all the joy unforgiven by this task

[preyed]

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.

Comments

[septim]

Martin isn't sure if he should be unnerved by the fact that he's been in this realm already and does not recall it, or that he's been revived twice and does not recall it.

When he chose to become the Avatar of Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, he should've expected side-effects. But he never expected to be caught in a thread of space-time (alive and well!) outside of Nirn, again. The Nine work in strange ways, he knows that better than anyone, but he can't help but be annoyed.

At the moment, he doesn't care for the Initiative or their plight. Instead, he's focused on research—reading the network for his previous self's entries and comments, turning the library upside-down in hopes of finding a reason for his revival, and a need to get his bearings without outside help.

But there's so much learning and researching a mortal mind can take before needing a break.

Hacking off his singed locks, his appearance is different enough that no one should recognize him for the long-haired, craggy-faced healer he'd been. It's been years since he's sported short hair, the typical shaggy locks of Imperials bouncing off his forehead in a manner he'll have to re-acquaint himself with. Ironically enough, the last time his hair was this short, his life had change completely too.

Martin doesn't want to think about Sanguine and his cult. What he wants is release the magicka boiling his blood, the remnants of his fiery death and Akatosh' power surging throughout his body. The Initiative spoke of training rooms in their hold, so that seems like the natural place to let off some magic.

Until his nostrils are assaulted with a familiar odor so pungent, he nearly throws up.

Daedric magic.

His hood is pulled up as he surreptitiously advances upon its source, a heavy pack. Its owner, a woman who has to be an Imperial, is too busy shattering dummies with her warhammer. Red-pink petals jut out of her pack, and Martin has to bite his tongue not to scream in anger.

The Sanguine Rose.

This woman has Sanguine's artifact.

Viscerally, Martin casts Blizzard. A snowstorm quickly surges inside the room, reducing visibility to near zero, except for its caster. Martin grabs the Rose, tosses the pack aside and leaps out of the room, promising he'll apologize once this tool of pain and mischief is obliterated from this realm.