#prvighetoare

[marshfirc]

@prvighetoare

     “I don’t think he likes me that much.”

     Her statement seems to just come out of the blue as they practice together in the training area, the lockpicks she breaks slowly becoming fewer as she goes along. Thankful that she was a quick study, she pauses just long enough to regard the Guildmaster over her shoulder. “Is he like that with all of the new recruits, or is it only me?”

     The Breton always seemed so reluctant to be in her company most days. Was there something about her that he didn’t like, or was he being sour just for the sake of being sour? She honestly couldn’t figure it out.

     “I think he’ll come around eventually,” she continues, turning back to the training chest in front of her. “I’m just trying to figure out why he’s so... I don’t know, upset?”

[ofxthreexstones-blog]

Bone Break Fever

Greeter for @prvighetoare

She was so tired.  Her head was hurting. Her legs were hurting. Everything was hurting.  Her pack felt like it was getting heavier for each step...or maybe it had just been heavy since she’d left Windhelm?  “Go to Windhelm, pick up the loot, and come back.” Mouse muttered, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “What am I a courier?”  She could be sleeping in a warm bed right now, not walking on a dark road in the middle of the night.  By the eight...sleep... She felt like she hadn’t slept for days, even though she had wasted almost a day sleeping at an inn by the road. Right now, that was the only thing that kept her walking, the promise of a hot meal at the Flaggon and her own bed.  “You look pale, are you alright?” The guard commented as he pushed the great door open. In response she just shook her head, regretting it as it ached and hurt to the point she was almost afraid her head would burst wide open.

“I’m fine,” she stepped through the gates before he could pester her anymore. It was an unusually hot day, and the sun had barely risen yet. As she passed the Bee and the Barb, sweat that had beaded and collected on her forehead drifted in slow spider-lines down her face.  “What in oblivion...? Stupid...stupid button!” It wasn’t completely unheard of, but it was times when the mechanisms that activated the secret passage the the Thieves guild hideout did act up and refused to work, usually it was just on colder days though and Mouse was burning up.   “Stupid bloody button! Let me in!” Though it took all her effort to do so, a firm kick to the sigill caused the sarcophagus to finally slide away.  She more or less slid down the steps to, dragging the pack behind herself, at this point not caring if any of it was fragile. The climb down was longer than it had ever been before, she was clinging to the ladder as the pack on her back grew heavier, nearly forcing her to a steep fall into the cistern.  Then she could hear voices, familiar voices echoing against damp walls and a wave of relief washed over her, but at the same time the fever that had been steadily growing over the past few days made everything go black.  Luckily for her, it wasn’t too far to fall.

[bastardswxrd]

@prvighetoare “Gallus!” Eyes bright, Bezi trotted across the Cistern to meet the Imerpial. There were a stack of very poorly wrapped presents tucked under his arm. “Gallus! Merry, uh- Here-” He held the sad looking packages out.

[gvildmastcr]

@prvighetoare || continued

     Ever the eager one, wasn’t he? The Guildmaster never wasted a moment of time with anything, especially when it came to the Breton. It was... endearing, really, the more he thought about it. Gallus had become like a father to him - taking him off the streets, feeding him, sheltering him. Took Mercer under his wing and trained him to be one of the best, to the point of inducting him into the Nightingales. He wasn’t the most experienced out of their little family, but his skill rivaled that of their most senior members.

     He can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes him as Gallus offers a seat and a flagon of wine. He seats himself, as prompted, and takes the drink as it’s passed his way. A brief moment is taken to sip at the wine, the taste of alcohol washing over his tongue causing his nose to scrunch on reflex. Wasn’t much of a drinker, Mercer, but he’d make exceptions where he could -- this was no different. This particular wine was one that he’d not seen Gallus pull out often, and he felt it would be rude to pass up the opportunity to share it with one of his closest friends.

     “We have to go pretty far back,” he begins, relaxing in the presence of their leader. The memories left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it was best to tell the tale and be done with it. (Perhaps it would start to affect him far less than it did, if he confided in someone. Only time would tell.) Another sip of wine is taken to wash the taste of the memories away, and for a time, it works.

     “I was an only child, growing up. Had everything I could ever want. My parents were... very well known mages back home in High Rock, and they were excited to have a child to pass on their arcane knowledge to.” There’s a reminiscent smile that flutters across his face, though also saddened in the way it settles there. The confliction was obvious to see in his gaze. “From the moment I could talk they tried teaching me spells. What good’s a Breton without some magical talent, right? They were hoping for a child that could carry on their legacy, and they... they ended up with me instead.” His expression shifts now, to one of crippling sorrow mingling with a hint of jealousy. “The broken one. That’s what some of the other kids called me. My parents were convinced I just wasn’t tryin’ hard enough, but the truth was that the magic never came to me naturally. No matter how hard I tried, spells never worked for me. I was a complete failure, in more ways than one.”