archerandmage-blog
Hello ladies. And gentlemen.
Hello, most attractive friends. My name is Bielrin (pronounced BEEL-rhin), but you may call be Biel if you like. I'm recently of Cyrodiil, come to Skyrim to train at the Bard's College. Now, which way to Solitude?
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I imagine when Biel gets back to Whiterun, he’ll beeline for Mort.
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Estormo chuckled, and reached out to give Milla's hand a hearty shake. "Estormo's mine. You don't happen to know this place well, lass? I could use a few pointers."
ask-milla started following you
“How nice,” she kept smiling, putting the scrolls in her satchel. She stood up on her feet, fastening the small bag to her armor before reaching a hand out, “Name’s Milla.”
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"Just getting the lay of the land is all." Estormo's grin broadens. "I'm here for a time to keep my nephew company."
ask-milla started following you
“Nothing special, just reading through some old scrolls,” she gave a smile while she looked at the Altmer. “What’re.. you doing out here?”
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Estormo grinned, approaching. One of his shirt sleeves is pinned up to the shoulder, making no secret of his one-armed status. "What is it you're doing there, lass?"
ask-milla started following you
“Ah, hello there!”
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A small shift in his shoulders, as close as Wenselyr gets to shrugging. His face is neutral, unbothered by Lhaeben's haste. "I am.. freshly incapacitated. I startle too easily, recently. That is why I apologize."
Wenselyr nods, and steps to the side to make room for the other's passage. "I am Wenselyr, should we meet again."
theoldjusticiar started following you
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ask-milla started following you
"Ah, hello there!"
#ask-milla#askmilla#should it be the young bosmer bard#retired sailor altmer#or grumpy blind altmer#uvu
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Wenselyr doesn't react to the gesture, but turns around completely. Clouded eyes stare slightly to Lhaeben's right, revealing why: Wenselyr is blind. There's a crow perched on his shoulder, who mutters and eyes the other altmer suspiciously.
"I see. My apologies."
theoldjusticiar started following you
Wenselyr tenses at the sound of feet behind him, and half turns.
“Who is there?”
#theoldjusticiar#aha well#that's a thing i need to get on#i don't think i ever posted them#that said: wen is almost 500 and an altmer#bielrin is a forty year old bosmer and adopted son of wen#estormo is a little over 600 altmer and a retired sailor#assuming the general lifespan of an altmer is about 800+
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theoldjusticiar started following you
Wenselyr tenses at the sound of feet behind him, and half turns.
"Who is there?"
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Wenselyr stumbles again, upsetting Ed from his perch on the elf's shoulder, and firms his mouth into a flat, unamused line. Soon enough a warm hand materializes on his shoulder, and a laughing voice tells him to slow down a little.
"My apologies."
"Father, you know you don't have to apologize. It'll just take time, you know?" The hand tightens briefly, and releases him. Wenselyr just sighs, and shakes his head.
Another voice chimes in, rougher and older. "Aye, but he's too impatient a boy to wait though, isn't he?" Wen turns his head to the right, arranging his face into what he knows is an unamused stare. "You did not have to join us, uncle."
"And who says that but you? Besides, I've wanted to see Skyrim for some time. You're as good an excuse as any." His uncle laughs, patting him on the back.
"Now, you an' I both know the little bard is excited to be seeing his lover," A strangled protest from Bielrin sounds, but neither altmer believes him. "An' I'm powerful hungry. Why don't we go see about that inn you said was here? The Bannered Mule, you said it was?"
"Mare, uncle."
"Mare, then. Go on now, boy, I've got my eye on him now, he won't fall. Get on to your boy!"
Wenselyr hears Bierlin's feet shift uncertainly, and allows himself to smile in that direction. "Go."
Estormo laughs to the sound of suddenly pattering feet, and turns the two of them towards the market and the inn. "So, this Hulda woman- is she pretty?"
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"I cannot believe you brought a Bosmer here, Wenselyr! Do you even know if he's purely bred?"
"As charming as ever, Eldafire." Wenselyr sighs quietly, and resists the urge to rub his temple. It would only serve to make his sister that much more unpleasant to be around. At least they were alone- Elda had lead him away from the family for this conversation. 'Catching up,' indeed.
"Bielrin is my son,"
"Your adopted son." Eldafire interjects sharply.
"My son. As I informed mother and father when I wrote to tell them we would be attending, and they no doubt informed you." The corners of his mouth twitch down for a moment, the only expression of irritation Wenselyr allows himself. "I had his purity checked when I took him to the healers as an infant. He is not of mixed parents." Mostly. It had been a move of preservation to have Bielrin's bloodline checked as well as it could be when Wenselyr had realized he'd be keeping the boy. The healer, at least, had agreed to reinforce that Bielrin's heritage if asked.
Eldafire's mouth thins. "Thank Auri-El for small miracles. He is well behaved, at least."
"You are taking this remarkably well." The shorter altmer snorts and turns away from him, facing her desk instead.
"I'm being realistic. You never were quite right when we were children. Always trying to be different in your strange way. Better. There's no reason you should be normal now." She puts a hand down, brushing the tops of the potion bottles littering her workspace. Eldafire frowns. "Finding him in the mountains, indeed. It sounds like something out of a storybook, Wenselyr, surely you realize that? But then, you always did like being dramatic."
"Dramatic is a strong word, 'Fire."
"Don't call me that!" Eldafire whirls to face him, scowling.
"Ah. Still sensitive, then." Wenselyr doesn't react when his sister scowls and snarls something angry at him. "I had thought after two hundred fifty years, you would be less upset by the name."
"Shut up, Cryomancer Wenselyr. This instant."
"I am not one of your soldiers, 'Fire. Do not order me. It is hardly my fault you didn't fulfill your own prediction of magical power. Siblings of Ice and Fire, indeed."
"Shut UP!" Blind with anger, Eldafire flings an arm out behind herself and catches her fingers around the first potion they touch, and throws it.
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"And that's when the kraken grabbed my best mate, dragged him screaming towards the edge of- Ah! Wenselyr, my boy, we've been wondering where- Wen, lad, you.."
"I am alright, Grandfather. Though I think I should see a healer shortly." Wenselyr ignored the startled shout from Bielrin, in favor of concentrating on not stumbling into something. He reached out a hand to brace himself on the wall.
"Shortly my soggy beard, boy, you're seeing one now! Who did this to you? Your eyes look like someone threw acid in them!"
"A.. miscalculation. Don't worry about it, please."
"Don't worry about it! I-"
"Grandfather, the healer?"
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What do you do in your spare time? Do you have a hobby?
I do enjoy reading a great deal. Sometimes, I will even indulge myself with a book not wholly meant for learning.
Sure! I like whittling sometimes, and making up songs about the people I see walking around. Eheheh, there are a lot of songs about dad and Mort, for obvious reasons. -grins-
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[10 years old] What do you want be when you are an adult?
I'm going to be the greatest mage in the world, obviously. And I'm going to have the smartest friends, and the biggest library, just like grandpa.
I dunno! Maybe I can be like dad? I haven't shown any magic yet, but that doesn't mean I won't! It'd be the best thing ever if I could be great mage like dad!
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"You're late, boy."
"I know, uncle. Apologies. There were... delays."
"You mean that dragon business I've been hearing about?"
"That, and other, more mundane difficulties."
"Yeah, did you know that there are more pirates and bandits than we thought on the roads?"
"This is the boy?"
"Yes, uncle. Bielrin, this is Estormo."
"Just call me Uncle, kid. None of that 'grand' stuff, you hear me?"
"Yessir. Uh.." The older mer grinned, and shifted his arm- or what would have been his arm.
"This? I'm surprised Wen didn't tell you about it on your way over." He laughed at Wenselyr's frown. "And yeah, I'm still going to call you Wen. 'Little' doesn't really apply anymore, but I can keep that bit." Estormo turned back to Bielrin, who had been watching the exchange with interest. "Sharkbite, kid. Big, nasty fucker, too. Lucky he only took the arm." He paused a moment, then chuckled at what must have been an inside joke with himself. "Alright, you kids ready for the reunion?"
Wenselyr made another face, and nodded, stepping ahead of Bielrin and his uncle. "As we shall ever be, I expect."
Falling in step with the Bosmer, Estormo leaned down conspiratorially. "Did he tell you about the rest of the family?"
"Yeah," Bielrin muttered back, glancing up at him. "Don't call anyone familiarly unless they tell me, be very polite, be ready for comments. Stay near him or you whenever possible, and stay away from his sister. Why the sister?" Estormo sighed.
"Sibling rivalry. Let's leave it at that."
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I miss you Bielrin. I miss the way things used to be.
Ah but babe, time goes on and so do we! I know we had some great times back in Cyrodiil, but I think we've both moved on, eh? I'm a settled mer now, if you can believe it! I know I'm gonna miss that plump rump of yours, but I'm sure someone else almost as good as I am is lusting after it.
Pay attention to people who walk behind you, and you'll find them!
-Biel
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