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“I would really rather not,” said Vith coolly. “Imagine the mess I would have to clean up. I’m merely suggesting that you should consider being more careful in the future.”

The warning sounded gentle, almost friendly - Vith’s voice was lilting, serene, the calm and strong voice of a skald. It could be mistaken by a less intuitive person to be a genuinely caring interaction. But beneath the warm facade was a cold edge, the drip of poison, a warning to the other Atmoran priest that he was fully willing and capable of using this little alteraction to his own benefit - should he need to.

When Sigrid came to visit her in her library office in Navis, Vigdis knew it wasn't good news. She knew that expression when she entered the room. She knew that curve to Sigrid's shoulders. Her brother - her precious, stupid big brother - had managed to chase off his wife. Again. Oh, she was going to wring his neck one day! Couldn't he see how wonderful Sigrid was? Never mind, she thought to herself. He could wait. Her poor sister in law could not.

"Oh, bee," said Vigdis, wishing with all her heart she could scoop Sigrid up in her arms without risking killing her. She deserved a hug. "Come sit down. I've got coffee - would you like to nurse a cup and tell me about it?"

Tore and the Civil War

Ultimately, Tore supports the Stormcloak inssurection, but it's not because he's a 'Skyrim for the Nords' type. It's more self-serving than that!

For the moment, I'm not going to comment on the very top of the Stormcloaks, but more on the general trends amongst the rank and file and the civilian supporters. What Ulfric personally believes is irrelevant for the moment.

This is the main driving force behind Tore's relationship with the Stormcloaks. He was himself born off of Lake Yorgrim, and when he wakes up again in 4E201, it's the part he more strongly identifies with and recognises. The Old Holds still seem to more strongly identify with the older, more nationalistic identity of Skyrim, with the old Gods and traditions, and Tore seeks to exploit that in his own rise to power. Whilst he is forced to - quite unceremoniously, after his cult are burned out of Bromjunaar - adapt his rhetoric to modern times, his whole ideology is rooted in that old flavour of Skyrim culture and religion.

Boy doesn't call himself 'The Last Atmoran' for nothing.

Point is, he thinks he can leverage that - by loudly supporting the same cause as the people with the most closely aligned belief system to his, he can work to unify the idea of the new Dragon Cult with the Stormcloak Army and the new Skyrim that might be born should the Stormcloaks win. That’s just an impossible sell to the Imperials, but he can appeal to the base that wants an older, more independent form of Skyrim to return. It'd be a sexy and powerful position to be in, to be the religious leader of the new, free Skyrim. He likes that idea a lot.

I know Tore’s name is pronounced tor-uh because he’s my OC and I named him, it’s root is Þorír after all, but my brain insists it’s tore, like ‘tore a piece of paper’, and I’m not over it

sorry for falling off the face of the planet a bit, Real World Stuff got in the way, but i’m back now!

haevatein​:

He drew in a breath, tight, controlled, and looked upon the god now lounging against his wall, making his home look positively tiny - Tore was not a small man, he had been cracking his forehead off of doorframes since he was a teenager barely growing his first chin-hairs, but he was surprised Loke was capable of standing upright given the height of the ceiling and the height of the god. At the very least, he must be very careful to avoid scraping his head against the rafters. Tore checked one of his questions off of his list - he was definitely a giant.

"I wasn't hallucinating," he said finally, breathless, drawing himself to his full height. A strand of his long, blond hair fell from the bun it was tucked into, but whilst it would have usually bothered him - Tore was fastidious about his appearance, and his fair hair was a point of particular pride - he was too focused on Loke to fix it, too busy drinking in his fill of the sight. "I really did summon you into my home last time. You must accept my apologies for not believing you before - I have had adverse reactions to the mushrooms in the past."

A million things rushed into his head at once, a million questions he'd always wanted to ask of the gods. Were the realms beyond Midgarðr real, and could a mortal visit? How much of his seiðr practice really worked, how much was straw-clutching, and could he learn more potent kinds? Did the other gods hear his prayers? How did they feel about the Christians, who turned their people away from the old ways? How much more of their world, the world beyond Tore, was there for him to explore, to learn about? He had such an insatiable lust for answers, and for the first time in his life, he might actually get some. It was exciting, terrifying, revelatory all at once.

Where did Tore even begin?

"Are my offerings to your satisfaction? I won't have you leaving again from my lack of hospitality; I have so much to ask."

haevatein​:

His heart leapt as his home suddenly grew a few degrees warmer, and a voice made his ears perk up. His eyes opened and he looked around, trying to see the tall, red-haired vaettr who'd answered his call last time. But he saw nothing - whoever was there was choosing to keep himself hidden, for now. He paused, thinking through the words. Did the voice match the one he heard before? Possibly.

It was a test, yes? He thought about his answer carefully.

What did the name Loke mean to Tore? What would Tore see in a god pushed to the edge of his society, demonised, poked and prodded? Who had been treated with disloyalty by his kin even as his cleverness brought gifts and bounties upon his people? Who the Aesir had used as a shield, time and time again, to avoid paying for the gifts of Brokkr, for the wall around Asgard? Who was accused of all kinds of dark deeds, of being unmanly, unsuitable for Viking life, someone worthy of being shunned? A fellow seiðrmaður?

"Proof I have a kindred spirit amongst the gods, and that they hear me." Feeling good about his chances, and humourous, he added, "and he is someone else who enjoys psilocybes for more than their magical properties. Though I suppose that falls under being a kindred spirit, too."

He'd never done anything like this without entheogens to ease the process, to let his mind slip free of his body and seek beyond himself into the world beyond. Summoning spirits from beyond their world was difficult, and the out-of-body experience helped to make that connection. But given the last time he'd done this, he'd either hallucinated the most realistic spirit he'd ever encountered in his life, or summoned the Actual God, Loke, into his house, he really wanted his mind to be clear. To either set to rest his mind, or genuinely pull the god into his house to confirm it.

Offerings were set out, runes were drawn and cast, the distaff was spun with the threads to represent his fate at his feet - it was just like when he was first learning, going through the motions without the out-of-body experience that came with the mushrooms, practicing in preperation for the real thing - except this was the real thing. He muttered a prayer under his breath, breathed in deeply, and reached out beyond himself with his mind, chanted--

--and waited, until the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"--Loke?"

i got one of those newfangled interest tracker thingies