Character Reference: Lukas Stivell

 Full name: Lukas Yair Stivell

Languages spoken: Common, Breton, enough Dunmeri to hold simple conversations

Birthday: December 29th 2E 548

Age: 34

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 165

Eye color: Green

Hair color: Blonde

Race: Breton

Significant other: none

Children: none 

Class: Mage

Profession: Librarian

Gender: Male

Gender expression: masculine

Pronouns: He/him

Sexual Orientation: Asexual

Romantic Orientation: Aromantic 

Known disabilities: Anxiety (generalized but primarily social) Autism Spectrum Disorder

Siblings: Eitan, Ilan, Ariel, Elisheva

Parents: Simon and Miriam Stivell

Current Residence: Daggerfall, High Rock

Aliases/Also Known As: Yair, The wet paper towel (by Fyr), Vestige 

 

The Kiss That Missed (Teldryn)

 A/N: If you have never read the book The Kiss That Missed by David Melling it is delightful and has some great illustrations, I highly recommend it for any age.

 

Mini Fic Prompt: the kiss that missed

In a sleepy daze no doubt caused by no little amount of sleep deprivation Talvas asks me if I can tell him a story. Given the fact he so very rarely gets what he wants, asks for, or in some cases even needs I don’t see why not. I’m not tired yet, after all. I try to think of a story before deciding to summarize the tale of a book often read to me as a bedtime story. “Once upon a time there was a king and the king was quite busy so he blew his son a goodnight kiss. Though something unexpected happened…the kiss missed! It flew around the room and right out the prince's window. So the prince told the queen, and she told the king, and he told his bravest knight to go find the missing kiss. The knight, who mind you was rather clumsy, mounted his horse and eventually rode off into the night until he came to a wild wood full of wild creatures. They had wild eyes, and not very good manners. It was dark, smelly, and by now it was snowing! The knight and his horse were not alone…there were bears and owls and a pack of hungry wolves, all these scared the knight, who let out a terrified squeak. Suddenly, something happened- the kiss that the king had given the prince appeared and kissed all the animals goodnight and they all settled down for a good nights sleep. The knight and his faithful horse sat down by a tree to rest, however, this wasn’t a tree. It was a dragon and they very quickly found themselves face to face with a pair of nostrils and the dragon thought they would make the perfect breakfast. Suddenly, the kiss appeared again and made him sneeze of all things…I suppose he was allergic to kisses. The dragon chased the knight and his horse who by now had caught the kiss that missed before grabbing them at last, telling them he wanted to kiss them goodnight, and they slowly made their way back to the castle, all three of them now. That night the prince was happy, and the queen was happy, and the king promised to stop being so busy, a lesson some people should really learn. The king made sure everyone was comfortable before taking his time to read them all a story from the very beginning all the way to the end…almost. They all fell asleep before the ending could be revealed, and lived happily ever after until the end of days.” With the story finished I look over at Talvas who too had fallen asleep before the end of the story and sleeps peacefully curled up, probably very happy to be sleeping in a bed and not on the floor for a change. I give him a quick kiss on the forehead “and there’s the kiss that didn’t miss.” I whisper, which gets a sma;; smile in return, signifying he is still perhaps the tiniest bit awake in a semi conscious state, before blowing out the candle and laying down myself. “Goodnight Talvas, sleep well.” I say to the quiet darkness, and the silence signals that by now he has already fallen fast asleep.   

The Terrible Twos Of Twins (Anna)

Prompt: The terrible twos of twins

“Did I ever tell you what the rest of the circle were like when they were younger?” Tilma asks me one day as she sweeps the stone patio in the courtyard. No, as a matter of fact, she hasn’t. That question has piqued my interest, as well. “No, you haven’t. What were they like?” I ask, as while I can make some assumptions, having confirmation about them is always rewarding. “Well, for starters, Skjor was much less grumpy when he was young. Getting old has made him grouchy, that and the cold.” The old maid begins, setting the broom aside. “And the twins, oh the twins!” she exclaims sitting down across from me “those two were the reason the expression ‘terrible twos’ exist! Add in Aela to the mix, even though she was more supervised, and it was chaos!” I can see that being the case, knowing the three of them now. “Imagine trying to raise a hyper-verbal child with no social skills that likes to wander off, and a nearly nonverbal up until the age of 8 years old child that would socialize with anyone and everyone regardless of that fact…” she pauses for a moment before adding “and remember they’re identical twins.” I can see how that would be a challenge. My parents are probably glad right now I’m an only child, poor Tilma had to wrangle three feral children all of which would be trained to use a variety of weapons. Tough times, those probably were, tough times indeed. “How did you tell the twins apart when they were little, aside from who spoke more?” I ask the old woman and her answer is one I’ve heard before “different color shoes.” she tells me, though she also adds the fact that the two of them figured this out, and would occasionally switch. This, of course, was still when they had more or less the same haircut and were dressed similarly otherwise, as one frequently does with toddlers. Along with that fact I learn some more about the twins and their terrible twos that involve teething, nearly lost stuffed animals, many a sensory meltdown, and the emergence of two distinct forms of communication disorders, among other interesting facts and fun stories. I thank Tilma for her time telling the stories, and the potential blackmail, before letting her go back to her cleaning. Now to find two not particularly sociable werewolves and inform them of what I know. Perhaps now I’ll finally get the money they said they’d pay me during our last bet.

The War That Is Bathtime (Qin)

Prompt: Bathtime

 Having a toddler can be exhausting. Having a toddler that hates water is even more exhausting. It’s at times like this, sitting here in the middle of another hectic bathtime, where I find myself strangely grateful for Xu’s motor delay. While she plays with the toys and seems otherwise distracted she still refuses to let me wash her hair and screams if I so much as get it the tiniest bit wet on purpose, though she has no problem if water splashes on either me or her as she plays. Other forms of distraction prove futile though she does not physically protest much, in part due to the delay, the girl has a set of lungs that could rival an opera singer. It’s at this time I consider calling on my mother or even my father for help, though I can’t given the distance, they live much further north. With a sigh I sit back on the towel that sits on the floor for a minute. Xu, having heard my sigh looks at me curiously and babbles something unintelligible. “Mama’s tired and taking a break. Play with your toys.” I tell her, moving one of the toy boats around in the bath to show my point, and that explanation suffices for the moment. After a few minutes of quiet play Xu does something that surprises me and fills up one of the toy boats with water before dumping it over her head, and then repeating the process another two times. I look at her somewhat shocked, she’s never shown that much intentional motor control before nor has she allowed her hair to be soaking wet without throwing a tantrum. She looks at my shocked expression, holds up the boat that is once again filled with water and says to me “wash hair!” before pouring it over her head again and giggling. “You want me to wash your hair now?” I ask, still somewhat shocked at the whole situation and she tells me yes. “And you won’t scream this time?” she shakes her head. Cautiously I go quickly to find the soap, all while scratching my head at the sudden change in demeanor. Xu keeps to her word surprisingly and doesn’t cause much of a fuss at all, even allowing me to brush her hair after it’s been dried. Once the rather astonishing situation that was bathtime is over and Xu has been changed, refused to be put in her crib, and read at least three stories she falls asleep against me as I sit in the rocking chair in her room about to fall asleep myself. Life with a toddler can be exhausting, regardless if bathtime is a war of its own, and overall a strange and ever evolving series of experiences. Looking down at the sleeping little girl in my arms clutching her stuffed guar I find myself thinking that despite the exhaustion that comes with raising a toddler, particularly by myself, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.    

Snowstorm (Farkas)

 “It’s snowing again. Why is it always snowing?!” Anna complains, watching the snow continue to fall steadily outside the window, no different than it’s been doing the past couple of hours. “Because it’s Skyrim and more importantly it’s Windhelm, the snowiest city in an already cold country.” I tell her calmly, not looking up from my work. There’s been an influx of requests for The Companions to deal with issues that fall under my realm of dividing up. Usually those who need to settle arguments, less than savory characters who need reform, and those who need just a bit of intimidation…and in some cases a good punch to the gut. “When will it stop?” Anna asks about the snow sounding almost slightly distressed. That’s enough to cause me to put down the pen and get up to join her at the window and assess the current state of the snowstorm. There’s a decent amount of snow already on the ground, and more comes down heavily as the wind swirls it around and hits against the windows. “Probably by the end of the day tomorrow.” I estimate based on the current conditions and Anna turns to stare at me silently, visibly unhappy and looking as if she might possibly cry. “It’s not that bad, we’re at least inside and have a working heating system.” I point out the slowly dying fire and Anna agrees with my point there, at least we’re not in the Grey Quarter on the other side of the city, but she’s still not happy about things.

Going back to the desk and a seemingly never ending pile of papers I attempt to get back to work. Anna still stares silently out the window watching the snow continue to pile up. Every so often I glance over to find her more or less in the same spot in an almost trance-like state, until once I look up and she’s gone without a trace. Turning to look at where she had been standing I fail to notice someone on my other side. That is, until my right arm is lifted away from where it had been resting on the desk and I register a familiar weight in my lap and the feeling of soft layers of fabric. Turning my head back I’m met with two large silver eyes looking back at me. “Hello.” Anna says with a smile, and seems happy with herself having gotten away with ambushing me. “Hi.” Anna looks at me for a second longer before flopping against me as if she lost all muscle tone in her body, her head resting against my shoulder as she toys with some peeling pieces of paint and wood on the back of the chair. “It’s cold. And snowing. It should stop snowing.” Anna remarks while remaining occupied with the chipping paint. “So you’ve said.” I have a feeling she will continue to remark on the weather until this snowstorm is over. My hypothesis seems to be correct so far, the only breaks occur when I ask her for a bit of help with what I’m trying to do, or when asked to list all potential ways she can think of to make herself warmer.

After a number of hours the paper pile is conquered at last, with just enough time to have a quick meal and go to bed. With the last candle blown out climbing into the soft bed is something I’d been looking forward to since I left it this morning, especially in this weather. While appreciative of the warm softness Anna seems intent on not sleeping, or at least not immediately, and reminds me of a few ideas from her earlier list. Unsurprisingly being confined to relatively boring tasks for long periods of time can bring out her more mischievous side, particularly at night. Most of her moods and emotions are more intense at night. I’m very glad I lack the physical need for sleep, and there are worse ways to spend a snowstorm.

A Sunset In The East (Valan)

Prompt: A sunset in the east

Azura’s coast has a habit of being unfortunately quite rainy. Combine the rain with the fact the region is sparsely habited and it’s not hard to see why one could easily get depressed living here. I however enjoy it, the quietness gives me space to think without distraction. While I also enjoy the business of cities it can be overwhelming, sometimes confusing, and overall distracting. So, I retreat to the coast when I need to clear my head, and now is one such example. Caius on my last visit to Balmora had given me some rather unsettling information on top of some very strange experiences I had while there that may explain my recurring strange dreams. Considering my only living quarters in the city would be the inn where I would be hounded by Habisi about why I’m not doing jobs for her, or sleeping on Caius’ floor unless I wanted to sleep on Qin’s floor I opted to leave as soon as I could. 

While I considered going west to Vivec to talk to Eno about what Caius had told me I opted to head east, stopping in Suran briefly, and then Tel Vos to say hello to Ayron, before ending up on the secluded rocky coast. I can see the outline of Sadrith Mora in the distance, the largest settlement in the region, which is still quite small in the scheme of things. Tel Fyr lies to the west of where I had set up camp almost directly west of Sadrith Mora where no doubt Fyr is continuing to conduct his sometimes insane experiments. I’ll worry about what insanity he, and Ayron, and Neloth, and the rest of those who serve on the Council are up to another day.

 Having set up my little camp and started a fire I make dinner quickly, it is simple but filling enough. Guar wander in the distance looking for their own dinner and cliffracers fly overhead, sometimes diving into the sea and grabbing fish. The sun is beginning to slowly set casting scatters of glimmering light onto the water. Having finished my meal and put away the now clean bowl I drag a small mat out from my pack and set it down by the water before sitting down. The quietness of the uninhabited coast is calming, with only the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the few animals milling about, it’s peaceful. Taking a deep breath I close my eyes, meditating for a while to clear my head. I open my eyes again when I notice it is beginning to rain slightly, which is not atypical for the region, it will most likely stop soon. With that knowledge I continue to sit and think, it is likely many things will change in the coming weeks and months, but one can always be sure the run will rise in the east and set in the west, even when watching a sunset in the east.

 

An Early Grave (Lucien)

 A/N: Happy spooky season and happy Halloween it's a two post in one day event for the occasion :)

The burial practices of the Dunmer have always fascinated me, as they do not bury their dead in the way we do in the west. Rather, they cremate their dead and keep the ashes in highly decorated ceremonial urns, or pits of ash and bone. “From the ash, and to the ash returned.” Valan once told me, as a way of summarizing. I didn’t think my own remains would end up the same way, or that I would take to such an early grave. My body was so broken burying it would take more time and money than cremation, and so now my ashes sit on a shelf in the sanctuary…most of them anyways, some had been returned to High Rock, and scattered into the Iliac Bay, one of the few places I had fond memories of from my childhood. In my current state I have found that more people than expected have too met an early demise, whether through battle, foul play, or simply natural causes. The spirits of Falkreath have many interesting stories to tell. While primarily Nordic, Breton, and Imperial there are a few Altmer spirits interred in the blood soaked ground. Within the confines of the graveyard there is also a tiny Dunmeri ancestral shrine, an almost lantern shaped stone structure no more than a foot tall encircled with a small pit of ash. Compared to the ancient gravestones that have fallen into disrepair and become covered with moss, the shrine is almost pristine. Late one night while the rest of the town sleeps, and the members of the Falkreath sanctuary either rest or plot their next moves, I wander through the graveyard, paying respects to the dead, and cleaning the graves if I can. Not many of the spirits of the dead buried here are out tonight, only a few walk the empty streets unseen by the guards on patrol. Many are old warriors who perished in one of the countless battles that took place in this otherwise sleepy town. The ghostly dog that guards the graveyard, who I have taken to calling Grim, helps with cleaning the headstones and tending to the graves as well as alerting should guards pass by. While the guards can see me due to my rather unique nature, they don’t seem to be overly surprised, and most ignore me. Either that, or they’re intimidated by the large black dog growling at them in the darkness, I don’t know, nor do I particularly care. As the night continues on Grim and I sit in the graveyard for a bit to rest when I notice a single figure come riding into town and as he passes I recognize it’s Everan. He must be passing through to Riverwood to meet with Delphine, the poor excuse for a Blades agent. I consider calling out to him but it is late and I do not want to startle him, he is likely tired, and so I let him pass without disturbance. Shortly after I sense something is off, I hear what sounds like humming, and Grim gets up from where he had been laying and starts trotting off in the direction of the small shrine. Scrambling to my feet I quickly follow the large dog until we come upon a strange sight. Sitting on the stones by the shrine looking in the direction of the inn is a young girl, who seems almost familiar, her face illuminated by the light of a lantern placed next to her. “Do I know you?” I ask the girl “You look familiar.” At that she turns to me and Grim, who goes up to her and puts his head in her lap, awaiting pets. “I don’t think so. What’s your name? And who is this?” She asks me while giving Grim a pat on the head. The ghostly dog wags his tail happily in response. “My name is Lucien LaChance, and this is Grim. He guards this graveyard, I just come visit every so often.” I explain and the girl seems to recognize my name “Oh, you know my brother!” Her brother? Who could be her brother? I hope I didn’t kill her brother…the issue with Mathieu and his mom was more than enough. “He’s staying at the inn he just got here, I like to see what he’s doing sometimes if there’s a shrine nearby, unless he summons for help.” Now who do I know that’s staying at the inn and is at least part Dunmer? Not Valan, his dad is the summoned spirit of choice, and he’s an only child. Teldryn as far as I know is still freezing in Raven Rock, and Qin is older than he is and still alive unless something terrible has happened since I last saw her, and Talvas has no siblings nor is he on the continent at the moment either. That only leaves Everan, ah that makes sense! “You’re Leah Thenath aren’t you?” Though it took me a while to figure out she seems happy that I was able to do so. Wow Everan was right, his sister did die very young…very very young. While she is still technically older than me, it seems she was no more than around six years old when she died, or as she corrects me later, was murdered. Her body was never recovered, and so due to her mixed ancestry she takes the form of a wandering ancestral spirit, preferring to follow her brother unseen except when necessary. “I don’t really talk to him, I don’t want him to feel bad.” Even after all these years Everan still blames himself, even though he too was a child. Now I think I understand why it is he and Issy get along so well, both carry the invisible weight of siblings, and friends, who took to an early grave. Little do they know, we form our own little community, one caught between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Gone, but not entirely, and certainly not forgotten.