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preyed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-04-03 04:46 pm
preyed) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-04-03 04:46 pm
Entry tags:
all the joy unforgiven by this task
Date & Time: April 3, 2013, afternoon.
Location: Initiative Hold.
Characters: The Dragonborn (preyed) and the Last Septim (septim).
Summary: Martin and Vera meet and things don't go exactly as planned.
Warnings: Possible visceral imagery. We're talking Daedra here.
It hasn't quite been a month since Vera's arrival in the twice damned city, and she's been practically bored to tears. The apartments are far from the lavish home she'd purchased for herself back in Whiterun or even in Riften, and there isn't enough room for anything beyond sleeping. She's hardly bothered to unpack her things. Why take the risk when she can just as easily be whisked back to Skyrim to continue her fight with Alduin? It would be a fruitless endeavor.
She's fallen in with Hawke, a man who understands her more than most others care to, and despite their on-and-off escapades into bars and around the city, she's had little else to do. The library keeps her occupied, as does training, but it's still not enough. She's restless and unproductive, gnawing at the bit, keeping as close to a low profile as she can dare.
It's not enough.
The Initiative Hold is where she finds herself, more than content to work off some steam by training. She's dumped her pack in the corner and has drawn out her warhammer to lay waste to a few test dummies, none of them quite as satisfying as she needs. With a swing, off goes one of the heads, flying to the side and bouncing.
She hisses through grated teeth, agitated already. She'll need to plan for an excursion out of the city in the coming days. It really is the best for everyone. At least out in the wild, she can shout and not worry about drawing attention to herself...or being arrested for something so trivial.
Location: Initiative Hold.
Characters: The Dragonborn (
preyed) and the Last Septim (septim).Summary: Martin and Vera meet and things don't go exactly as planned.
Warnings: Possible visceral imagery. We're talking Daedra here.
It hasn't quite been a month since Vera's arrival in the twice damned city, and she's been practically bored to tears. The apartments are far from the lavish home she'd purchased for herself back in Whiterun or even in Riften, and there isn't enough room for anything beyond sleeping. She's hardly bothered to unpack her things. Why take the risk when she can just as easily be whisked back to Skyrim to continue her fight with Alduin? It would be a fruitless endeavor.
She's fallen in with Hawke, a man who understands her more than most others care to, and despite their on-and-off escapades into bars and around the city, she's had little else to do. The library keeps her occupied, as does training, but it's still not enough. She's restless and unproductive, gnawing at the bit, keeping as close to a low profile as she can dare.
It's not enough.
The Initiative Hold is where she finds herself, more than content to work off some steam by training. She's dumped her pack in the corner and has drawn out her warhammer to lay waste to a few test dummies, none of them quite as satisfying as she needs. With a swing, off goes one of the heads, flying to the side and bouncing.
She hisses through grated teeth, agitated already. She'll need to plan for an excursion out of the city in the coming days. It really is the best for everyone. At least out in the wild, she can shout and not worry about drawing attention to herself...or being arrested for something so trivial.
no subject
"Shit." Down on her knees, she reaches out to his head and pushes more healing into him, staunching the damage before anything else happens to him. It's only when she's nearly drained herself of her magicka that she stops healing him, reaching forward and somewhat scooping him up. With some care, she's able to lay him down flat on the ground, body relaxed and head turned so he's not resting on his injury. That's just about all she can provide for now.
Standing, she backs away from him and paces, hand going into her belt to remove a talisman lingering there. "I want a word with you," she says, summoning Lucien Lachance to her side. The darkness that opens up has hardly changed and the specter wastes no time in appearing from its chasm. Her eyes are narrowed and she gestures to Martin. "Tell me who that is."
He turns his gaze to the fallen emperor and she swears she almost sees his back stiffen. Martin Septim. Emperor of Tamriel.
Vera doesn't look pleased at all to hear it. "So it's true," she mutters. Dragon blooded, just as she is. "I don't understand," she whispers, for Lucien's ears alone, for the dead tell no tales and keep secrets as close as they can. "Why is he here? Why now?"
But her specter does not answer her. He takes a few steps towards Martin and it isn't until he reaches for the ethereal dagger that she realizes what he's doing. "Lucien, no." She gets in between them. "Stand down."
He is the Emperor, Listener. Too long I've waited... It would be a fitting tribute to Lord Sithis.
"No," she snaps, agitated. "Not him. Not now. We've done this before." And it hasn't brought her any peace. For a moment, the spectral assassin seems to listen to her. He hesitates and she is nearly certain he'll back down. But then he lunges, trying to skirt around her, and her blade is out before she even has the thought of drawing it. It slides easily into his stomach, an extension of her hand, and she watches with some vestige of regret as he crumbles into dust and returns to the Void.
With a sigh, shoulders finally dropping, Vera turns back to look at Martin's prone form on the ground. And then she pulls out her tablet to call for assistance from the Initiative.