#astarill

[askdusty]

Tick Tock

Oh, wouldn’t he laugh. I’ll have to tell him what I overheard. ‘A scream from the barrow! The soul of some long-dead woman haunting her resting place, begging for release...’

I mean, one of those things might have been true...

[ode-of-odr-archive]

{ @astarill }

It would be a lie to say Raserei was above the racial tensions that have grown in Skyrim, at least with the Altmer. The golden-skinned elves made his jaw tighten a little whenever he saw one. 

He knew they weren’t all to blame for the current state of things, and surely not all of them give a damn about Talos worship, and to be honest, Talos wasn’t his main god of worship, but he was also one you gave praise to as a Nord. Even if you were a Nord originally from Bruma. 

Still, he did his best to hold reservation until he spoke to one; he didn’t want to sound or even be compared to UIfric and rhetoric he has been preaching on about. 

So when he noticed one of the tall elves near the gates of Whiterun the Nord could only imagine the growing panic and unease among the guards. He wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t scrambling to Jorrvasker in hopes one of the Companions would deal with it to help up with this ever failing neutrality Bulgruff wished to keep.

“Hail!” Raserei called out, “We don’t see Altmer out this way too often; can I ask why you are here?” 

The large man had been on his way to Jorrvasker to pick his daughter; a kindness he was glad the those who worked there offered him when he was away on jobs.

[brielleroux-archive-blog]

✔✔

prompt

I’ve heard some of theother apprentices talking about him and his courses. They sound interesting. Ithought about taking one myself, but it wouldn’t be of much use to me.

Maybe I’ll get achance to speak to him when he’s not busy.

[askdusty]

Letter by Letter

@astarill

My Dearest Friend,

I hope this letter finds you well, and somewhere that isn’t currently being drenched in miserable rain despite the calendar, I’m quite certain, heralding summer. It’s been good for our garden, but difficult for getting business done otherwise, especially for travelling to Riften as often as we have been.

You see, we’ve finally taken the risk of expanding some of our business there. It’s a bit tricky – old Elgrim is a cantankerous bastard – but even he acknowledges there are problems he doesn’t care to deal with, that we can address. Our pest poisons are doing particularly well. I do advise you, should you visit Riften, stay away from the River Betty Bunkhouse. You pay out the nose for better, but from what I’ve sold to that Innkeep you’re like to lose a toe to a rat in your sleep.

I’ve also developed a good business relationship with a local hunter. Burly, doesn’t talk much, doesn’t take shit. You’d like him. Asked if I needed the ‘barbs of a sabre cat’s dick for some sad sack who can’t get it up’, I believe it was, when I first approached him. It’s nice to have a good supply of antlers and teeth, and Haelga’s fair taken with him. They’ve ‘knocked boots’ more than once, over the past year. It’s nice to see her not just withering away, locked up in a cottage full of dusty old vials and – well, a dusty old woman.

In fact, Haelga has really grown into her own as an alchemist this year, not to mention as a businesswoman. It was her idea to approach the locals inns about pest control. I’m exceedingly proud of her – frankly, she’s more hardworking and clever than half the students were in Winterhold. How goes your own teaching endeavors? I hope you haven’t endured too much exposure to nobility. Tends to numb the brain something awful.

To put it simply, all is well here. At times I crave a little adventure, but the occasional trip to Riften offers a nice change of pace when necessary. I am as content as I can be, if desperately in need of a lay. Can’t help but giggle every time I pass the barrow, even now, and honey always tastes a little sweeter when I think of you.

I know better than to fill this letter with the thousands of questions I’d like to. You’ll share as you feel appropriate, I think. I’ll just have to remember any particularly burning ones for the next time we meet in person.

I miss you terribly. Give my best to your family, and write back soon.

-      Dust

[askdusty]

Not Quite Forgotten

How strange.

It was good to be home, at least - although it was more that home now came to them, these days, thanks to Relmyna’s mastery of that particular ritual. A cavern, a forgotten ruin, a barrow - any sufficiently large space would work to bring the mimicry of Relmyna’s sanctum to them.

Familiar smells, familiar sounds. Prisoners wailing, screaming, thrashing in their cells and their experiments. The waft of smoke and blood and incense, strange flowers not found on this side of the planes. All familiar, comforting.

But he’d been familiar, too, and she found no comfort in that.

“Now, how did you let this happen, hm?” Familiar too the sensation of her mistress above her, tutting and stitching the wound on her head and Nanette worked on setting her arm. “You are too reckless, child. And to come home without even a single subject for me...”

“I do apologize, mistress.” She tilted her head to follow Relmyna’s hands, brow furrowed in thought. The greenmote in her system fresh, it was hard to think straight at all. “But there was something - strange.”

“Oh?”

Yes. But not something - someone.

He’d been traveling with the vigilants, among them but not one of them, not bearing their sigil or their tell-tale glinting armour. Just a staff, a thick cloak and a stern, determined face. Hooded white eyes, that slash of a mouth setting straight at her approach...

A face she was so certain she’d seen before. Known, before.

“Speak.” Relmyna’s voice was sharp enough to make her stiffen, well knowing that tone. “If there is a danger to our mission, we must know of it.”

He had been dangerous. The Vigil had patterns that by now she could predict, but he was an outlier. He didn’t work like them. No sword, no shield, just magicka and sheer fucking willpower fighting her back on every front. 

As Nanette began healing her arm, melding bone, the memories came back fresh with the pain. A smirk. It had been a long time since one of their number - or one of their companions, whatever he was - had managed to truly hurt her. But it took her by surprise - him grabbing her arm as she’d moved to twist around him, to take him down, the momentum she made and the force of his magicka atop his own strength - the resulting crunch and twist...

The expression he made when she kept coming. Ground teeth, that line between lip and cheek crooked, that lowered brow and eyes so intense, where, where...

“Speak.”

She shook her head. “... I don’t know, Mistress. They have a mage with them, now.”

“A mercenary? It wouldn’t be the first time, my dear. They hire those they would in a moment dispose of if they didn’t need them. Their hypocrisy grows with their desperation.”

A bark of laughter. Dust shook her head, feeling that sharp, hot swell of satisfaction, of justice - tainted by the hazy memory of that face, that unplaceable face...

“I think...” She spoke slowly, testing her fingers one by one as the apprentice massaged her arm to better add the healing magic now in her tissues. “... I think I know him, from somewhere. Somehow.”

“Know?” The hands on her head moved now, down to her shoulders, the grip tight. Dread sat heavy in her gut, and even Nanette’s hands began to tremble over their work. “You mean you didn’t kill him?”

“I left him unconscious.” In the end, he was still a mortal. A mortal with admirable endurance, impressive skill and grit, but the right blow at the right moment had finally been enough to bring him down. Her standing over him, rapier at the ready, arm throbbing and making her snarl in pain and yet...

And yet...

She couldn’t do it. She’d left him there, among the crumpled and bloodied forms of his companions. The weather was balmy enough this far south in Skyrim - he’d awaken sore, but lucky to have his life. Perhaps wondering about her mercy.

... Mercy.

Why?

“Well.” Relmyna spoke the word as though tasting it, as though it stung of bile. “We shall have to relocate. He may realize where we came from and lead them here - since you made the mistake of leaving him alive.”

It was rare indeed that she felt fear, these days. The Bane of Stendarr, terror to so many of the holy in Skyrim, shrank. Her voice came out meek. “I’m certain I can defend us, mistress, if they came - there’s no reason we must - “

“You will not argue with me.” The order came down like the crack of a whip and she fell silent immediately. “And besides - the Vigilant’s base is in the Pale. It is high time we moved closer. Or have you forgotten your goal now, hm? Forgotten everything you sacrificed, everything they’ve taken from you?”

Sickly heat filled her, burning shame and resentment and terror all at once. A whisper. “No, mistress. Never.”

“Let us just make sure of that, hm?” Worse than cold was sickly-sweet, that mockery of a mother’s loving voice. Nanette scuttled back as Relmyna raised a hand, forcing muscles to work, forcing Dust up and to her feet like a puppet. “A reminder is in order, I think. For your own good, my dear. Pain will keep your mind clear for your work.”

There was a tiny, tiny part of her that rebelled - screamed, fought - but it was swallowed quickly by loyalty, by the simple knowledge that she belonged to her and had no right to argue.

“You cannot cling to these memories, these discards of the past. They are from another life, another time. You have another purpose now.”

She was right, of course. Her head hung, both fearful and coveting of the coming pain. Exquisite agony that would wipe away guilt, mistakes, weakness.

Doubt.

“Shh, shh. No tears, now.” Relmyna turned at the entrance to her laboratory, tutting and cupping Dust’s face in her hands. “You’re better than that, my child, my weapon. Come along, now. Take your punishment and we can put all of this behind us again.”

Yes. Move past it, forget it - her mistakes, her past and whatever remnant he was of it. Leave it all behind like shed skin.

Surely, she’d forget him soon enough.  

[askdusty]

[vvardenfellcat]

Do you like your colleagues at the college, J'hasi? What about the lessons and the professors there, are they any good?

The Khajiit yawned hugely, teeth flashing in the low light of the Arcaneum. He hadn’t been sleeping on a book this time, thank the Hist. He gave his jaw a little push, cracking his stiff neck and rubbing it, slowly adjusting to being awake.

“Don’ mind them, ‘cept the Thalmor whelp can go get lost in a blizzard for all I care. Sometimes he and J’zargo get competitive and it’s just best to leave the area before someone other than them gets singed.” J’hasi rubbed the side of his jaw, eyes flicking down to his text, glad that it was his homework he fell asleep on rather than his…unorthodox research. He cleared his throat, some of the raspiness in his voice giving way for a quiet roughness instead.

“I mostly keep to myself, but it’s…kinda difficult to practice some of our spells alone, so I try to find Brelyna if she’s free. At least she shows some remorse for when her spells go wrong and I have to deal with turning into a-” He snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head.

“Nevermind. Onmund is similarly easy to get along with, though J’zargo I’ve been trying to avoid when possible since the last fiasco.” J’hasi shuddered a little, shaking his head as if to clear the bad memories from it.

“I haven’t dealt with many other students at the College other than them. Koussikka seemed nice, but he doesn’t seem to stick around the College for long periods of time, or I just happen to miss him when I go off grounds.” The Khajiit shrugged.

“Tolfdir is a good teacher. Patient. Hist knows he needs it when it’s time for me to cast.” He stretched, his shoulders popping as his arms spread over his books and papers, clawtips just barely reaching some of the only bare space left on the table, then he arched his neck and back, a chorus of pops and cracks emanating from his spine. J’hasi huffed out a sigh, the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he rolled his shoulders.

“That’s better.” He swiped over his face.

“The other professors are alright. Collette…she tends to go onto tangents in lecture and it’s hard for me to follow if it’s relevant to what she’s actually trying to teach. My notes in her class are…difficult to refer back to because of how much I’ve had to cross out because she was remarking on something that happened earlier that day than the actual magic she was teaching.” The Khajiit yawned again, rubbing his trap in hopes to loosen it up.

“Most of the other classes go alright. As uh…alright as they can, I suppose. It’s difficult for me to cast anything, so I’m not sure if I’m misunderstanding the spell, or if it’s something in when I’m casting. Faralda’s classes always make me nervous, not so much because of her teaching, but because of when I have to cast and knowing that I’ll have to go to Collette afterwards moreso than with other classes. ...I actually…surprisingly...miss Astarill’s classes.” He swallowed.

“I mean, I’m fine around dead bodies so long as they stay dead, but when we’re working on them to prep them for reanimation…it’s physical, it’s there, I can be told outright if I’m doing something wrong because Astarill can see what I’m doing wrong. Though um…he did say that there’s something wrong with me when I’m casting so I guess he could see that too?” The topic of the mer’s apparent but possibly-not-actual blindness had been the whispered discussion of Onmund and Brelyna on more than one occasion. J’hasi sighed.

“I mean, we hadn’t gone far into what I was doing wrong, but if I can get that fixed, then maybe classes would be easier.”

[askdusty]

astarill:

He arched a brow, turning his head to look at her. The small smirk curling the corner of his mouth was probably enough to convey to her what he would’ve said if he’d been in more of a joking mood: That he should bloody well hope she was glad, if she was still here. She accepted his invitation, after all, and it wasn’t even on pain of death.

But, he wasn’t in enough of a joking mood, so instead he had a sip of his mulled wine, nodded, and returned his attention to the crowd, people-watching.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

A little chuckle left her as he turned back to the crowd. She took the opportunity to rest her head against his shoulder, sighing contentedly aloud. “I’ve needed this. Gods, I’ve needed this. Just a chance to relax for a bit, you know?” She stretched out, flexing her fingertips and cracking her joints, then rubbing warmth into her arms. “I’m a damn mess at the shop lately. Keep forgetting little things. Overworked, I think, and this is the best possible cure.”

She accepted a tankard of - something, anyway - from a passing tray and grinned, lifting it in cheers. “The only time I as a healer can recommend getting properly sloshed without feeling guilty.”