does ralis suffer from PTSD regarding everything that's happened?? if not, any other side effects?
misc. asks ;; always accepting
He’d never been overly fond of Solstheim to begin with. & really, after this whole ordeal, it would take an exceptional amount of pressure or genuine purpose for the man to even consider a trip back once he’s formally left. Let alone get on a boat where changes of plan aren’t entirely probable ; dare he panic halfway there. He doesn’t mind boats, but they really aren’t the best place to have an anxiety attack. One might even notice him avoiding the coastlines parallel to Solstheim altogether after he’s finally fled the island. Raven Rock’s potential & charm be damned once he realizes the entirety of the island made him feel so … weak. Something I think about frequently is how Ralis, of course, felt the pure force of Ahzidal’s influence while, I can only imagine, also caught in the aura of Miraak’s overall influence over Solstheim. Something felt wrong when they’d arrived. & things only got worse as they tracked down the buried barrow. Naturally, Ralis would come to assume it was all Ahzidal. But tales of the last dragonborn & Miraak … Yikes. That’s another post for another time though !!
Let’s talk about ~Trauma~
Ralis is Fucked !!! It’s … bad. Turns out living in isolation, in a high stress environment & overall scenario, with a lich dragon priest using you as a personal ragdoll & playing yahtzee with your mind, for months & months on end … could be traumatizing & induce a bit of psychosis. Who would have guessed. It’s … troubling. Outwardly he appears to have it together. Psychologically he’s still, all things considered, exceptionally high functioning. It’s not … ‘oOoH pSycHo rAliS’. No. Fuck that. I hate that. That’s actually offensive. It’s more … realistic. He genuinely … Struggles to differentiate reality from … Well, the cluster fuck which is his mind space at current. He still …. hears things. He still has visions. Hallucinations. Blackouts. (no sacrificial murder this time !! but it’s still awful waking up somewhere with no memory !!!) He still hears Ahzidal. The hisses. The whispers. Feeling a constant looming presence. He see the mask everywhere & in everything.
Ahzidal has been defeated, but Ralis still can’t get away.
I feel like this is why he responds the way he does if the pc decides not to spare him. & I feel like it’s important to note that he does not become hostile until after it’s verbalized they don’t believe him & think he should be punished. He’s spitting out what Ahzidal must have told him. Over & over.
“What ? No ! You can’t… I have his will on my side! He will command all of us!”
Ahzidal had control of Ralis, yes, but Ahzidal would want that influence to run so deep it’s ingrained in Ralis as a whole. Something Ralis can process through on his own … But if threatened with death by a trusted friend? Seconds after being freed? Well … Maybe Master Ahzidal was right & his business partner really ~was~ out to get him ! & betray him ! & leave him for dead ! & don’t trust ~them~ you know the truth !! you know better !! Because Master Ahzidal Said.
& it’s such a struggle for him due to the nature of Ahzidal’s influence. Ahzidal was in his mind. Ahzidal was influencing every single action. Every single thought. Ralis spent the entirety of the excavation shifting from assuming ; he’s having a psychotic breakdown & trying to hide it, somewhat acknowledging he’s in actual trouble & still trying to hide it for the safety of others despite his mind magic induced haze, realizing fully how truly under Ahzidal’s contol he is after being rescued from it … & being left to wonder …. why he still …. Hears him.
It frightens him. Having to sit there & wonder if it’s actually all in his head this time. Or if Ahzidal had either … never left to begin with … or was making a genuine return. Which are valid fears. Which doesn’t help. His greatest fear is waking up & finding bloodied hands again. Luckily for him … It won’t ever pan out that way ever again. He’s in control this time, even if he’s spiraling, it’s only him in there. It gets better with time. The psychosis in particular. But overall he’s … scarred for life ? Straight up ??
There’s a reason he doesn’t immediately go back to the mainland. He … can’t. Not yet. Not until he gets his mind sorted out. This is going to branch off into a Robyn centric hc real quick, so cheers to anyone who’s made it this far, but it’s a large reason she brought him to Skyrim in the first place. He wasn’t ready to go back to Morrowind. & won’t be ready for a length of time. He is not in the right state of mind to go right back to work. He’d try, of course, & may even seem to be fine. But … Robyn knows better now. Robyn is paying closer attention now. & she brings him to the one place in all of Tamriel, hate it or not, where she feels. Safest. Most at home. Closest to family. A familiar landscape where they can still find distraction, but also the means of proper recovery. They’ll drift back to Mournhold eventually, Ralis does have a small home there, but where he stands at present, stepping back from his everyday life & taking care of himself is best.
@yivohn - ❛❛ This is a game you cannot hope to win! ❜❜
The feeling of betrayal fills his being, he thought the dunmer was a friend but it was clear she was a foe, a damn thief. He’s quick to grab hold onto the item she was attempting to covet for herself, ❝ Is that so? ❞ he violently pulls the item towards him, along with her with it. A hiss escapes him as crimson eyes stare with rage into those of the thief. ❝ I think you are sadly mistaken, Valvossa. ❞
The warrior freezes in place. Those words, he hates to hear them. Sure, he would want to instill fear into those who’d hurt others but he doesn’t want to scare the citizens of Solitude, nor his friends. And sure, even though they had gotten off on the wrong foot, he still cares for her. Shoulders relax from his stiffened posture before the elf turns his head to look over his shoulder towards her, ❝ And what about you, hm? Are you frightened of me too? ❞
@yivohn said: " happy birthday, elona! " valvossa burst into the flagon late into the night, waving a linen-wrapped gift in her right hand. a grin was stretched across her clearly tired face, and her hair was tied back and messy, flecks of ash across her cheeks; it was clear she'd been at the forge. as she approached, pleased, she held out the gift to the argonian, bouncing excitedly on her heels. within, elona would find a dwarven dagger, its metal blackened into a glossy, iridescent ebony. amethysts and rubies were encrusted into the pommel, lending the weapon a more intricate and elegant look. " i was going to have it enchanted, too, but.. i figured you might want to do that yourself." she paused, then leaned forward to embrace elona with a tight hug.
misc birthday asks | only accepting today!
“ Oh dear... has someone been spreading rumors about my birthday again? ” Not that she’s upset about it - quite the opposite, in fact. Her birthday was well-known among the members of the guild, anyway, so she would have been more surprised if someone hadn’t mentioned it. “ Ah well. I suppose someone would’ve said something eventually. ” She pauses a moment to spy Valvossa’s tired and ash-flecked face, raising a brow. “ Did you spend the entire day up at the forge? You look exhausted. ”
Regardless, she takes the gift as it’s passed her way, unwrapping the linen to reveal the dagger concealed within. A look somewhere between surprise and excitement settles on her face as she lifts the blade to examine it. “ Val, it’s beautiful, ” she breathes, giving it a couple of experimental swings. It was weighted perfectly, and would no doubt see some use before long.
At the embrace, the argonian tenses for a moment before returning it with one of her own.
“ i thought something smelled different in riften today. ” it’s a playful jab, delivered with a lightheartedness from one dunmer to the other. wasn’t often salvasi visited this particular city, but she’d needed to fence some goods and knew this was the best place for it. “ don’t worry, you’re not in any danger with me. the local nords, on the other hand... ”
It had been little more than a month since she’d purchased the shack from the Office of Imperial Commerce ; the woman within was rather delighted to finally be rid of responsibility over the Waterfront property. It’d been cheap. & it’d proven a handy hideaway from the pandemonium which nipped at Ara’s heels around every corner. It’d become too dangerous to allow herself respite in the public eye.
Her mother had always warned her away from the impoverished slum. Naming it home of miscreants, paupers, & fiends. & while the roof over her head was less than reliable, Ara had come to find her new neighbors hospitable. A tight knit group of outsiders ; joined together under the personal protection of the supposed Grey Fox. Belief in the Thieves Guild & its Guildmaster had always been a heated debate. Many swore it true — a network of thieves & fences who worked in secrecy across the land, pledging loyalty to a King of Thieves - his eyes & ears the lowly beggars of each city & village. Many more protested the expense of investigating frivolous claims. Chasing shadows.
Believers & skeptics alike shared one thing in common. A inexplicable paranoia of the Fox. Ara had grown up knowing these tales well. The Thieves Guild’s apparent activities were the building blocks of her apprenticeship. The guards & officials who scoffed away frets as gossip, were the very same men & women who frequented Locks & Locke —- seeking reliable security.
Her Master had always thanked the Fox for the consistent flow of business. A staunch believer, & retired thief himself, the elderly bosmer had often chuckled knowingly upon inspecting returned locks — expertly picked. Ara could remember his cheeky grin & how his his dark eyes lit with the promise of a challenge, something that she’d come to mimic unknowingly after a childhood under the mer’s passionate instruction & lead. Ara feels a familiar aching as she absently sorts through old blueprints & concepts she’d been forced to abandon until her present mission concluded. She missed him. She knew she could visit. He was there in the Market District after all. Her room in the workshop’s attic couldn’t have walked away either – her hammock & books must be collecting dust by now. She hadn’t even written. Too fearful of her words being tracked down to his doorstep. It was dangerous. The Mythic Dawn hid in plain sight ; beneath her homely robes of cream, a fresh scabbing scar stung as a continual reminder. She could only return to him once the Gates have been slammed shut once more.
Ara uncrosses her legs & shifts to dangle them over the bedside. Leaving her portfolio & papers spewed across her blankets. She allows heavy lids to shut. Sitting upright she stares into the nothingness, welcoming its dark. She lets her head fall to one side. & then the other. An orchestra of crackling joints & groaning sinews. Her hair, free of its formal braid, is left to drape down her back, but not for long. She opens her eyes. Running her hand through her hair before gathering it all up, twisting & securing it with her gilded strap, hoisting it all up into a bun.
It’s only in this moment that Ara detects a considerable unease within herself. A sickly dread with no apparent source. Digesting the sinking feeling, Ara’s able to name it as the dread which comes from eyes unseen. She freezes. Breath held tight & hands still posed, hung hovering over her secured messy bun. Gawking at the empty room, it takes a considerable amount of time, or so it feels, to recognize what was wrong with the sight before her. A shadow. There, standing tall against the far wall. The silhouette was much taller than she, broader as well, which could be accounted to the very nature of shadows. This was the trouble. By the very nature of shadows, this one shouldn’t exist.
It possessed no apparent source. No apparent means of obstruction for the gentle glow of candlelight & humble hearth. Not only was Ara herself not standing, she was at an angle which would prevent the formation of this mass altogether. Her expression pales as the shadow darkens. Before any thought to jolt for her loyal bow had any hope of being born — her weapon solidifies alongside a man. She can’t maintain her focus on the bow, hypnotized instead by the face now revealed. Or more specifically. His cowl. She cannot count the moments that pass them by in this stalemate – frozen in time. A vision that would stay with her her whole life long.
“You’re real.” the silence is broken, her tone blunt, factual.
He smiles, pleasant, for a criminal, “More real than you could begin to imagine,” he tapers off, setting Ruin’s Edge upon her table, “am I speaking with the lady of the house, the Hero of Kvatch ?”
“That’s what they’ve begun to call me.”
“… & what would you call yourself ?”
“ — you first.”
In a blink on her part – his smile is gone. He clears his throat, eyes shifting away as he meanders nearer — steps light so as not to spook the younger thief further after such an intrusion of privacy. “For now, I will remain a stranger in a mask,” he speaks as if correcting himself, as if Ara had missed a handful of words, she briefly notes it odd, albeit barely registering the shift as he continues, “name me as you see fit ; The Grey Fox, a Stranger, a Thief — Guildmaster.”
He pauses halfway across the room, making himself at home upon her fireside chair ; the eyes watching her from beneath the cowl just as warm. Holding within them a hidden nostalgia which evades Ara. Recognition she could not share. Even if he’d removed his cowl. Especially if he’d removed his cowl. His voice strikes her familiar, he can see it in her face ; like a vivid dream forgotten upon waking, the echoes lingering even in lucid memory. “Only know that I do not mean you harm. I’ve been watching you for some time. A proper introduction has been long overdue.”
“& you’d deny me your name still ?” Ara chimes, cautious, but notably easing in her tension ; there was the obvious excitement now bubbling where dread had previously curdled, & even then, there was something in the way he held himself. The kinship they shared which ran deeper than shadow walking, thievery, & deceit, “I’ll give you mine once & only once. You must promise to never forget it. I wont remind you again.”
@yivohn said : ❝ i can’t give you that . you know that . ❞
status : interrogation starters . / on hold til i get some done .
he stands , perched at the top of the small cliff , red and purple and white and orange cloud-light spiralling along the stones around him . his scales do not reflect it , but eat away at what might gleam on his brethrens’ : HIS EBONY WILL NOT BE DEVOURED . curved claws dig into the hard surface as he slips down , eventually coming to rest at another precarious landing . from here , he can look down at the dovahkiin and her companions , the way he should . ❝ ful nii los . if you will not give me your soul , THEN I WILL TAKE IT FROM YOU MYSELF . ❞
