marcus, failde / PROMISED LAND

[ELENWEN .]

is it bliss or misery if what you see is what you believe?

thank the loss of innocence

TAG: Whoever wants to go first! Words: 464

ONE LAST THING: Length is nonexistent since Failde and Marcus need to interact first.

If only these military men were not such a waste of Elenwen’s time, she would not have carried on disinterestedly through the motions of preparing for her visitor. As it was, she placed herself a distance from the door, reception robes clinging to her, and turned her eyes to one of the pathetically perky Bosmer servants fidgeting with a flower display on one of the tables. ”Stop fumbling with something that these soldiers will not appreciate. Fetch Failde and ensure he meets the legate’s carriage when it arrives. Rip any book or other distraction that he may be holding out of his hands.” The servant bowed and left Elenwen to herself. Though it would show far too much interest if she was the one to step outside and meet with this Imperial officer, Elenwen nonetheless wanted someone present to keep the Imperial from believing that he had free reign of the grounds, even if it was her typically useless aide. The only advantage she could think of to sending the boy was that he would prove as much of an annoyance to the officer as he was an annoyance to her. She pursed her lips with mild satisfaction.

Distaste for the Thalmor permeated through the ranks of the Imperials – this fact Elenwen knew with little doubt. Their loyalty was only to the Concordant that their government had signed so many years before, not to the Altmer. They were not fighting this war to keep worship of Talos out of Skyrim for their own opposition to the tenants of that so-called “god,” but because a golden pen had once demanded that they stop such worship. Elenwen could easily match their apathy. If it were not necessary to continue reminding these military types of that a more civilized people say within the grand embassy that they often answered to, Elenwen would send them all back to their trenches to rot in whichever way suited them. Unfortunately, her resources dictated that she needed these Imperials throwing themselves at the Stormcloaks for the time being. Elenwen tapped her foot once with a satisfyingly sharp click in a mild and unnoticeable show of frustration with the failure of the Imperials to make any genuine headway into the still-intact Stormcloak territories. It was Elenwen’s plan to bring up those failures to this visiting Imperial.

”Emissary! The Imperial’s carriage has arrived!”

Elenwen didn’t shift to look at the overly enthused Bosmer again, only straightening her posture instinctively and retaining her gaze on the doorway. ”Make yourself scarce,” Elenwen told the girl, hearing the shuffling of feet as the girl retreated to the back of the room. Now, this Imperial would be treated to the company of the Altmer for the day. It would be his own downfall if he was unimpressed.

for things are starting to make sense

TEMPLATE BY: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE MIKEY ! @ CAUTION.

[failde .]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #171818; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #171818 solid; border-bottom: 10px #171818 solid;] Like somehow you just don’t belong and no one understands you {WORDS } 923 {TAGGED } Elenwen, Marcus {WEARING} Thalmor robes Perhaps this time no one would be so rude as to disturb him right after he’d settled down once more with his favorite book. He sighed aloud when he sank into the comfortable seat that he had picked to rest upon while reading the delicious book he had finally been sent. The last time he had dared to open it, that insolent bosmer had come with instructions from Elenwen to meet her for training…and of course that training had been torture. The mere thought made him shudder visibly. With a blissful sigh he tucked one ankle above his other and slowly opened the book that he had been holding. The mere creak of that was enough to send shivers of pleasure down his spine. “I’ve missed you…oh divines how I’ve missed yo-…” “FAILDE!” Failde jumped at the sound of the voice that haunted him most hours of the day. Always…always as soon as he had the desire to open his book, that same voice came popping up out of nowhere and would proceed to ruin the rest of a perfectly good day. Muttering under his breath, Failde glowered over toward the bosmer that seemed intent on playing pawn to Elenwen’s wishes to destroy his life and crush his soul. Not only did he have to rot in this hell hole, he was constantly surrounded by barbaric ideals, but he had to deal with races so decidedly beneath his own constantly. “What can you possibly need today?”, he asked while shifting his butt around on the chair and once more opening his book to the proper place. “Elenwen summons you.” An extremely exaggerated sigh rumbled off his chest after the bosmer told him those three words he dreaded hearing on a daily basis. From the smirk and the knowing look that the infidel had, Failde realized just how much he seemed to enjoy tormenting him. “Of course she does.”, he muttered out, before waving him off with a hand. “Tell her I’m otherwise occupied and that I will find her when I have completed my assignment.” Oooh, how good it felt to say that! The smirk that he had on his face was quickly turned to despair when the bosmer responded. Words he could handle… But instead, he felt his beloved book ripped from his grasp. Failde instantly twisted around and made a wild grasp for the book that had just been torn from his grasp. “Are you mad!”, he shouted, before reaching for the book that the bosmer held in his grasp. He simply got a laugh from the insolent bosmer, before the smaller elf danced away from him. “Give it back instantly.”, he snapped out, before once more lunging forward to get the book safely away from the hands of one that was probably even now soiling the beloved pages. He couldn’t bear the thought of his precious book in the hands of such a despicable being. Instead of doing what he had requested however, Failde felt sick when the bosmer decided to do something else. He had moved until positioning himself right beside a fire, Failde’s precious book hovering over the heat of the flame. “…No…you wouldn’t…” Terror gripped his voice, shaking with emotion at the thought of what might come. “I would! Now get your ass down by Elenwen. She summoned you to meet the legate’s carriage when it arrives.” As if in a trance and not hearing his words, Failde stumbled nearer the bosmer, fear gripping him. “I’LL DO IT FAILDE!” The next half step he took was followed by the bosmer purposely allowing the book to slip a bit from his fingertips, before allowing it to drop. “What have you done?!”, he shouted while lunging forward. The bosmer easily caught it up again before it hit the flames, and waved it once more. “Get going Failde.” He felt sick. How could anyone…do such a thing? But he finally did as requested. Yet as he walked away his eyes were locked on the bosmer. “One scratch…one…and I’ll see you down in the torturing rooms. One scratch.” It took hardly any time at all to reach Elenwen. His leaden feet picked up the pace when he finally did see her. When he reached her side, so wrought with misery and torment was he in the thought that the bosmer had destroyed his book, Failde caught her elbow with his clammy hands and couldn’t keep his whining in check. “Elenwen! That bosmer…that bosmer…that insolent, dull witted bosmer has no proper value on the property of others! I should like to see him removed from this Embassy at once!”, he snapped out in anguish. His own feelings combated realizing what was happening and that now was perhaps the worst time to be complaining to Elenwen. Still, he trudged on. {NOTES} Too much fun writing him...

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0, lyrics by Simple Plan

[Marcus Artorius .]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding:0; margin: 0; background-image:url(http://i1029.photobucket.com/albums/y353/shockwavesyndrome/thisiswar.png);background-repeat:repeat-y;width: 450px;height:600px;] ”Legate Artorius, this letter is a commission from General Tullius requesting that you travel to the Thalmor Embassy and meet with the first emissary to report on the goings on of the warfront, as outlined in the White-Gold Concordat. The General would have seen to this personally, but he found himself tied up in other personal matters and is unable to attend. You will be received from your encampment by carriage…” Marcus crumpled up the letter and tossed it from the vehicle. He must have read over the letter countless times on the ride to the Embassy. It was a long, surprisingly uneventful trip that he was nowhere near done with. Why Tullius didn’t send a closer Legate was beyond him. “We all know that you just wanted to avoid being the bearer of bad news, Tullius.” He grumbled to himself, stretching out in the carriage in an attempt to make himself comfortable. If there was one thing he could ever say about Imperial Armor, it would be that it was anything but. “Pardon, sir?” The Driver called back. “Nothing, my good man. Actually, would you be so kind as to wake me upon approaching Solitude, it would be greatly appreciated.” “Yes sir. I will do my best.” He replied. Marcus closed his eyes and attempted to get to sleep. It would seem that sleep would elude him during the trip as each turn and each bump in the road would ensure that he stayed awake. ”We are approaching your destination sir!” The Driver called out as they arrived. Marcus mumbled something to himself. He really did not want to be there right now, especially without any rest or any accompaniment. It seemed like it was poor planning to send him in by himself. Marcus perked up, watching different servants skitter around and manage to find somewhere to hide. By the time the carriage had come to a stop and he had stepped back on the Skyrim grass, there was almost no one in sight. Confused, Marcus let out an exasperated sigh and proceeded inside. “…I should like to see him removed from this Embassy at once!” A male voice echoed throughout the room. Marcus didn’t even want to begin to know who wanted what to be gone. Nor did he even care. “Pardon me, but would someone be as kind to bring me a drink? Something strong, preferably.” 400 Words | Dem Elfs Marc’s first post. Break out the cake! this template was made by ZOE of caution 2.0 !