#thedasrobn

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Memories of Sorrow

Upon touching my Muse, Your’s is suddenly thrown into one of Mine’s Tragic and Painful Memories, Send “Memories of Sorrow” to see a painful and tragic memory of My Muse.. | not accepting

A small house, the sound of the waves just outside. An unfamiliar woman, her tall frame nearly skeletal, lays on a bed, her near black hair fanning out around her head on the carefully propped up pillows. Towards the center of the room another person with short red hair just a tagger’s width from their shoulders stands up with a bowl from a stew pot. As they stand their identity is apparent even sans the mage robes and long hair it is Lorkhan who stands before you now, carefully cradling the bowl in their hands and walking over to the woman. 

They set the small bowl in her hands, but she makes no move to lift it to her mouth. 

“Beloved,” They start, but the word barely leaves their lips before she is speaking. 

“I am tired,” she says. The exhaustion- physical, but also emotional drips in her voice, as though speaking is an effort requiring great bouts of energy. 

Lorkhan’s hands gently cup the woman’s as they speak, “The sickness is taking your strength but this should help to-”

“I,” she interrupts, a pause hanging in the air after she speaks the word, “Am tired. I am tired of the medicine, of being confined to our bed, of being unable to even feed myself anymore.” She looks them in the eyes, “I am tired, Robn. I just-” her eyebrows bunch the smallest bit, a sorrowful look fills both of their eyes and the room. “I just want to be done; I am done. It has been months, I am ready.” She removes her hands slowly from around the bowl, leaving it again in Lorkhan’s hands, the shakiness the water takes on marks the beginning of the tremble that overtakes their shoulders. A few times they look as though they are about to speak, but the minutes stretch on without a sound until their shoulders drop. They stand and take the bowl over to the table, setting it down before returning to her side, sitting on the bed next to her.

“If you are sure-”

“I am.”

Lorkhan is silent for a moment, before they took her left hand in theirs, the couple’s matching rings glinting warmly in the firelight, “Okay.”

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cont. from (x)

“They burn down a farm and that’s somehow your fault? Amazing logic- they’re obviously the brains of whatever discount operation thought this was a good idea. Sucks for them though- because I can track this. Quite easily.” With a sweep of their hand a trail of pale blue wispy mist lit up a path down one of the roads. 

“Clairvoyance,” they went on to explain, “shows the way to whatever you’re focusing on the moment you cast it; but isn’t any help locating keys. It wares off so I’ll just have to keep re-casting it as we go but the this spell takes a stupid low amount of magicka; I could cast it a continuously and not feel the drain.”

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‘SWAP’

cont. from (x)

The once familiar feel of armor was, at this point, something nearly foreign; they’d grown so used to robes that the once comforting weight was now stifling in every place that it touched. But more than anything they felt- cut off. Similar in the way they had since coming to Thedas but intensified astronomically. The place where their core- the incorporeal internal source of their magic- was not empty but missing, leaving an odd hollow feeling inside. 

They turned at the voice- their voice, and beside them was... them? “For once, this isn't my fault.” Blonde side bangs fell on their (her?) nose and they reached up with small, delicate, calloused, hands to tuck it behind one sharp ear. “That... also means I’m notsurehowtofixthis.”

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“They never let you be famous and happy”

Cont. from (x)

"I have been....” they paused considering the best way to word this. “In the past I have been both famous, and happy; but for all I try I cannot remember a time where I was both simultaneously. As though one is the price of the other. The last time I was married I was not famous, but I held such sublime happiness that there was nothing I could want for. More recently I am of some note but I find myself alone atop the pedestals those I care for craft for me.”

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cont from [x]

Gently placing their hand on her shoulder they said, “I’ve got some Nordic Mountain Tea, good for keeping out the chill. Keep put and I’ll have some made up in no time.” They have her shoulder a light squeeze before moving over to the doused campfire and digging the basic things out of their travel kit to make the tea. 

A firebolt to the logs ignited them in no time, and before long there was tea, smelling vaguely of snowberries and home to Robn’s Nordic sensibilities. Handing Eloren her mug they took a seat beside her with a mug of their own, not drinking it but just breathing in the smell. “Do you want to talk about it?”

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@absolutionandscars

Continued from [x]

“I’m just a bit curious about,” gestures around the two of them, “this. My village has worshiped the All-Maker for time gone past but I never imagined there’d be stuff like this out in the world. ” Which wasn’t a lie. Skaal Village had worshiped the All-Maker for a very long time, but there wasn’t anything like this in all of Tamriel. Information was information, and if there was any to be had here it wouldn’t be so bad listening to what seemed to be the religion they’d be raised on plus a few things. “These buildings are huge, and there’s ceremonial dress, and something about a marriage? It’s all a bit over my head.”

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Amidst the Battlefields | Closed Starter

The area they seemed to be trapped in- circles upon circles of walking, landmarks found thrice over through different paths, seemed unending. Even when they were trying to find the same landmark twice they struggled until they happened upon it again. Between all of the fighting they seemed to be doing against basically any person they came across that is. 

For now they were taking a break from wandering the seemingly endless wilderness in the shadow of a weeping statue. ‘Not so different than the shrines to various divines in Skyrim’, they supposed, placing a Septim at the statue’s feet before taking a seat on the shady ground in front of it. They were quiet, and so were their surroundings- it was peaceful in a the tense sort of way that would allow them to hear anyone coming, but granted plenty respite from the seemingly senseless fighting they were surrounded by.

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Open Starter- Thedas Verse

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People might suppose Lorkhan to feed on madness like this- but this is just totally out of control. Running from place to place, constantly under attack- in a seemingly boundless wilderness- wait no they’re just lost. They swear they passed that tree two hours ago. Getting lost is never a problem, hasn’t been in all of their travels as long as they’re on Nirn- unless.... They’re not on Nirn anymore. Sensing eyes on their back they whip around, looking one of the natives of this realm, wherever it is, in the eye, staff at the ready but not attacking.