#she stands before you as a symbol of mockery of all your failings and mistakes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vosh-rakh · 4 years

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the scathing bay

Malacath stands at the almost perfectly circular coast of the crater, and the sea struggles not to become steam. The air smells of sulfur and char, choked with fire and ash from the mountain, shaken to violence. It has been thousands of years since he has been here, but no amount of time could lessen the shock of the change. He stands near the only landmark he can decipher, a twisted, molten mockery of a dragon, once decor to Castle Ebonheart. All the rest of the Ascadian Isles are either obscured by ash and steam, or they are gone.

As always, many fall, but one remains. She is on her knees by Malacath’s feet, and the blackened stone beneath is covered in discarded faces. She peels each one away, tearing at her features with thirty fingers, trying to remember from behind all the masks how to cry.

Malacath says nothing for a while, and does Mephala the courtesy of not looking at her. But finally he asks, “What happened?”

Mephala has given up, and every one of her muscles, usually so tightly-strung, hang limp from her bones as she stares blankly at the wreckage. Her lips cannot form the words sharply enough. “The fools. Ruined the machine. Vile admits no fault. I believe him. For once.” Mephala’s loose form slumps over, leaning against Malacath’s legs. “It is always the children who fail. Shortsighted. Stupid.”

Malacath sighs. He places his hand softly on Mephala’s head, the seams red and tender from the tearing. “I know,” he says.

Mephala’s claws suddenly grasp at the flesh of Malacath’s hip, pulling herself up. “I tried! I tried to fix this!” Her crimson eyes stretch themselves so wide, almost to bleeding. “I saw this coming and I should have been able to…” Her nails dig into Malacath. “Blast that damned s’wit! Playing at our games! ‘Hang over their heads’ ... ze understood nothing, nothing at all!”

Malacath tries to scrape the black hands off his skin, but they latch on again, desperate. He manages to wrest his leg free and steps back. “Have you never lost before, Mephala?”

“Of course I have!” Mephala jumps to her feet, her six arms splaying out like a threat display. “More than you or anyone knows! But there is always a plan bedt, a plan cess, a plan doht, through every damn mortal alphabet!” Her hands move as if independent entities, some clutching her head, one gripping her throat, the others wringing the air. “There are failsafes upon failsafes! This does not happen! I do not allow it!”

Malacath says nothing, but turns back to look at the steaming crater.

“Shut up!” Mephala screeches, and launches herself onto Malacath’s head, latching every limb around him and scratching, sending them both to the ground.

Malacath tries to detach her, and shouts to object, but fingers attack his open mouth. He bites them and rolls over onto Mephala, headbutting her into the stone to loosen her grip. The Webspinner spits and kicks but Malacath manages to wedge a hand between them, pinning her to the ground. “Stop!” he yells as Mephala scratches at his wrist. He points with his free hand towards the center of the crater. “Look.”

Mephala glances quickly in that direction, not giving up her assault just yet. But then she whips her head back in a double take. There, in the very center of the bay, shimmering in steam, was the shadow of a figure, standing on some rock that was spared obliteration.

She screams again and pulls on Malacath’s wrist, swinging him over her head, sending him crashing into the stone behind. And then she crawls like a demon on eight limbs, her rage burning the waters so quickly underfoot that she seems to run on water. Even the steam makes way, clearing a path for her rampage, and whips up an opening around the island, a peak of ash rising from the waters.

And it is Vivec. Ze stands barefoot in the ash, hir head turned to see the Daedra Lord approach. Hir head is bald of flame, and the gold in hir skin is fading grey. If ze is afraid of Mephala in her most horrifying aspect towering over hir, ze does not betray it.

“I came because I felt it,” Vivec said unprompted, turning hir head away from the gasping Prince. “I am sure you know what that is like.” Ze rotates, surveying the rim of the crater. “It was not just a symbol of my body; it was my body. And it has been destroyed.”

“You dare to come here, after what you have done?” Mephala skitters closer to Vivec’s exposed back in a blink. “To feign innocence? Paint yourself a victim?”

“Oh. This was the High Fane,” Vivec says without answering. Ze picks up one of hir feet and examines the ash clumping between hir toes. “Ground zero, of course.”

“Do not ignore me!” Six black hands reach from behind and spin hir around to face Mephala. Tears streak down hir grave face.

“I cannot,” Vivec says, placing a hand on one of Mephala’s. “I never could. You have always been a part of me. I tried to make you a part of me, in times of weakness, so that I would know the way. But I could never admit it.”

Mephala stares at hir wet face, and at the hand on hers. And then she flips over her hand underneath and crushes hir hand within. Vivec screams and falls to hir knees, clutching hir wrist and hir shattered right hand.

“You insolent fetcher,” Mephala screams, looking down at hir, “I made you! Did you really think yourself so clever, all this time? That all your successes were anything more than convenient outcomes for me? Inflated like a netch, this whole time.” She grabs hir broken fingers and pulls hir up by them, making hir howl louder, hir tears turned blubbering. “Ever since you and the Sotha had the ‘idea’ to use the tools anyway, despite your oath. I even let you play at this game with the rock in the sky, even after the first time it almost fell. I assumed you would one day deal with it proper.” She throws Vivec back down to the ash. “That was my mistake. Now I make it right.”

Mephala reaches out to grab Vivec by the skull, but a hand grabs her arm from behind. Vivec blinks repeatedly and then stammers, “M...Malacath?”

The Prince ignores hir. “Stop, Mephala.”

Mephala spins around to confront him. “Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I destroy hir? This is vengeance, Malacath.”

“No, it is not.”

Malacath stares into Vivec’s eyes, which widen as ze understands. “No. Wait. Let her finish it. This is vengeance. This is right.”

“Your masks are usually so foolproof, warrior-poet. But perhaps this one is your last, because it is showing cracks.”

Mephala turns back towards Vivec. “What?”

“The heart may be gone,” Malacath says, stepping forward, “but you know Vivec is not this weak. Ze could easily put up a fight … if ze wanted to.” Mephala begins to understand.

“Shut up, shit prince! Let her - ”

Hir voice is cut off by a black hand around hir throat. Mephala sniffs around hir. “I see...You don’t ignore your guilt. You reek of it.”

“Just kill me already! I’ll find more ways to ruin them if you don’t. I enjoy it! Every life lost today, I relish it, their pain and misery, all by my hand - ”

The hand tightens, and a smile stretches across Mephala’s face. “You used to be such a good liar, scamp. It’s so sad seeing how desperate you must be...carrying all this mortal pain. Ran out of all the justifications that make it easier on your conscience?”

“Please,” mouths Vivec, hir voice unable to escape hir throat.

“You aren’t a god. And you never really were. All you are is disappointingly...mortal.” Mephala relinquishes hir throat, dropping hir in the ash. “If you want to die so badly, do it yourself. I won’t do it for you.”

Vivec heaves on hir hands and knees. “If you’ll excuse me,” Mephala says, turning to leave, “I have to go take care of cleaning up your mess...and go help my people.” She taps Malacath on the shoulder. “You’ll come help, won’t you dear? Could use the muscle.”

Malacath looks into Mephala’s face and sees it is fresh, a mask whose eyes glisten with plots anew. He nods silently, and she begins to walk across the waters towards the mountain.

Vivec sits on hir knees, weeping quietly, clutching the wrist of hir broken hand. Malacath approaches until he is standing right above hir. But ze does seem to acknowledge his presence.

“‘The one-handed king finds no remedy,’” quotes Malacath. This causes Vivec to lift hir face, hir eyes wide and brow furrowed. “Yes,” answers the Prince, “I read your books. Waste of time.” And then he walks away to follow Mephala.

#tes #tesblr #my writing #malacath #mephala #vivec #morrowind #vvardenfell #baar dau

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belore-invictus · 5 years

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Deathbed

Phaeith laid in her deathbed, and she was almost sure of that. Her shoulder throbbed with pain, pulsating with dark magic as it overrode her veins and skin; discoloring her some. Once sun-kissed and beautiful tawny skin turned to an uncanny pale, blonde hair beginning to silver. Besides the intoxicated shoulder, she had multiple gashes and stab wounds all across her body. A broken wrist, and a slice through her lower lip. It wasn’t the wounds that made her feel like the infirmary bed she laid in was her deathbed; it was her mindset. Her heart, and where it was at. How heavy it held, and how burdened she felt. She never lead to rule, she lead to make a difference- and she wondered if she has run her course by now.

Hazed over eyes gazed upon the white, bland ceiling over top her head. She heard the moaning of other soldiers around her, and dryly swallowed. Chapped lips pressed together, and silent tears ran down her bruised cheeks in rivers. There was no reason for her to take to her personal chambers to mend, she preferred to be one with the people. “Lucian,” she whispered quietly. It was but a few weeks ago when they had their last exchange, and it ended horribly.

Her own son found disappointment in her, and she was too prideful to understand that he confided in her not for acceptance, for comfort and resolute. Instead, with her first feeling being anger, she responded aggressively and notoriously savagely. He adopted a child of the Alliance, but was it her fault to have been born into that Faction, into this war? Was it her fault that the man who saved her life was her son, a glorious Hero to House Ven’torum this day?

All she heard from her own mental was, ‘I will not accept Alliance scum into my family. I will kill them all. I would see them dead.’ The more her mind wreaked with such thoughts, the more... Disgusted, and self-destructive she got. So angry she grew, that she had to find a way to break the torment in her own mind. Not only was Lucian and his child on her mind, it was Lumeal’s death- and so she did what she knew best...

She went to war. She chose to fight it out, and this time... It did not work. There was no simple answer. There was no, ‘For the Horde, my son is a traitor!’ Lucian did not stand for what she stood for, and that was what she needed to understand. Phaeith stood as a Horde loyalist, Lucian... Has always been neutral. His beliefs were his own, and she needed to respect that. Yet, she could not. It took until an inch of her life left before Aegis broke through the wall to rescue her from the treacherous hands of Ren’dorei and Human scum to remind her what mattered most in life.

Bella’viere was almost positive that she was meant to die in that cave, that night. She was almost positive that she was meant to cease breath in front of those she promised her life to, in hopes that it would break her free from the horrid haunting that she called her Life. Life however, was not that kind to her.

Silvos lead the team into victory, reclaiming glory for the Sin’dorei as the true Champion of the Sin’dorei, and the fleet behind him demolished all that was in their way, without sweat to break. Among those people was her cousin Ithelia, a woman she has not seen in... Almost decades.

Such irony, Ithelia came into her mind, and here the Isle Witch came.... Sashaying into the room with the perfect stride, so calculated and untouched by flaw that the ground below her worshiped her raven headed cousin.

Stifling a groan, Phaeith sighed and turned her attention completely away from the ceiling and onto Ithelia herself. “Are you here to murder me in my own Infirmary Bed? That is a new low for even you, Cousin.”

Ithelia pulled one of the vacant nurse chairs out from under a desk, placing it beneath her bottom as she scooted closer to the bed. So close, that her hands took Phaeith’s trembling own, and devious, verdant pools watched golden ones. “I am not Celestiaelle, and I am not our fathers vendetta. Our fathers war does not have to be our own.”

The Sovereign clenched her jaw, glaring. “I never wanted that war, yet Celestiaelle -and- you drove my fathers own hand to hate me. You said such words to me before, and I foolishly believed in them. Only for you to cease opportunity to cut my throat, acting as an innocent. Acting as your fathers lapdog, and allowing me to look meek for wanting peace. When YOU and Celest preached of peace!” She spat.

“I was afraid, Vi. I was afraid that my own father would murder me, alongside the rest of his unit for being WEAK! You were the second oldest after me, and it made sense for you to preach for peace! You were the daughter who played with light-infused butterflies, and every living thing in your path would come to life, or begin to heal! I was always the Grand Warrior of our House, and you -KNOW- this! Do not blame me for the past, when I seek to right it now. The past matters no more, we all have made mistakes. I am sorry.”

Phaeith weakly jerked her hand away from Ithelia, snapping. “Sorry? What is it that you truly want, Ithelia. To make me seem a mockery for having a heart whilst leading. You will not be the first, nor last person who complains to me about having emotions when leading. I am a mother, dammit. I am a mother with the instinct to provide, and keep people happy! Alive! If I whip our people, they will find respect in fear, and respect out of fear is a sign of a weak man or woman, who intends on ruling- and you know what happens to them? They fail. They will ALWAYS fail. You cannot make a bond with your people by spitting on them! You have to press forth with gratitude and grace!”

“I only ask for you to think it over, Vi! Your sons need you. You want to be a mother, then be a mother. You cannot be both a mother, and a leader. You cannot be a mother to a man who is neutral in the war, without facing the facts that you would be a useless leader, to perform your duties as a mother! They are men and women who ask for a leader who can DISCIPLINE them. Surely not to invoke fear into the peoples, but to do at least one thing: give them a reason to live, Vi. Your reason is what, heart-felt words, and warm laughter? What of the field, Bella’viere. They cannot be warm on the field, the field is where you survive! So think. I do not ask for you to give up your position, I only ask for you to think of it, Bella’viere. Hell, trial me! Be my Quartermaster, and allow me to give Aegis the leader they deserve! After all. You have the Horde symbol tattooed onto your face, Vi! Do you think it smart to take such a role like this, for an organization meant to protect Quel’thalas, and Quel’thalas only?!” Ithelia sighed out with aggravation, waving her hands as she stood. “Think about that for a moment.”

The Sovereign huffed, snapping her attention to the far left, far away from Ithelia. “You want me to believe that you could keep this order free of toxicity, and that you will not turn into our fathers, and lead them into glory. You want me to believe that a FEL-USER of all people wishes to be righteous? You think me a fucking fool, Alixendria.” Bella’viere growled, and all of the nurses around the area stood still. Never did Phaeith swear, but there were times. Whilst few, they were grand for what they were. “You come to a woman dying, to seek the ability to lead? You have gravely mistaken me as a timid, and dying dog. I will bare my teeth even in death.”

“No, Vi. I do not think you a fool, by any means. I think you of a woman who spreads herself too thin, and cannot face the facts that she needs help, and rest. You need rest, damn you. You wish to leave Lucian and Ardal as orphans, over what? Your pride? You talk of mine, what of yours?! Your pride nearly had you murdered in that cave, because you deliberately CHOSE to not call onto those of Aegis to help you at first! Your pride will have a sword through your throat, for attempting to help a fallen soldier, before watching your own back! You would see to every single friend and family member who has loved you, disheartened and broken by your death. Are you that selfish to want death so badly? Take a break, Bella’viere. Get some rest. Heal, and take this time to be with your family. Give me advice, and I will see to it served. Allow me to focus on those of Aegis, and to turn this Order into what we both wish for it to be: an iron-fist. You have men like Silvos Bloodvalor, and Lumeal Blackstrider in your ranks. You believe that they would see me do wrong to your own glory? They would quick see me dead- hell, your Councilman Bloodvalor, nearly had my throat in the cave! Rest, Bella’viere. Come back for the crown when you are ready. Until then, see to it that the House of Alah’sin and Ven’torum will rise with Aegis of Belore, and we will find all of our enemies perished in the wrath of the children of the blood; and to glorious victory, will we sit together at the table and cheer when we win. When Quel’thalas returns to being a beacon of riches, and thriving as it deserves to. Have my head if I do wrong by you, that is my promise to you.”

“We will finish this discussion after rest, Alixendria. See to it that you make it home unscathed.”

[ Mentions: @lumealblackstrider , @thecrimsonlion , @bloodvalor , @shalestren-v , @empyrealrose , @blackenedhelm , @varianwrynn , @glamorous-chaos , @drimmari , @mazarot , @leyloria-falanore , @xephanos-flamereaver , @xyveth-heartbane , @mistsandmedicine]

#Aegis of Belore #Struggle #lulz she dyin

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