Fiona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uncalled_for) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2012-07-10 10:03 pm
uncalled_for) wrote in exsiliumlogs2012-07-10 10:03 pm
Entry tags:
[Closed]
Date & Time: In the near future - let's say the 15th.
Location: Some abandoned factory outside of the hold.
Characters: Martin Septim and Fiona
Summary: Grey Wardens now make food deliveries to dragons, apparently.
Warnings: None for now.
In the back of her head was a very loud thought telling her to turn around and not bother with this idea at all. What if she was walking right into a trap of some kind? Or if Martin was wrong about how long it could take him to turn into a dragon. She could end up his breakfast rather than the food she was carrying in her pack for him. But despite all of that she kept walking. She could defend herself if anything came down to it, she was reassuring herself. And a part of her could relate to his situation. Martin had seemed a decent enough person before this nonsense came up and she was hoping not all of that was lost with his current... predicament.
With a tight grip on her staff she stood in front of the abandoned building Martin had told her about before. But instead of knocking she stood quiet and still for a long moment. Fiona recalled the High Dragon that was within in the Deep Roads and listened for any signs that whatever was in this place was one and the same.
But there was nothing. It wasn't nearly as reassuring as she had hoped. With a strong knock she called, "Martin?"
Location: Some abandoned factory outside of the hold.
Characters: Martin Septim and Fiona
Summary: Grey Wardens now make food deliveries to dragons, apparently.
Warnings: None for now.
In the back of her head was a very loud thought telling her to turn around and not bother with this idea at all. What if she was walking right into a trap of some kind? Or if Martin was wrong about how long it could take him to turn into a dragon. She could end up his breakfast rather than the food she was carrying in her pack for him. But despite all of that she kept walking. She could defend herself if anything came down to it, she was reassuring herself. And a part of her could relate to his situation. Martin had seemed a decent enough person before this nonsense came up and she was hoping not all of that was lost with his current... predicament.
With a tight grip on her staff she stood in front of the abandoned building Martin had told her about before. But instead of knocking she stood quiet and still for a long moment. Fiona recalled the High Dragon that was within in the Deep Roads and listened for any signs that whatever was in this place was one and the same.
But there was nothing. It wasn't nearly as reassuring as she had hoped. With a strong knock she called, "Martin?"
no subject
Artika's help was invaluable. The fear and dread of hurting others was replaced by the excitement of the new, and the drive to control it. Wasn't easy, of course, all those draconic instincts of dominance and egotism churning inside, a particularly insidious nature that nearly got him killed once, and could get him killed again.
Martin knew, without a doubt, that this would be a lifelong struggle. But there was honor in fighting the lure of power. Even now, no longer in Tamriel and thus no longer the Emperor, egotism could still go to his head.
It hadn't, it wouldn't, he would make sure of it.
"You're made it," he says, voice lower and drier than usual. "I didn't think you were coming." He doesn't look well—brown hair dampened with sweat, stringy, cheeks hollower than usual, resting against the wall, an arm holding his stomach. "Ends up dragons have enormous appetites." His rations were finished a mere hour ago, yet a void fills his stomach.