#urnarseldo || thread

[dragxnsfire]

@deathswcrn || continued from here

He’d been watching the younger man for some time now. Loathe as he was to give this new Dominion any sort of credit, their soldiers and agents were disciplined, as any proper mer of Summerset should be; only after an hour of eyeing the stranger from the opposite side of the little mead-house had the elder Altmer felt confident enough to approach.

Finding the lad had been an accident on the Vestige's part, an overheard whisper of a strange 'knife-ear' (it'd taken discipline of his own to not light a fire under the drunkard who'd shared the rumor) wandering the Old Holds. Suspicious, he'd believed, after his own escape from the prisons of the Thalmor Embassy, freed alongside others by this new hero, this 'Dragonborn'— and followed by one of the Dominion's own agents. But he'd been too haggard at the time to follow the boy. Now, it seemed, he'd finally caught up with this newest deserter.

Seldo's lips pulled into a lop-sided smile as he settled at the bar next to Iachesis, leaning forward upon it as he set a few coins on the counter. "Schoolyard insults and ridiculous rumors. Nothing to be afraid of, in my experience," he said with a soft laugh. He fell quiet, pulling a glittering ring from a pocket of his ancient, cracked leather armor, and set it upon the bar. It bore the emblem of a Dominion, it was true— but one far older than the one Iachesis served: the Aldmeri eagle, enclosed in the intertwining branches of Y'ffre, cradled in the khajiiti moons. "I have questions, if you would indulge an old mer."

[roquenxnar]

from @fallensmith || continued from here!

Celebrimbor regarded the other with a weary look, lingering in the doorway wrapped in a heavy grey shawl that swallowed his diminished frame. The smith looked gaunt, haunted as he watched Seldo's partner in conversation quickly leave the room. Whether it be because the presence of the fallen Lord made them uncomfortable or they felt guilty... Tyelpë did not know and could not bring himself to care. Heaving a heavy, painful sigh, he stepped fully into the room and stared expectantly at the younger elf. "And yet I did... so, explain." @roquenxnar

It was terribly easy, by Urnarseldo’s estimation, to get his hands on the Smith-Lord’s works: there were precious few locks in Imladris, and even fewer he could not pop open with a hook and pick of his own making. That was sure to change, the young man reckoned, now that he’d been caught red-handed. He watched as the other young elf— a handmaiden of Lady Galadriel come for a visit, though he’d already forgotten her name— abandoned him to his fate, before turning a wide-eyed gaze upon Tyelpë. The boy moved quickly to try to scrape together his pilfered materials, and shoved them into a pile on the table before him… where he’d previously been explaining to his previous audience how he could improve upon the elder elf’s work. In truth, the old smith had always somewhat frightened him; they’d met before, of course, when his own parents still lived. They had always insisted upon bringing Celebrimbor what they found in ruins, out in the field. Even little gifts to try to lift his spirits. And now they were gone, and with them, Urnarseldo’s bravery in speaking to the elf that haunted Rivendell’s halls like a barrow-wraith. “I meant no disrespect, really,” he stammered, rounding the table to stand before it, hands behind his back. Even now he covered the runes— relics from Eregion, stones the fallen Lord himself had practiced upon, once. Now, they bore a few of Seldo’s own markings. Additions, he’d insisted, that would make them better. Flashier, more impressive. A better show. “I just— wh-what I mean to say is—“ he cleared his throat, and grabbed a stone, holding it up to the elder elf’s face. Close, so he could properly read it. “This one could help scouts! Watch this.” He stepped aside, drew a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He did not verbalize the word, picturing it was enough. Probably. Slowly but surely, the young man began to fade… though stopped just shy of true invisibility. With a snap, he popped back up, standing before the smith. “Invisibility! Or… something like it. Pretty good, right? Imagine, you’re an orc, walking through the fords, then— bam!” He slapped the stone back to the table. “Scout from nothing!”

[roquenxnar]

@thegreatstrongbow || ask! "So, you want to know the truth of the awakening?" Beleg ponders the question. "It is quite simple: Ilúvatar left his prototypes laying around too long, and then suddenly he looks back and we are sprouting poetry. That's why he had to try again with Men."

It was a simple question, really; at least, it was in the young elf's mind. How did the first elves awaken? Had Beleg really been there? And, seeing as he'd been sent to entertain himself anywhere else outside the Last Homely House's libraries, the marchwarden surely had plenty of time to answer. Urnarseldo's legs swung from the balcony he sat upon next to the older man, the dull knife he wielded scratching into a rune-stone's surface as he listened. The lad's head bobbed along as Beleg answered. It made sense, at first. He'd been told all his life about Ilúvatar, about how he'd made everything good in the world. It was all over the young elf's head, really, but he did smile and nod. Until the latter half of the explanation. His ears flicked back, and he turned to Beleg with a brief but thoroughly scandalized glare. "That's not true! Everybody likes hearing poetry; I'd bet even Ilúvatar does!" He brushed stone-dust from his work, and knocked it against the railing just to make sure no debris remained. Then, he paused, sea-green gaze drifting to the forest beyond the valley. "You weren't actually there, right? When we all first woke up?" He leaned back, looking over the other elf. A wicked little grin pulled at his lips. "But I guess you look like you could have been."

[veilxjumped]

@quiisquiliae asked:

"you stood up. you weren't afraid. you did what you thought was right." For Urnaseldo from Lace? @inquisitionscout

The First Warden had nearly had the little troupe clapped in irons for their insolence; Urnarseldo knew trying to discuss anything with the shem would be difficult. Impossible for him, had he not been taken in by the Inquisition all those years ago. The mage's nose wrinkled, and he gave a sharp scoff as he turned back to the ocean beyond; he'd retreated from the Cobbled Swan, after the Altus's timely intervention, to a quiet pier overlooking Minrathous's harbour. Ships of every stripe drifted past, sails billowing in the wind as they set to sea. It was a good place to sit and think— or, in Urnarseldo's case, to sit and seethe. Only Lace had bothered to try to find him.

The young man looked over his shoulder, green eyes meeting the dwarf's as he shook his head. "And a lot of good it did us," he said, frown deepening. "The First Warden didn't believe us... Creators, I almost got us arrested! What would we have done then? How can we help put the Gods away when mortals we can speak to, face to face, won't even listen?" As he spoke, he summoned a small sphere of watery ice. It rolled over his palm, slipped through his fingers and twirled around in the air... as good a release of energy as any, he supposed. Less destructive than he could have been. Finally, he turned back to Lace, looking far more like the boy the Inquisition had rescued than the young man he'd grown into.

"How did the Inquisitor do it? How did people just... listen without a second thought or argument?"

[roquenxnar]

@dreadwxlf

Negotiations, in the young Veil Jumper's experience, always went smoothest when prefaced with a peace offering; and the pitiful little flatbread he'd made, accompanied by the dried meat he'd found in the Lighthouse's larder, would have to do. His new companions, still angry about the ritual, hadn't even wanted to show the Dread Wolf any hospitality— but, wherever she was, Urnarseldo knew it was what the Inquisitor would have wanted. Not to mention the news he'd have to break about the dagger he'd lost in the confusion… Though really, the Wolf probably already knew.

Seldo jumped when the door to Solas's study— such as it was— slid open (it'd take him forever to get used to that), but tried to recover just a sliver of dignity, straightening his spine, and stepping inside. He peeked around the corner, brows flicking together as he finally saw the older elf; if not for the headache— and the new weight of both their mistakes on his mind— he could've pretended they were in Skyhold again. He cleared his throat, and stepped into the room, forcing his usual, lop-sided smile. "I haven't seen you since we got here— n-not that I've been walking around much, myself; I s'ppose rocks falling on you does really hurt."

He drew closer carefully— as if he were approaching a feral dog— and set the plate down. "Anyway, I figured even you need to have something to eat. I think." His shoulders fell, and he folded his arms, newly free, behind his back. He drew a long breath; there was no good time to talk about the ritual, really. "About the ritual… are you still… I mean, I know a lot of things went wrong, and you're probably upset…"

[dragxnsfire]

“ i know we almost died just now, but… am i the only one who’s hungry? “ ( for urnarseldo )

Things Done while Sparring/Fighting

The old Altmer frowned, looking down at the slain draugr, hand over his chest; he hardly remembered them being so difficult to fight— though, perhaps that was simply his age making itself known to him again— or, perhaps, there was something more. The creature had cast some sort of spell with its voice… and the once-Vestige had watched his young companion shout back in the very same language. He stared at Briengr for a moment, mouth agape. Of course a mer his age— a mere child by Urnarseldo's estimation— would be so flippant about the whole situation. He stared, and stared, before a chuckle, somewhere between nervous and bewildered, escaped him. "Are you— in this situation, yes! I don't know of any other who'd cast some sort of voice-magic, then ask for a meal."

With a wave of his hand, the swords he'd conjured dissipated, and a spectral staff took their place, letting the elder rest for a moment — at least, before the trove of treasure, both gold and artifacts, caught his remaining eye. "During that fight," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "you spoke… something. Words I've never heard, even at my age, and with the knowledge of the Psijics." He turned to face the younger mer, eye narrowing at him. "That creature—" he gestured to the now-still corpse of the draugr— "did it too. What I want to know is: what was that?"

Urnarseldo picked his way through the tomb, toward the treasure, and gazed up at the wall behind the hoard. Lines upon lines of text, hacked out of the stone millennia before even his prime. A gnarled hand ran over it, before he turned back to Briengr, his head tilted curiously. "You aren't here for any mere treasure, are you?"

[dragxnsfire]

❝ next time you’re looking to pester someone, make sure it’s the right person. ❞ (from Nallron for your choice of muse!)

Potions of all kinds laid in puddles on the cobblestone, among shards of thick, wavy glass, and the shreds of dignity the once-Vestige had carried in public. The Thalmor weren't supposed to be wandering about in Solitude today, not if his educated guesses had been correct— and generally, at his age, with his experience, they were. But this mer looked different. He didn't recognize the fellow before him, not from his imprisonment at the Embassy, nor his research.

Urnarseldo's lips pulled into a forced, sheepish smile, and he knelt to salvage what he could: an oddly viscious violet potion, a ruddy tincture— and his list. "Well, I wouldn't be pestering you if you hadn't stepped in my path, ceruval," he said with a good-natured huff. After all, this mer hadn't recognized him, not at first. If his luck held, Nallron wouldn't realize he was the wanted ex-hero, and would simply see a bumbling, old wizard. "Mind passing me that green bottle? I need all the help these potions can give me."

[roquenxnar]

❝ get help ? I AM HELP ! ❞ (from Mae to any of your blorbos it was just too funny hdgsfafsh)

The young man hadn't meant to become lost in the woods; in fact, he'd wanted to be a good grandson, a good nephew, a good scout— he'd only intended to follow his grandfather's dearest friend, and make sure he returned home safely. Urnarseldo simply hadn't realized how far the Noldo would travel, nor how much trouble one old elf could get into. And get somehow, trouble had found him, and he was only able to run from it.

That trouble, at the moment, was a warg. Or, several, really, but he could hardly be specific when he was running for his life. He leapt over fallen logs, diving through the freshly-fallen snow like a rabbit, before colliding with Maedhros. He scrambled behind the old man with a cry, as if the former King was a shield, or a wall. “There’s no way— did you not see those?” He asked, pointing toward the approaching wargs. “I don’t want to die— I haven’t even gotten to see the world yet!” He looked between Mae and the beast, and gave a whimper as he tried to hide; only after a moment to breathe was he able to think about the trouble he was causing, and how his family would likely never let him leave Rivendell again.