8 (witch)

Spiritus Alco Custodiat

Universe: TESIV: Oblivion, Modern AU CW: Swearing, alcohol mention, injury mention, "satanic"-esque ritual mention Words: 450 Tagging (ask for +/-): @mishkakagehishka @strosmkai-rum @arcane-elder-scrolls​ @bread-of-death Available on AO3

"You know, before Reman Cyrodiil bought this pile, it belonged to a witch," Jena says as she enters the kitchen. Aderyn, who is learning to clean the rifle she won at Kvatch, looks up and laughs. "Fuck off. No, it didn't." Ferrum rolls his eyes. "Do you mind?" "Not at all." Jena gives him a wicked smile, flicks the kettle on and leans back on the counter. Outside, the October wind is dancing around the chimney stacks and wailing through the cloud-ridden sky. The late evening sun is nowhere to be found, only a diffuse and generic greyness stands outside the windows. Somewhere in the Manor, a door bangs closed.

"It really did," Jena says, her attention back on Aderyn. "Why do you think there're so many secret passageways?" Aderyn pulls a face. "That ain't a sign it was owned by a witch. 'Sides, Gramps says Cyrodiil built this place." Jena grins. "Nah. Director has it backwards. Witch built it, Cyrodiil bought it." "It's all tosh," Ferrum says. He taps the table. "Rookie, continue with your task." "Wait, hang on-" Ferrum throws up his hands, giving up on his hope that Aderyn will ever learn to clean her rifle correctly. "-What kind of witch lives in a manor house? I can buy a witch living in the arse-end of fuck-all-ville, but ain't witches supposed to live in little run-down shacks?"

Jena opens her mouth to retort, then closes it again. Ferrum snorts at the frown she aims at Aderyn. "Rookie," Ferrum tries again. "A dirty gun can seize in the field, when it's needed most. What is your plan for when you've not learnt to clean your weapon and it can no longer fire?" Aderyn shrugs. "Use it as a club?" Ferrum squints in incredulity, then heaves a weary sigh. "It was a coven," Jena pipes up. "Performed terrible sacraments in the cellar. Cyrodiil had to get the place consecrated by the local priest." "Yeah? Human sacrifice, blood drinking?" Aderyn sounds bored. Her shoulder twitches, the side scored by the blade of a Mythic Dawn cultist, where Baragon says the new skin is healing nicely. "Anything worse than that?"

The kettle clicks off in the silence.

Aderyn turns back to cleaning the rifle.

A few minutes later, three mugs of tea and a bottle of cheap whisky land on the table. Jena pulls out a chair, eyebrows raised at Ferrum. He inclines his head and puts a hand on the rifle. Aderyn stops and looks up. "Got a new task for you, Rook," Ferrum says.

Outside, the October wind rattles the greenhouse window panes and the sun slinks behind the mountains. Somewhere in the manor, demons are chased by spirits.