Blacknightmarerose

She was different today. There was focus. Marius noted the improvement, choosing to focus on it than the growing sense of unease he felt. Brining Shia to the astral realm was… a choice. Neither good or bad and observing her under the guise of teaching her to astral project allowed him to watch the odd aura surrounding her. What he had failed to observe initially was the fraying of those odd roots, as if something had come along and steadily begun to saw away at them. He had plenty of questions but doubted Shia would have the answers. She was naïve in the application of her magic and many spells connecting one to the Daedra required finesse. Could Shia have pulled it off? Of course. Anyone with half a thought and magic could reach Daedra. But she was so oblivious to it. He’d attached himself once to a Daedra and the experience had been nothing short of grueling. Exhaustion had been constant, as they were a starved lot, and he had spent a pretty Septim on soul gems and

He groaned awake, aware only then that he had fallen asleep. And that what had disturbed him was the sound of someone prying the lid off whatever box he was in. He swore quietly. He wasn’t ready, hadn’t even been able to formulate a plan. No weapon had revealed itself to him when he’d done his initial survey of the box hours ago but on the off chance that something had changed, he felt around again, desperate. But not afraid. No, if they wanted him dead, they would have killed him while he was unconscious. Torture was a likely option. But torture he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was the blow to his pride should he lay back and welcome capture. No, he couldn’t take that lying down. Now assured, again, that no weapon was coming to his waiting hand, he returned his gaze to the lid of his box. Light streamed in, not bright in the grand scheme of things but too bright to his eyes which had adapted to the darkness of his box. Squinting into it, he could make out one

Her work had long ended. And normally that was her cue to leave, returning to her solitude and her books until she needed to leave again. There was not much that caught her attention in the world as time passed and even rarer was anything of interest to be found in the mortals that filled it. But Victrice was different. In a sea of loud and obnoxious people, she was the calm. She was younger than most of her peers but when she spoke, they listened. It had given Lilith a reason to stay. Of course, all this she mused staring out at the skyline that was High Rock, a land she had never considered. She preferred the company of elves or no company at all, more than those of the other races. “So deep in thought, Priestess,” Victrice remarked as she joined Lilith in her leisure. “High Priestess,” Lilith corrected and Victrice snorted dismissively. “I am not calling you that,” she declared. She waved forward a servant who rested between them two chalices, one of which Victrice

It was his job, that was his mantra. So yes, when he had heard the thump of boots clomping their way across the deck, he had taken notice. When those footsteps had stopped, switching instead to a ghost of a step that he only noticed because they so deviated from the mess of steps surrounding them. As if someone had switched into stealth, their motives unclear. But Thaille had long since learned that when others had the element of surprise on their side, the results were never good. His bulk and his skin did not make stealth a strong suit of his, which was why he was very obvious in her pursuit of the silenced footsteps, jovially greeting dock hands and guards alike. Even the Eastern Empire’s hired goons offloading their suspicious goods got a nod, allowing him to present the illusion that he was just a large redguard stretching his legs rather than a beast hunting for that which did not belong. He was scenting the air but only getting back the sea air and some gods awful

The space around him was dark. Good. It was a boon. His head was pounding, and his body was sore and battered. The last thing he wanted was piercing lights assaulting his vision. He allowed his head to lull to the side, peering through slitted lids but all around him was dark and he had no desire to move, to feel the space to confirm his worse fears. Those being that someone had put him in a coffin. He had never done well in small spaces. Worse yet, he had no idea how he had gotten here. Trying to sort his thoughts at the moment was a task, focusing a chore because of the ache in his head. The pain meant he was alive though and he needed that reassurance. ‘I need to get out,’ he reminded himself. If he was in a coffin, if they buried him, he was dead. If they were an enemy, keeping him alive, wherever they took him, he doubted tending to his wounds would be high on their list of priorities. So he was dead then too. There were no scenarios where he did nothing that he could

She was soaked with sweat, and her body felt drained, as if the sun high in the sky above had chosen to shine on her alone with the sole intent to drain any shred of energy she had left. But she wasn’t going to complain, not when they needed to focus on moving ahead. It did not stop her from missing the wagon, which at least created some sort of breeze as they went. “He set off a lot of wards.” She glanced Shia’s way, focusing on her words though she’d been speaking to Falin. Ahead of them was a mess of …Serana didn’t quite know how to describe the carnage. The obvious remains of gargoyles lay in piles of upturned dirt. There were skeletal remains, echoing with the distinct hum of necromancy. “Durnehviir,” Serana announced. “Miraak had to summon him.” “And that’s bad?” Falin asked. “I’d think having a dragon on his side would give him the upper hand,” Shia reasoned. They were making sense but Serana still had a bad feeling. “We need to keep moving,” she insisted. “We need

She was glad for a familiar face, though that was not to say Miraak and Serana weren’t pleasant company. But Falin was a different story. She radiated magic, as if it were weaved into her very skin. Also, Falin had been the only person around her age she had ever gotten to associate with. The only awkward thing was the fact that Falin was in some odd on again off again relationship with Sybille, which stirred Shia’s curiosity but then again she did not want to know. Her feelings were mixed on that and thus she always simplified it to the fact that she liked Falin and enjoyed her company. But something was off. Falin was energetic but that energy had changed, no longer excitement but rather her pacing felt anxious and alarming. It had Shia glancing out the window of Falin’s shack every chance she got, trying not to be obvious. Then there was Serana. She was nervously awaiting the sunrise when their vampiric hunters would be seeking shelter. Miraak was a shadow over their success, his

Shia. Her name was Shia. At least that’s what she insisted on being called. She had continued what Lilith had deemed a meltdown but all the while, Lilith had continued pulling the staff free. The sands seemed determined to keep it buried but her tenacity continued to aid her. Just from touch, she couldn’t determine what the staff was made of and even with bits of it poking through the sand, she couldn’t determine what the material was. Whatever it was, it was silver and surprisingly heavy. In her experience, mages tended to lean towards wispy, the most strenuous thing they had to lift their goblets. Maybe it was the heaped sand that made it difficult. Or maybe because every one of Shia’s movements startled her enough that she could not focus. No, now she was just looking for excuses. Just like manifesting Syra. The Cairn was getting to her and she was tired of being so isolated and hopeless. “What are you doing?” Lilith was distracted by Shia’s voice, having managed to block out the

“Give me the reins.” Shia observed Serana tug on Miraak’s tunic, yanking with some force. He remained seated but had to brace himself, ignoring her attempts. “I’m fine,” he insisted Though, given that she persisted, she did not believe him. “We know I’ll win,” Serana reminded him, a callback to an earlier incident no doubt. “Not for my lack of trying,” Miraak retorted. But he did give in, sliding back easily into the wagon as Serana climbed up, keeping them on course. Shia handed him the food that Serana had tasked her with holding, eager to help. She found herself riding a cloud of excitement, having never gotten the chance to venture out on a quest before. Miraak accepted it gratefully but she was well aware that those mismatched eyes studied her even as he settled gently against the wagon side. “The court mage mentioned you had a condition,” he informed her, tone even as if he was merely asking about the weather. “Ah yes,” Shia confirmed. But she didn’t elaborate, something he

Waking up was like swimming but not for pleasure. More for survival. Falling asleep, something she wasn’t aware happened until it, well, happened, was like being pulled unexpectedly beneath the water and each time it happened, it felt harder to get back, as if with every passing year she got pulled deeper. It went well in hand with the fact that her fainting spells, as her family had labeled them, had been occurring more and more frequently. So surfacing, or waking up, became more and more of a struggle, with her waking up exhausted, as if something had drained her. This time, the struggle was hard, but she woke up feeling…okay. She sat up fast, unfamiliar with the room at first until she remembered everything. She’d barely managed to bathe and slide into the clothes her aunt had provided her before she’d blacked out. Speaking of Sybille. The woman was sitting and watching her, legs crossed and as still as a statue. Sometimes she didn’t even look to be breathing. “Awake