Martin hisses as his connection to the Familiar is severed abruptly, breathing heavily. Divines take it all, the Rose and this realm. Whoever this woman is, she won't give up.
Most of his magicka spent on throwing her off his trail or recuperating his magicka, Martin reaches to his deepest reserves, needing to conjure some water before he faints from exhaustion.
Minutes past, no one approaches. At least, he sees no one, so he inches out of the recess he's taken as a hiding place, hoping this building is as abandoned as it looksβrust and dust and dilapidation inside what must be a warehouse, molding wooden crates stacked against the walls.
The Rose is thrown onto the floor without ceremony, pointed disdain etched in Martin's features, face visible as he pulls back his hood. Not drawing a sigil to protect oneself from a daedric artifact would be considered suicide by any mage worth their soul gems, but Martin and the Rose have a personal, magical link he hopes hasn't been severed just yet.
Counter to the essence of a daedric prince is the essence of a Divine. Blood will have to do, as it did for the portal to Mankar Camoran's Paradise and the blood of Talos, scrapped from his cuirass. Perhaps it's hubris to think his blood qualifies as an essence of the Nine, but if the blood of the Avatar of Akatosh and the last descendant of Tiber Septim doesn't count, he'll gladly offer whatever is left of his soul to obliterate Sanguine's staff.
"Nine Divines, hear my plea!" His silver gladius slices through his flesh so cleanly, Martin isn't pained until he clenches his fists and coats the Rose in his blood. "Long have the Daedra tormented Your children, turned their thoughts and actions against Your guidance! But through Your Covenant have we seen the light, and through Your mercy shall no mortal here suffer at the claws of Sanguine's debauchery!"
Inside a floating sphere of bloody-colored mist, the Rose levitates, blood seeping into its stem and petals until cracks and breaks start to chip away at its form.
"I, Martin Septim, through soul and blood, banish this tool of evil from this realm!"
no subject
Most of his magicka spent on throwing her off his trail or recuperating his magicka, Martin reaches to his deepest reserves, needing to conjure some water before he faints from exhaustion.
Minutes past, no one approaches. At least, he sees no one, so he inches out of the recess he's taken as a hiding place, hoping this building is as abandoned as it looksβrust and dust and dilapidation inside what must be a warehouse, molding wooden crates stacked against the walls.
The Rose is thrown onto the floor without ceremony, pointed disdain etched in Martin's features, face visible as he pulls back his hood. Not drawing a sigil to protect oneself from a daedric artifact would be considered suicide by any mage worth their soul gems, but Martin and the Rose have a personal, magical link he hopes hasn't been severed just yet.
Counter to the essence of a daedric prince is the essence of a Divine. Blood will have to do, as it did for the portal to Mankar Camoran's Paradise and the blood of Talos, scrapped from his cuirass. Perhaps it's hubris to think his blood qualifies as an essence of the Nine, but if the blood of the Avatar of Akatosh and the last descendant of Tiber Septim doesn't count, he'll gladly offer whatever is left of his soul to obliterate Sanguine's staff.
"Nine Divines, hear my plea!" His silver gladius slices through his flesh so cleanly, Martin isn't pained until he clenches his fists and coats the Rose in his blood. "Long have the Daedra tormented Your children, turned their thoughts and actions against Your guidance! But through Your Covenant have we seen the light, and through Your mercy shall no mortal here suffer at the claws of Sanguine's debauchery!"
Inside a floating sphere of bloody-colored mist, the Rose levitates, blood seeping into its stem and petals until cracks and breaks start to chip away at its form.
"I, Martin Septim, through soul and blood, banish this tool of evil from this realm!"