rowancrowned | fade rift ✧ inbox

He is Man, not Mer. Men do not wear those robes. [Men are, in some way, the reason for the existence, the prevalence.

She isn't overlooking that Men played their part in this either. Lorkhan Trickster walks here and spits in her eye, curls his lip and clings to the world shuddering in skins not his own (a terrible thing, isn't it, but she knows the lesson too.)]

What makes you think it was ink? Do I seem the type for your baths?

[There are rivers for that, or streams. And well, better to keep him guessing on what exactly she was doing prior to the writing.]

Well, I cannot loom about the Gallows in them, though you have a fair hand for tailoring.

[ begrudging admiration. ]

Blood, then, for it cannot be shit and you have a flair for the dramatic. How long did it take you to make these, your faith in me has clearly been dwindling for some time.

[ he restrains himself, reorganizes. calms his tone, and does not bite the inside of his cheek. ]

Five representatives, Bronach, all of us with an equal vote, all of us with our own goals. Do you think I could order it all as I wished? I have no hold over half of them, neither hate nor love.

Necessity dictated I learn.

[A lifetime crushed between four words, simple as that.]

They wanted phylacteries of us once, I don't give my blood so easily, and you have a nose at the end of your face. Where do I work, Thranduil? What am I proud of? [Dirt from the forge, her hand soaked in sweat that she pressed down (if people looked, well it was not for her to care) and it amuses her at least, him trying to work it out.] I'm not as old as you or even some of the humans but I've seen what they haven't, and I have little need to sleep when I am reminded of uncomfortable truths. We spoke on it before. There are already papers.

Do you know-- They have dossiers. They are ants in black and gold, and I have seen the surveys, there is no part of any of is that ends well. We live longer than them but the Thalmor slide into religion to say and this is the way you will worship. I said before. When you asked about food, and hunting, how it could be done, there was a time it could be stopped.

The hands of the clock cannot be jammed now, I don't think. Do you wonder which side we are on in the whole of it: those who hasten the end, may delay it, those who work to delay it, may bring it closer. [Paarthurnax, all their talks about time, and her balancing the forces wishing to bring the end of the world faster, ever faster.] What do they know of time, any of those children? They are children? What do they know of anything, Provost?

I considered, [ he exhales, glad now that adalia is not here, the annoyance of finding his own space to speak openly unnecessary. ] taking us all into the forest. Making do, teaching those who have never lived like that. But the cost of diverting the attention of the Inquisition was too high. Corypheus must fall.

Here is what I know: Corypheus, if you go to him, will not offer you better terms. The Chantry and the Templars are Men; they will eb and flow and forget and die. I am sorry I could not block everything they proposed. I am glad I fought to keep invasive examination and the ilk off the table. If you compare me to the butchers of your world because I could not block everything and win us concessions too, I would point out that I am not the sort of creature who can make something from nothing.

They'd die. [No malice in her to say it, only the blunt assessment of one who lives her life that way.] They'd die because half of them are fucking idiots who can't find their arse with both hands and a map. You can teach them, you can't make them understand the lesson and live it, but you might have had the blessing of this Chantry if you'd culled half of them in the trying.

I never took the World-Eater's side. I was his bane. Am it. Time is-- well it has three faces now isn't for that but the World-Eater is dead by my hand, I don't run from that even when it's meant sitting at the table with people who blame me for every ill when I am the ill-favoured cousin. [Bosmer, Dunmer, Altmer, all three of them unhappily related by turns, she could get into it. Could tell him what it is but there's only elf hissed as knife-ear is. Her blamed for the Thalmor who took from her, who take, that it lands as a blow each and every time, that there is never any hardening herself to it no matter how she might try.] They will make a phylactery for me in time. They will have a list of what I am able to do. I will be a sum of my parts. Status. Description. Background. Operational Notes. They are not butchers they are-- I can't. I can't now. We invade ourselves, how easy will it be to add more surveys?

[Her voice cracks. It is breaking her to speak of it without the Thu'um roaring out of her too.]

fade rift ✧ inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject