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Familiar
Clouded Mith
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Nemesis. Why did his parents name him something so… antagonistic?
From his early childhood, Nemesis had always found joy in other people. He found energy in the relationships he formed with others, he thrived upon the stories of strangers. He grew up looking forward to the balls his parents would host, he became fascinated with the lives of others. Very quickly, he learned that no one shared that enthusiasm, but if there was one thing Nemesis understood, it was how to get along. He could smile through anything: a snide comment, an evening by himself, his father telling him to fetch the next woman. As prince, he understood what the true nature of the world was.
The world he knew was selfish. All of its inhabitants were ugly. It was repulsive to think about. And yet, despite how much he secretly loathed the people he was forced to surround himself with, Nemesis knew he wouldn’t survive outside the castle he’d been raised in. He knew he couldn’t make it without the wealth of royalty to support the opulence he enjoyed. He knew he couldn’t commit himself in his disgust with the world to spirit himself away. Resigned to his role from a young age, Nemesis played his part as the eager little boy, the eager young master, the eager party host, and the eager king-to-be. By the time he was a man, he was so tired of the song and dance he’d practiced to perfection that every night, when he threw open the doors of the castle to host event after event, he looked for anything to change the stale, disgusting world he lived in-- anything.
His wish was granted in the form of a woman whose name, whose eyes, whose aura he will never forget: Skyrim.
Her presence was like a weight on his shoulders. Her eyes were so clear that he could discern their color from a distance. She walked with her head held high, she stepped with a grace reserved for royalty. Yet if she were royalty, surely he would have heard of her arrival?
“Excuse me,” he said at the time. “I’ve business to attend to.”
And like that, he stole from the boring conversation with the boring people that had been boring him to death. Despite the irony of knowing her purpose for being there, her very appearance reminded him what it was like to be excited for what was to come. Even if she did end up killing him, at least she was beautiful, at least she was different.
“I know why you’re here,” he said to her frankly, too sick of silly games to play coy anymore. He saw the shock in her face and smiled giddily, his eyes lighting up with a flame he hadn’t felt since he was a child. He grabbed wine off of a passing waiter and downed it all, nearly throwing down the glass in his excitement before taking the woman’s hand in his. Her skin was cold, befitting of her frigid aura, so perfectly contrasted to the gorgeous red of her dress.
“But before you kill me, would you like to dance?”
From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew exactly why she was there. No one so beautiful could exist for any other purpose but end the existence of others. Instinct should have told him to run far, far away from this dangerous woman, it should have told him to scream for the guards and run for his life. Instead, it told him to hold her close and refuse to let her go. She represented mystery. She was a source of intrigue. She could be his escape. That, if nothing else, meant that he wanted her, and the prince always got what he wanted.
He whisked her across the dance floor before she could give an answer, sweeping her into the rhythm of the music. She smelled like roses and cinnamon and a million different herbs and her form pleased him like none he’d ever seen before. He could only wish she had a lovely cadence, and when she spoke, he was delighted to reply.
“You have a beautiful voice,” she said quietly, so demure and innocent like a newborn fawn.
“As do you.” He replied, smiling brilliantly. As they danced, he found confidence to tease. “Is there any part of you that isn’t perfect?”
She seemed bashful for just a moment, then remembered herself, her aura of confidence coming back in full force. “That should be for you to discover, milord.”
“Is that an offer, or simply kibble for my imagination?”
“It’s whatever you’d like to be, Prince Nemesis,” she said.
“Then surely I’d like to have you to myself. But ‘Nemesis,’” he insisted, “Isn’t that such an awful thing to call a lover?”
She tossed her head back as she laughed, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to see her smile again.
Their first night together was unforgettable. Never in his life had Nemesis been so eager for flesh. He was hellbent on loving this woman, on keeping her forever, on stealing her away so none might see what treasures she showed him. He knew, of course, that she had likely done this to others and he knew, of course, that she could be putting on an act to get his guard down. But with Aphrodite in front of him, who was Paris to do anything but love? There was no room in his bed for skepticism, and for all he cared she could kill him when they were done. He would be happier dead at her hands than postured for his fake admirers, but he never got to voice the thought. When the two of them laid spent, the bedding tangled around their cooling forms, Nemesis pressed his lips to Skyrim’s forehead and heard her purr in content.
Whomever she was, he loved her.
She stole away in the morning but he knew that she’d be back. Each time she came, he had a new gift. He gave her jewelry and necklaces and earrings and clothes; he gave her stories and scenery and the view from the castle rooftop. He made love to her in every way he knew how, made her happy in every way he could think of. She never shared much about herself, but whenever she did, he was sure to remember every tiny detail. He gave her his attention, he gave her his everything.
One day, he gave her a ring, and though she ran from him, he had seen the word that nearly tumbled from her eager lips. Yes.
She was dangerous, this was dangerous, and the prince knew that could only mean danger was headed his way.
When a cloaked man opened the door to his bedroom that night, the prince was still wide awake. He’d been thinking over the wedding, thinking of what would look best. Skyrim would want red; she loved the color red; and gold would look best with red, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t quite make up his mind, not with someone staring at him with daggers for eyes.
“I knew one would come eventually,” the prince eventually sighed, torn from his daydreaming by the intensity of the other man’s stare. There wasn’t any way a woman as beautiful as Skyrim could have just one suitor. Nemesis wasn’t stupid, and judging from the other’s expression, both of them had feelings intense enough that a mere discussion wouldn’t end their dispute. This was the kind of thing that could only be answered with action.
“Then you must know you’re going to die.” Oberyn said, hand hovering on his blade.
“Perhaps,” Nemesis chuckled. Dying here would be a more desirable end than living as the king in his mind; he had no qualms with facing death. “But first,” he said suddenly, lifting his blade to stare at Oberyn straight in the eyes, “Answer me one thing.” The man didn’t look to be in the mood to humor any request, but replied anyway.
“What?”
“Who do you think loves Skyrim more,” the prince posited. “You? Or me.”
For some reason, despite recognizing the same murderous aura that Skyrim carried with such strength, Nemesis hadn’t thought Oberyn was going to go straight for the kill.
It was a long strife, one that Nemesis barely won. He survived by the skin of his teeth, and even though he was fighting for love, he was fighting for life. By the time he found himself face-to-face with the man that he’d identified as a rival, Nemesis was breathing like it was the last thing he knew how to do, chest heaving as sweat poured down his back. He knew from the other’s expression that he expected death, but Nemesis was no monster. The only thing he’d wanted to prove was that he was worthy of holding Skyrim’s hand, that his resolve wasn’t some transient fluke. Arm pressed to Oberyn’s collar, blade pressed to his throat, the two found each other’s eyes, and without words, a conclusion was reached.
Nemesis saw something break deep in Oberyn’s eyes.
With a sudden clatter, the assassin’s blade was on the ground.
The fight was over. As the two calmed down, the prince removed his blade, kicking Oberyn’s piece away from him as they each took a seat. Nemesis felt more alive than he’d ever been in his entire life as he sat there, gulping air until his lungs no longer burned. By that point, however, he’d noticed that the assassin had gone still, and so he did the same. The silence was deafening.
“You can marry her.” The sudden statement caught Nemesis off-guard. He hadn’t been expecting such an easy concession. “But you cannot stop me from seeing her.”
For a moment, the prince is silent. For some reason, looking at the man across from him, seeing the determination in his eyes when they’d squared off in those last moments-- he was reminded of the small crack he’d seen behind the assassin’s strong facade. What had that been? The knowledge that another man would have her hand? No-- it wasn’t that. It was like… the realization that someone was better than you in ways you could never hope to best them.
The thought made him smile. With that smile, Nemesis looked at the other with a newfound kinship. “Whatever made you think I’d try?” After all, what was it to him if another suitor had the shadow of his love if he had her heart and soul?
The assassin started chuckling, and as Nemesis was never one to hold himself back, he started chuckling too. The two of them played off of one another, slowly growing louder and louder in something that must have seemed absurd to anyone else. The exertion of fighting, the release of tension-- where there was relief, there was laughter. Rancorous laughter, painful laughter, laughter that made Nemesis’ eyes well with tears. He wiped them away once he could feel his sides start to cramp. It had been a long, long time since he felt a bellyache from laughing so hard.
“Now I’ll admit,” he said, holding his stomach with one hand as the other half-hid his lingering grin. “I’m not the type to share. But I never intended to take Skyrim away from her passion… Or you,” he added, looking to Oberyn. “I want to make her happy, but I understand I can’t be everything for her. Not someone like Skyrim. I can be her sun and sky, but you’re the one who can fully love her darker sides. You seem to be from her world-- you carry the same weight she does. Me… Well, I can do my best, but if she ever came to me covered in blood, I think we’d have a problem,” he laughed, trying to make the room less serious.
“You don’t think I’m…” Oberyn suddenly said. “...that she and I…” As the man trailed off, Nemesis looked over at him, his eyes having wandered to the walls. It was then that Nemesis realized that the other looked conflicted-- horrified, even. The prince’s brow furrowed in confusion. You don’t think I’m… what?
Confusion turned to surprise which quickly morphed into even more confusion. “You’re not involved?”
“Of course not!” The man nearly roared, jumping to his feet. Nemesis sat back in his own chair, surprised by the strong reaction. “Skyrim could be my daughter, of course we’re not involved!” He looked flustered beyond belief, face red with something like fury and embarrassment. Here, Nemesis had been raised to believe that all assassins were stone-faced and ruthless with no sympathy, empathy, or morals. Yet there Oberyn was, flailing his arms as if pinwheeling might help convince the prince that he had nothing to do with Skyrim’s personal affairs.
Chuckling, the prince wondered what exactly had happened that had caused such a misunderstanding. “If that’s the case, then the two of us have been on very different pages, as I thought you meant to challenge me for her hand.” He said. “I knew someone as beautiful as she couldn’t have just one suitor, so I figured that you had heard of my proposal from her, and thus come to kill me in jealousy.”
“Absurd,” Oberyn replied huffily. “I knew she was seeing you and I knew she was eventually going to make a foolish decision, mostly to spite me, or at least in part. She was being irresponsible and ignoring her duties to our… clan.” He trailed off as if suddenly remembering he wasn’t supposed to say something. His recovery was entirely obvious to the prince, so obvious that Nemesis couldn’t help commenting.
“Your ‘clan,’ of course,” he said, wearing a small smirk for a few moments before sighing, leaning back in his seat. “Well, whatever the case, I apologize for my part in our miscommunication. You look awfully young for your age, barely out of your golden years. Do you perhaps dye your hair?” He asked curiously, wondering what a man who thought of Skyrim as a daughter could be doing to stay so youthful. Oberyn apparently didn’t take it as a compliment.
“I’ll have you know I haven’t seen a single silver strand.”
“Well then, you’re awfully lucky for someone my father’s age.”
“Hold your tongue, prince. I’m not fond of royalty that calls me old.”
“Not fond of the crown? That’s grounds for treason. Or are you senile?”
“Make another comment on my age and I’ll make sure you die young.”
“You snuck into the castle with that very same purpose and yet here I am.”
“I won’t fail twice.”
The two were laughing by the time Skyrim arrived. In their brief time conversing, Nemesis had learned much about not only Oberyn, but the woman he loved. For this man to hold Skyrim in such high esteem, to go as far as to attempt killing a prince in her name, she was truly something special, and not only in his own eyes. As she stood there staring at them, breathless and clearly outraged, it was Nemesis who stood to greet her, welcoming her into the room, thanking her for clearing out the stuffy air. It was easy for him to curate their conversation away from what had happened between himself and Oberyn, and when he met the assassin’s eyes once more, he saw a thankful glint that Nemesis returned with a knowing smile.
They both loved Skyrim, and they’d both protect her with their life. That much had been proven. And unbeknownst to their beloved, their resolve would be strengthened again, and again, and again. - - - - -MISC- - - - -
This beautiful hand-crafted crown is the ultimate display of prestige. It is extremely valuable. (Kickstarter-Exclusive Item)
0
Fool's Gold
Minerals & Ores
Close enough. (Special thanks Ank.)
80
Gold Ore
Minerals & Ores
Known to drive dragons to do very foolish things.
250
Sickle Claws
Organics
It is regarded as unwise to harvest claws of a kamaitachi. These weasels travel in family units, and the survivors are known to hunt collectors down.
50
Biography written by Saphelle Biography layout by Zarane
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Meditate
Energy Stone
The caster will focus on the surrounding magical energies, generating a large amount of Breath. Reduces physical damage dealt by 75% for two turns.
25
Required Level: 1
Contuse
Ability Stone
Deals neutral magic damage and weakens the target, decreasing their offensive capabilities.
250
Required Level: 1
Clouded Mith
Familiar
Up until recent memory, clouded miths were clouded myths. Their numbers have increased a great deal in the last century. (Colored by Hallea.)
1200
Accent: Firedancer
Wildclaw Male Only
Accents are equippable items that can be worn like a coat of paint on top of the skin of your dragon. The look of the accent will not be passed onto offspring and may be unequipped at any time. (Designed by Apel.)
Itemid #20390
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Exalting Nemesis to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
