, one of the spiders had gone haywire, tearing blueprints and charts and paintings from the walls. Walls he'd tried so very hard to keep clean— a difficult task, in a tower made of fungus. Still, it seemed the younger mer had the Telvanni elder well in-hand. Surely, they wouldn't miss the younger Spellwright's presence. Surely? Besides, he needed fresh air— or, given the blizzard raging outside, fresher than a smoke-clogged laboratory.

A hand dragged down his face as he made his way to the foyer, gazing out the ancient glass window to the freezing land beyond. How in Oblivion did he expect this Tel to work out? Anovis leaned forward onto the windowsill, closing his eyes, preparing to meditate for a moment— but the whisper of footsteps drew him from his trance.

The mage shot up, looking around the room. "Hello?" he called, stepping carefully into the center of the room. "Who is—" Then his eyes landed upon the visitor. Dalamus. The ex-thief's shoulders sagged in relief, and he ran a hand through his unnaturally silver hair, shaking his head slowly. "Ancestors, am I glad to see you," he said with a smile, offering a hand to the vampire. "Decided to come to a visit?" He glanced back to his laboratory, ears flicking. "I wish I could say you'd come at an excellent time, but… b-but you're welcome to stay! I'd be happy for the company."

[dragxnsfire]

“Terribly vague description: ‘flesh wound’. Every wound is a flesh wound.” Says the mer who uses 'flesh wound' to downplay his own wounds all the time.

|| Telvanni Spellwright

Anovis held his arm close to his chest, ears flicking back as he glared at his friend; it wasn't as if he always took on jobs for the Guild these days— after all, even House Telvanni expected him to keep his nose somewhat clean. But he simply couldn't resist the chance to 'stick it' to the Stormcloak clans— Shatter-something-or-other; in fact, he hardly even minded that the job had gone awry, and he'd been caught by one of the goons patrolling outside their manor. "Hush, Dalamus," he said, rolling his eyes as he began binding the deep knife-cut with a clean linen bandage, focusing upon the wound, trying to keep himself calm and alert. "I've suffered far, far worse than this, as I'm sure you know. And your picking on me won't do a thing to make it heal faster." He closed his eyes with a hum. "In fact, do you know that stress can make the bleeding worse? It's true." He opened his eyes once more, and turned to face his friend. "So, then, any word from the higher-ups? Were they satisfied with my enchantments?" He leaned back against the table in the dingy thieves' den, taking up a spellbook he'd 'borrowed' from Candlehearth Hall. "And... thank you for meeting me here. It does mean something that you were the one to answer my request for assistance."