May 28, 2020
petrus: thots on sithis?
morrí, emerging menacingly from the shadows: we’re called assassins, actually,
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petrus: thots on sithis?
morrí, emerging menacingly from the shadows: we’re called assassins, actually,
“You could have died,” Morrí hissed, something like concern in her icy gaze as she glared at Petrus; there was violence in her eyes, the all-too-familiar lust for destruction that Petrus saw take hold of her during her time in Skyrim. Her hands, though, spindly and calloused as they were, were gentle as she wiped his brow with a cool, damp cloth. “You almost did!”
Petrus sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’ll be fine. The healer said all my bleeding was internal.”
“Which is bad.”
“Bad? That’s where the blood is supposed to be!”
Morrí paused, her gentle care ceasing as her brows furrowed incredulously. “How?” She mused, almost to herself. “How in Stendarr’s name have you survived this long?”
anyways, them,
morrí’s story so far, in order(ish):
oh no my fiancée died :( fuck vampires
(hozier voice) i saw something in the woods somewhere .......... :(
I’m Evil Now. keep out !!!! you are NOT allowed in my dark and twisted mind ................ my name is morrígan darkness d’mentia raven way .....
dark brotherhood, wooo
brotherhood of old mod thing, Let’s Fix What The Hero Of Kvatch Broke (Again)
Oh Look I’m Married
FUCK vampires!
fuck vampires two: electric boogaloo (Oh It Seems I’m A Vigilant Of Stendarr Now That’s Weird)
local assassin dragged to coldharbor by molag bal himself to pay for her sins by redeeming others who fucked up just as equally if not WORSE than her as a twisted, agonizing sort of redemption in the eyes of akatosh, at one point having to stare down the actual, phsyical, semi-sentient manifestation of sithis itself as it mocks her for her second thoughts about the dark brotherhood, and having to confront the truth about her (un)dead lover who was ‘murdered’ by vampires, whose undeath sent her on the spiral that would lead to the empire nearly collapsing due to her actions, in the form of lamae bal, while she herself takes the place of the Bard, and in freeing both lamae and the bard realizes she has the power to free herself and ariana, too, but only if they’re both willing to confront not only their past sins but the feelings they have about them as well, but she realizes ariana is already too far gone in the bloodlust and has to leave her behind to save whatever fragile pieces of humanity morrí has left
(let no one accuse the VIGILANT mod of being light-hearted)
maybe murder .... is bad ....... says local assassin after going through Literal Hell
local assassin climbs out of coldharbor after punching moldy balls and decides to be a decent person
local assassin fakes her own death in order to start new life as adventurer and Mercenary With Morals
morrí seeks therapy
“you’re a DRAGONBORN, ígan!” “i’m a WOT”
“LOOK I KNOW I REDEEMED MYSELF, FORGED ANEW IN THE ASHES OF MY OLD SELF AND ALL THAT BUT ARE WE REALLY SURE THAT I SHOULD BE THE ONE TO SAVE THE WORLD —“
more morrí posting because i love my murder wife:
the nightingale she’s friends with is ariana’s brother! they both sort of lost themselves in crime, but where morrí went all Murder, he went more ... steal from the rich
she’s a flirt. you’d never guess it by just looking at her, but she can and Will flirt with just about any woman
“i’m a firm believer in the inherent homoeroticism of sparring”
if she genuinely likes someone, she’s very touchy feely with them. a complete snugglebug.
it’s the classic ‘cold icy exterior, warm loving interior’ except the warm loving interior is buried under 50 miles of permafrost and emotional baggage and has been violently repressed for a decade
Petrus sighed, running his hands through short-cropped blond hair. The scent of the sewer clung to him like a well-worn sweater, and his glacier-blue eyes had long since adjusted to the Flagon’s gloom. Business was good, but ... routine, almost. After all the excitement marking his first few months in the Guild, it was nearly dull.
He was seated next to Delvon, who, admittedly, wasn’t exactly his favorite member of the Guild. Still, though the man reeked of sweat and alcohol, he had his moments. Petrus was just about to get up and flirt Dirge into buying him a bottle of mead, when the door to the Flagon swung open gently, and --
Huh, he thought. There wasn’t anyone there. The door closed just as softly, and he briefly considered the idea that the Flagon was haunted.
“Oh, goodie,” Delvon mumbled, a smirk pulling at his chapped lips. He looked over to Petrus, raising a brow. “You haven’t met our ... cousin yet, have you?”
“Our ... cousin?”
“Oh, yes.” Delvon’s smile grew. “Similar to us, in some ways, but very different ...”
“You could put it that way,” an all-too-soft voice mumbled from the opposite side of the table. Petrus flinched at the sudden noise, glancing to its source, and, hey, that shadow wasn’t there before --
The shadow, he realized, was a person, body completely draped in a deep black cloak, face hidden in shadows cast by the hood pulled far over their face. “So,” the figure said, “You’ve taken up thievery, then? I should’ve known I’d see you here.”
He blinked. “Sorry?”
“Oh, right --” The figure pulled down the hood. “Sorry. I should’ve realized you wouldn’t ...”
Morrígan, he realized. Not at all like he remembered her, and yet exactly the same -- her oil-black hair was tied at the nape of her neck, and red-and-black paint was smeared around her eyes and cheeks, down to her neck. Her eyes, though warmer than his in color, were as cold as the Void. The left side of her face was covered in quite the nasty scar -- a large burn, crawling down her neck and disappearing into the cloak.
“By the Eight, Morrí, what happened?”
“Oh, you know,” she spoke casually, in that soft lilt of hers. “I joined a murder cult, the leader betrayed us, I assassinated the Emperor of Tamriel, and now I get to hear voices in my head telling me to kill people.”
He chuckled, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Not even a week since it happened, and you’re already joking about the Emperor’s death. Glad to see you retained your humor, at least.”
“Oh, Pêr...” She smiled, patting the Nightingale’s shoulder with a gloved hand. “I believe the entirety of the Empire wishes I were joking.”
“Pêr?” Delvon piped up. “You know each other?”
“Anyways,” the assassin said with a cough, “I just wanted to know, Delvon, if you could perhaps outfit us with a ... prisoner’s hold, of sorts, for special contracts --”
“Did - Morrí, did you kill the emperor -- Wait, isn’t ‘prisoner’s hold’ a fancy way of saying torture chamber? Why are you buying a torture chamber?” Petrus looked to Delvon, his face twisted into something between bewilderment and disbelief. “Why are you SELLING torture chambers?!”
“Business is business,” Delvon and Morrí said, glancing at each other for a brief moment.
Morrí cleared her throat. “I’m surprised Delvon didn’t tell you he used to be in the Brotherhood.”
“I’m surprised YOU’RE an ASSASSIN!”
“And you’ve sold your soul to a Daedric Prince. We obviously have some catching up to do.”
morrí never really leaves the dark brotherhood -- she’s the listener, and she really does care about her family, but after her ‘death’ and her time in coldharbor she adopts a bit of a ... hands-off method of running the place. she’ll write letters to her speakers telling them who to meet with, and very rarely takes a contract herself unless she’s particularly angry about something or another
anyway, here’s a morrí --