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Face, Hands, Build

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[ Face ] - His face is fairly standard for most Altmer, high cheek bones, a strong chin, sharp angles, it’s pretty much what you would expect, however he has a softer nose. He has very nice bone structure though, like seriously his cheekbones are to die for tbh. His eyes are a very bright green color, and are keen and narrow and kind of give off the impression that he just always sort of KNOWS, which is good because it cuts down on those under his command lying to him for various reasons. Ondolemar also has an extreme case of resting bitch face, like w o w it’s amazing. Most Altmer can only hope to reach Ondolemar levels of rbf, but it’ll never happen.

[ Hands ] - Despite the fact he swings a mace around on a daily basis, and is very skilled in combat besides magic like most of his race his hands aren’t calloused and seem like they’ve never seen a days work in his life. Magic. I have a hard time imagining Altmer not using healing spells to get rid of things like that – along with scars & such. He does, however, have large strong hands rather than a more delicate or slender sort that a lot of his race holds. But he’s skilled with his movements, and is graceful enough, even while he’s simply wielding his mace.

[ Build ] - Again while he’s not the delicate or slender sort that many in his race tend to be, he’s far from bulky or really muscular, but Ondolemar is the more athletic sort. He’s strong, and has spent many, many many years working on his combat – around three hundred years, yeah. He is the more slender sort of muscular, thankfully, as he finds the more bulky sort to be unseemly if I’m being real with you, but he is definitely on the more muscular side. Ondolemar is tall like the rest (slightly taller than the average), and his good bone structure continues onto the rest of his body. He caries himself with the grace and poise of any self respecting Altmer, the build of his body really doesn’t actually seem any different then a Thalmor wizard’s would.

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I like the idea that, due to Brynjolf’s (admittedly well concealed) fear of magic, were Silas to move too suddenly, too near, he’d wince. Because of this, and because of the ingrained paranoia any trained thief has with stranger, he’d do nearly anything to reduce the amount of direct exposure he has to magic fits. You know. Like.....Taking sudden, inexplicable strolls far, far out of eye. Or earshot. OR, better yet, Brynjolf politely ducking out of a window in order to wholeheartedly avoid one of the practice rooms. Please just imagine how funny the image of Silas explaining something about the College, and while he’s gesturing and looking upon the source of their discussion, looks back to find Bryn gone.

Brynjolf DOES have some interest in alchemy/potion-making; mind you, it’s not due to any academic purpose. Though he could be capable of achieving a genuine concoction of some kind (which would be funny to write, him learning how to properly make some kind of a potion), he’d rather study how the genuine potion is made, and how its color/consistency/odor/etc. comes to be, and then recreate a fake, cheaper knock-off so that he could better re-sell it without facing as many initially disbelieving customers. After all, if it looks, tastes, and smells like it, SURELY it’s it, right? ;) I like to imagine him asking Silas questions that could truly be perceived as academic intrigue and then. Nope. It’s just clever, cruel sneakthief tricks.

I LOVE to imagine Brynjolf being tutored on the Altmeri accent by Silas. Because of his own Nordly Nordic accent, he does struggle to properly speak it, although he can read it just fine.

Okay, but hear me out. These two, sat down, and having a heart to heart of sorts about their love of their occupation? Like, what builds the love of their work, the passion for their respective jobs, and maybe growing some level of respect for one another? Despite their fields and moral alignments being on nearly the opposite sides of the spectrum, I like to think they could bond over the actual care, the skill, the love, etc. that comes with doing what each one does.

#oniklahdov #bxynjolf #ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴅɪᴏᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ? | (ᴏᴏᴄ.)#silas tag; tba.

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He'd taught the lot simple words to be keen on; learning a language within a week was a ripe tripe notion, after all. The Nordic tongue was base, simple, natural in his eyes. Each word rolled with the grating ice the land carried and every syllable was as guttural as the fat lot of men and women who were daft enough to bear through the cold. Admittedly, Skyrim wasn't entirely cloaked in sheets of ice and snow. Winterhold, however, very much was. Tufts of tumultuous grey blotted out the sun, granting the rolling ground with mounds more of snow. The cold crept along every stone, down every tunic, along every merciful shadow. He'd dressed as one would during a mission of their nature. Padded leathers, boiled to sturdy stiffness, donned his taught form. Slim boots were soft against paved rock. Lightweight, light on feet. Dressed in darkness, Brynjolf blended with each passing wall as he wove through the College. Rare did he leave Riften. Although he'd nary a care for a few memories the home brought, the weather was delightfully mild in comparison to the frozen hell this sodding hold endured. That, and Altmer mages and budding students of the practice didn't sit well. There'd be no compensation for this job either. This one, though rich with potential, was not anything Mercer'd ever assign. Odd half-bit liked to avoid all that was magic; it was one of many things the Second and he agreed upon.