jaebility: (beatles // paul in glasses)
She pulled off her Nightengale mask to get a better look at it, reading the message a few times in case she’d missed something, something hidden between the neat letters. But no, nothing there but a death sentence. Or attempt, anyway. Didn’t say all that much for the Brotherhood, if a thief could out kill them.

Nadreshiel rolled the assassin’s note between her bloody fingers as she contemplated. The Guild was secure and everyone getting too fat and lazy to squeeze out of the sewer’s passages. The Guild was secure, but apparently she wasn’t - targeted by assassins in addition to tenacious guards and rival thieves. The bargain she’d made with Nocturnal was still a decent one and she could almost feel the weight of it, like it was some other piece of armor or some heavy loot in her pocket. But the other Princes… Other bargains…

She crumbled the note into a tiny ball, then swallowed it for some reason she couldn’t fathom herself. From it hatched a nebulous plan as it dawned with the growing strength of the sun rising, which is was, warming the Rift and gilding the leaves that moved around her.

Read more... )
jaebility: (da // aveline)
The storm blew the snow with such ferocity that the trees disappeared into the white and Farkas could smell only their damp furs and cold breaths, the scent of the fugitive they’d been tracking was lost in the wind and ice.

In front of him Ilessa tramped heavily through the snow banks. She was using her battered shield the block the freezing gusts, but the determination in her steps was wavering. When she stopped and shouted over the wind’s howling that they were going to make camp, Farkas wasn’t surprised, just pointed to where he’d caught sight of a rocky overhang in the brush. It wasn’t much shelter, but he’d survived worse nights. He caught a glimpse of her face, harsh and resolute, through the swirling snow and figured she’d weather it too, even if she was from Cyrodiil.

Farkas broke off dry branches from the trees they passed and when they finally ducked into the cavern, Ilessa yanked free the hanging moss. They put their backs to the cold stone and piled their wood and kindling at the cavern’s mouth. Farkas was rustling through his armor to find flint when Ilessa pulled off one of her gloves. “Here,” she said, and fire blast from her hand. “Magic’s good for something.”

"Not bad."

"I know that and basic healing," she said a she shoved her hand back into her glove. She added a defensive comment, like she was raising her shield, "Useful out in the field."

Vilkas probably would have had something to say to that, but Farkas was glad for the fire. It was something else she could do, something that none of the other Companions did as far as he knew. And it was another thing he liked about her.

She pulled off her hood and shook the snow out of her hair. It was as dark as a wolf’s pelt, and Farkas had something to say about that, about how he liked the color or it, the thickness, how it fell around her face, and how it and all of her smelled of blood and steel, of pine and clover honey. And he liked the way she wielded her axe and the strength in her heavy footsteps. And it annoyed his brother but Farkas liked the way she stepped up when Kodlak wanted help. He couldn’t say that though, or any of it without messing it up, so instead he said with a grin, “Don’t worry - I won’t tell Vilkas.”

Ilessa chuckled and shook her head. “He knows. And wasn’t impressed.”

"He is, even if he doesn’t say it. I am too."

The smile she gave him was a rare one and warmed him up more than the fire.
jaebility: (tutu // bad writing)

It's not quite dawn and when Sapphire climbs up and out of the guild's cemetery entrance the sky above her head is the same murky color as the water in the Ragged Flagon. The secret door grinds to a close behind her and she kicks her boot against the fake tomb to clean it. After those two movements the graveyard is silent - she listens, a thief's habit - and slides around the graves.

There's a crunch to her left and Sapphire whirls with a blade in each hand. Her target lowers the bread from her mouth and swallows loud in the still air. "Looks like I'm not the only early riser," the woman says with a low laugh.

A plan flits lightning fast through her brain: sprint forward, slice the woman's throat, and stuff the corpse in the Rataway before the guard's patrol. Another unexplained death, something for the Jarl to titter over, but nothing more. But Sapphire hesitates, and she never hesitates and she hates that she is now, and the woman speaks again, voice still soft, "The affairs of the living are no concern of mine."

The lack of fear - the lack of caring about it at all surprises Sapphire. The woman, perched on a grave like she's part of the stone, stares as Sapphire spins her knives and tucks them away. "The gravedigger," Sapphire says. She recognizes Arkay's priest, now that sun is beginning to flicker through the mist. Everyone in Riften knows of Alessandra, or knows as much as they're able. Arkay keeps the dead and His priests as close as dead as possible. Sapphire convinces herself that there's no risk in letting Alessandra see the passageway. "Who would you tell, anyway? The skeletons you sleep with?"

"No one keeps secrets quite like the dead," the priest acknowledges. She finishes her bread and brushes the crumbs from her robe. The dawn is bright enough now that when she looks up, Sapphire can see the glint of her eyes, the lines of her mouth. "I'd give you blessings, but it doesn't look like you really need them. If you ever do, you know where to find me."

When the priest turns away, Sapphire pulls a knife out again. A flick of her wrist and it'd be in Alessandra's back. But she keeps it in her hand, the metal cool against her palm, and watch priest's robes sway as she walks back to the temple. Sapphire almost follows - what does she have to do today, anyway? Something for Brynjolf, something for Maven, nothing important - but then she hears the scruff of boots on gravel.

The guard who turns the corner and walks into the cemetery doesn't see anything but graves and grass.
jaebility: (tutu // krahe & tutu)
It started out as pity.

The coldness of Skyrim extended to its people, and even in the crowded city of Windhelm she felt alone. Her entrance had been inauspicious: she’d interrupted a shake-down of sorts; two men intimidating a woman, who’d stood her ground despite the abuse. Things hadn’t improved from there. She walked from the slums to the estates and back through again, pausing at the graveyard, then warming her hands at the blacksmith’s fire.

There was a beggar there, a woman in rags who coughed and shivered, and nearly wept when Inswe fished a septim from her pouch. The guards walked by them like they were invisible.

She found Wylandriah’s soul gem and left the White Phial quickly, pulling her hood up and crossing her arms tight over her chest. Somehow it was colder than Winterhold, even without the snow and wind, and she made her way down the icy stone streets as swiftly as she could, ready to retreat back to the sun-dappled Riften. At the gates was another beggar and when she came closer she recognized him: one of the pair who’d harassed Suvaris.

He thanked her when he took her coin, giving no indication of recognition. But perhaps he couldn’t see her face under her hood. “I could be an elf,” she said, and he frowned down at her.

“Are you?”

She pulled the hood down, exposing her round ears. “Breton. But you couldn’t have known that.”

“No,” he said and stared at the septim lying flat in his wide palm. “Do you want this back?”

It was cold and it was dark, and Inswe was tired of the city and of Nords in general. “No, keep it. Go to the inn, get a warm meal.”

The guards pulled the gates banging closed behind her and Inswe didn’t look back until she’d passed Kynesgrove and all she could see off the city was its walls.
jaebility: (avatar // penguins)
I finally had some time to put some serious hours in Skyrim, and basically SKYRIM SKYRIM SKYRIM SKYRIM SKYRIM.

Holy shit this game is incredibly. It's so huge and beautiful. And so damn extensive. Every NPC has a name, many of their own stories. Practically everything can be picked up, can be examined, can be eaten. There are times where I just stop and stare: the aurora borealis over the mountains, the moons sliding through the clouds, the golden leaves dancing to the ground. The Dude's been playing it too (of course) and despite our similar character level, we're basically playing different games. He's a thief, sticking close to the holds. I'm a warrior out in wilderness. My character climbs the highest peaks to search for dragons, delves deep into caverns for mining. She's chased a stag across a valley into the forest, she's taken off her heavy armor to help farm and chop wood.

At night she hunts vampires.

And then there's Oooh Mr. Farkas oooh. Who my character married the hell up.


jaebility: (Default)
a jar of jae

November 2016


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