#haleth-dovahkiin

[soulsofnirn]

❝ forget the world outside. ❞

@haleth-dovahkiin​​ liked for a lyric starter

[luckydxy]

anovis : my lucky ducky aww

ara : I'm not a duck :c

also ara : *patters after him like an imprinted duckling 24/7 365 days a year*

@haleth-dovahkiin

[leondxs]

haleth-dovahkiin replied to your post “@luckydxy​”

Add sol in there and u got the power trio

@haleth-dovahkiin​/@dawnguardxd​ @luckydxy​

[mxxnblind]

@haleth-dovahkiin ;;  ♡

Solstheim boasted temperamental weather patterns to put things  ...  lightly.  Blinding whiteouts & suffocating ash storms  --  the island was cruel to the ill prepared & ever testing of those who’d dared brave the odds & dubbed the inhospitable terrain their home.  Crimson eyes narrow in impatience ; watching on helpless standby as the swirling ash comes in wicked gusts, greats drifts seeping into meticulously groomed clearings & threatening the wooden beams of supportive platforms.  One step forward.  Two steps back.  

An ornery frown creases the outer corners of his lips.  The storm had been sudden & seemed intent on lingering for the night as whatever traces of sunlight faded into the abyss of night.  He wonders it a trick of the fading light at first ; a lone figure stumbling blindly through the static of an ashen horizon.  He strays from his sheltered table & accommodations ; questioning his vision as the shadow strays nearer the Barrow & into better view.  He debates bothering with venturing further into the ash, but shifts uncomfortably as the petite frame slips a little too near the empty bowl of Kolbjorn’s entrance for comfort.  

A nasty fall that would be.  Ralis hisses, briskly taking the, thankfully, familiar path along the rim of the Barrow.  The last thing this disastrous excavation needed was that.

[fatereleased]

@haleth-dovahkiin continued from x

The traveler that graced her doorstep looked more like a half-drowned skeever than a fellow Dunmer, a puddle already forming on her floor. Ilyvi’s gaze flicked down to the muck and water before doing a once over of her newfound guest. Well, this wouldn’t do at all. 

“Take your boots off, sera,” she told her simply in regard to helping- helping, like she wasn’t a guest. Ilyvi may be war-hardened, ancient, shrewd creature, but she knew not to be an asshole of a host either unless they deserve it, and so far this one was nowhere near testing her patience yet. She didn’t spare her a second look as she disappeared into storage to rummage through her mountainous collection of items that had accumulated throughout the years. She had some sort of dry clothes for this waterlogged lass somewhere- 

A pair of trousers commonly found in Imperial settlements and a tunic that went out of fashion for young Altmer before the Oblivion Crisis were the first things she pulled out that weren’t entirely covered in dust and may fit her temporary charge. At least they were warm and dry, not like whatever spare change of clothes the other Dunmer might have in her pack. 

“You may set out your things by the fire after you eat,” Ilyvi said as she stepped back into the room, passing the warmth hearth to hand off the items to the girl in a silent command to get change, and the sharp, scarlet look left no room for argument either. “This weather does no one any good. I’ll get a plate set out for you.” Stew, bread, some cheese- maybe put a bottle of something by the fire to warm up, perhaps. Anything warm will do her some good. “What would you like to drink?” 

[shadows-of-almsivi]

Bring Out Your Dead (Moraelyn/Haleth)

Swooping scratches of calligraphy turned jagged on the page. His hands were trembling again. Snapping the journal shut with a sigh, he pressed his cold fingertips to his eyes, his temples. If he pressed hard enough, he could feel his pulse pounding through his skull.

The wind was picking up again. It caught at the worn edges of his robe-hood, flicking his ears and chilling the old gold of his earrings. The hem of his mourning-robe whipped and coiled about his calves; those deer-hide leggings would take some adjustment, true, and certainly weren’t by the least measure beautiful, but already he found himself grateful for their warmth. Eastern fashions had little place in the ice and sleet, were never meant for it. Nor was he, for that matter, yet here they were.

Standing at a crossroads was a good way to gather curses, his aunts had told him once. Lost spirits lingered there, were drawn there. Perhaps that is why Moraelyn found himself drawn there now, pacing in the weeds like a caged thing. He hissed through his teeth, forcing himself to still. If the weather wasn’t threatening yet more snow, if he wasn’t so twisted-up inside with mageburn and moonsugar-ache, he might have afforded himself a long run to settle himself, but that sky… Great dirty-grey drifts were darkening by the moment, glowering from the shrouded peaks looming high over the river. Mocking him, almost, with how easily his freedom could be swept away again, in a flurry of impassive white. He glared back.

“Tralha bahrlom.”

Fine. Fine. Then he’d turn back, for now. Take some more water, maybe a little dried venison, wait out the next storm. Perhaps the stableboy wouldn’t mind the company, until the skies cleared again.

He shivered, deeper than before, wrapping the wool and fur of his travel-coat tighter over his robe. The weather was growing colder by the moment; already, his breath was turning from faint steam to a thick fog, and his eartips were beginning to ache. He reached out to gather up his traveller’s inkwell, set on the low stone wall which had served for his writing-desk--

The inkwell did not budge.

He blinked. He tugged, carefully. Again, the inkwell stubbornly stayed where it was.

“What in the…”

There was a crackling, a snap, and the top came away in his fingers, a useless shard of boneclay and old cork. The bottom half, cradling frozen ink like a lump of coal, held fast to the stone.

His shriek was whisked away with the wind.

[finsaraan]

haleth-dovahkiin replied to your post: i can never decide which i like better, ‘miraak...

yeah, I agree. surprised he didn’t call the Dark Brotherhood

lucien lachance, bursting into apocrypha: theres only room for one sexy voice fandom favourite in this series BITCH

[dovzeymahhe-a]

CASUAL STARTER PLOTTING CALL — @haleth-dovahkiin​

     🔥——     Clouded eyes  gazed  into the distance, Masser & Secunda still high up in the sky — no signs of the sun rising any time soon. The old one’s advice didn’t seem to help Haleth... Or was she trying at all ? Either way, she wasn’t asleep yet.

     “Something  bothers  you,” Paarthurnax  mused  , almost like he wasn’t talking to her at all, but accidentally voiced his thoughts out loud instead.