#browborn

[themadgodspeaks]

browborn replied to your post “I’ve lost it. I’ve lost it. I’m mortal, now, and Haskill keeps saying…”

Are you alright?

“Ah, Septim! Been better, I fear. Not much t’be done for it but destroy all of creation, eat what’s left ‘o the moons and make a sacrifice to the Khajiit king. Or should I eat the Khajiit king and sacrifice his bones to th’moons

Either way, ye don’t think Lorkhan would mind, do you, lad?”

[askdusty]

☁

“Dammit. I’ll need to pick up parchment and quills for pamphlets and labels, but that means dealing with him. He makes me sneeze. I can’t pin down what it is, though. He has to be hiding something.

I hope he doesn’t charge me extra if I sneeze on him.”

[bookofalmsivi]

browborn replied to your post “Oh, it’s Marukh’s Day tomorrow.  I think it’s only proper that we...”

As long as no beef is eaten, the Alessians would approve.

Oh, I don’t know.  They were generally against fun.  And, you know, elves but also entertainment.

[bookofalmsivi]

∯∯∯

∯

I was jealous.  After everything that happened, I was still jealous.  That’s why I…what is wrong with me?

∯

I do believe in you.  You’ve become obsolete and I do not light a candle on my altar for you, but I do believe in you as I believe in them.  I just wish that they would let you die as we all must instead of clinging to you as if they can possibly hope to necromace the past.  You told me yourself that its days are numbered.  They’re frightened of the unknown, the unfamiliar, I think, but the empire is over and we’re all on our own now.  Whether it is ultimately good or bad, I do not know, but thank you.

∯

He loved you.  I loved you.  I still do.

[bookofalmsivi]

browborn replied to your post:Could we solve our dragon problem with...

This is, without a doubt, the worst idea I’ve ever heard. More so than an empire.

I don’t know, there are surely worse ideas out there.  Not many but some.  It’s surely better than combating the dragon menace with netches.

[actualbethesda]

I have no idea what foolishness you're pulling, Todd, but my people would never worship Molag Bal. I didn't die for this.

“Sorry hun (:” -Todd

[themadgodspeaks]

browborn: Martin raises an eyebrow, eyeing Sheogorath. A drink could mean a thousand things—a poison that slowly eats at his innards. A potion that fills his stomach with butterflies. A liquor that leaves him dazzled, confused, and half-naked in the middle of Markarth. Or it could mean a drink. “Alright,” Martin uncrosses his arms. His posture relaxes. “It’s not like I’m pressed for time.”

He chuckles at that, low and ominous, before clapping his hands twice and calling out. “Haskill! Something fer me and the royal bastard, don’t ye think?” The Chamberlain departs and Sheogorath leans back - happily perched on a chair atop his palace. Another sits beside him for Martin, and he amicably taps it to invite him to sit.

“Ah, Haskill. Ye ought t’get yer own chamberlain, lad! Such a useful thing t’have about. Gets yer drink. Cleans yer messes. Reminds ye of appointments - it does get difficult t’keep them.” A chuckle. Their drinks are brought - for Martin, a goblet of Cyrodiilic wine from 3E150. Oddly, it is only half-full and wet along the rim, as though already having been drunk from. For Sheogorath, a strange bottle of fluid that seems to bubble and spit even as he drinks, teeth stained vividly green.

“So. How’s the life of a dragon trapped in a mortal, lad?”

[themadgodspeaks]

This is a terrible idea. But, even Martin must admit, he has more in common with Daedric Princes than mortals these days. And being a demi-god is so *lonely*. "Would you stop bothering them? They scare easily, then do stupid things."

Sheogorath stares at Martin for a moment, blinking as though he’s just informed him he’s mad. “... Well, yes, lad. That’s rather th’point, isn’t it? Making the mortals scurry and do stupid, stupid things. Mad things, even.” A toothy grin. “Care for a drink, Septim?”