#rhalata

[sideshow-cellophane-blog]

Honestly leveling up to 30+, getting Tharael and playing the Rhalata quest line sets you up to kiiiiinda be prepared for the main story's similar themes. Nessa left Tealor Arantheal waiting for her answer for literal months so she could at least start a life in Enderal first. She gets through the Golden Sickle, does bounty missions, explores Riverville and the Sun Coast before finally drinking enough to take on the Monster in the Arena.

And then everything you experience during the Rhalata quest with the Father mirrors the main story. Pride, hatred, obsession, unethical experimentation (not the Order itself, but Calia's father), body switching, dealing with the cruelty of the world and madness, finding that ONE person who understands you and dealing with them being taken away by the world (mirroring what happened to Yero and his wife, the Aged Man, Letho, Sirius, etc).

The trial during "Part of Something Momentous Part II" is a piece of cake for Nessa, who already knows of psionic illusions and the mind games that evil magic can play. Not much in Enderal tops what nightmares happened in the Rhalata's excavation site. Her and Tharael share that trauma and they have definitely talked through nightmares and ideas and psionics, they are probably more informed than the Order is since psionics and The Butcher of Ark are banned. A lot of Keepers and Novitiates seem ignorant of a lot of Enderal's darker secrets.

Aixon feels like someone the prophet once knew, rather than a total figment of your imagination. He represents the fear that holds you from escaping. You can pick up that skull at the end, "Regret," and instead of picking up the human heart or empty wine bottle at the altar you leave Regret on the stone that frees you. You leave Regret behind and it frees you. Nailaq left behind Qalian, Tharael left behind Brother Wrath. You kill Aixon, who represents fear and anxiety, and it frees you from the trial (I personally tried to kill him every time he opened his annoying mouth).

Then the High Ones meet the prophetess, and because you're level 30+ it's a sobering experience...for them. They may have brought the prophet back into this world, but like The Father and Tharael, you are fucked up because of it and stronger than you were. If Tharael can continue on, so can you.

Honestly having gone through the Rhalata quest and have Tharael by your side after is my favorite way to play. It adds a feeling of readiness instead of hopelessness at being called pathetic over and over again by the High Ones, who need to read a thesaurus and get more colorful words.

Nessa gives them the middle finger. How about you guys?

#enderal #enderal prophetess #enderal: forgotten stories #enderal: shards of order #tealor arantheal #rhalata #tharael narys #the father #the order #nailaq #jespar dal'varek #calia sakaresh

[aasteraarts]

Tharaêl Narys (Enderal)

The first time I did Ralata's quest, I decided not to spare Kalian, which I regretted when Tarael committed suicide. No game made me cry so much.

#vynblr #tharael narys #enderal: forgotten stories #rhalata #enderal #aasteraarts

[kileanprincess]

TW/CW: Laboratory, experimental horror, kidnapping, small children

A glimpse at the Father’s laboratory, taken from the Enderal Forgotten Stories trailer

Very spooky and quite sad. Could this be a glimpse of Tharael as a child maybe?

It would have been interesting to have more of a view into this room in the game. I wish the Father’s lab was much bigger with more to explore!

#enderal #enderal forgotten stories #tharael #tharael narys #rhalata

[somniaverde]

#enderal #sureai #vynblr #oc #jespar dal'varek #calia sakaresh #oc art #enderal forgotten stories #enderal fanart #sketchbook #love them both huh #and there's daddy's weapon in my hand from rhalata quest

[jilljoycearts]

Psst, what would your prophet's name be if they decided to join the Rhalata?

I guess Siri would go by Sister Levity, suits her well

#enderal #vynblr #sureai #other MCs are welcome to join too!

[forevermarked]

this is a celebratory post because i FINALLY,,, finally, after DAYS of work, got Tharael looking the way i want him to ;0; i made him so pretty guys.......... wow............ this is my version of Tharael after Rhalata where he travels with the Prophet and helps them out. he's still wearing the Voice outfit bc i havent found one i like better for him. and he doesnt have his tattoo bc i was playing with a mod that removed it for the longest time and i forgot about it and i cant be assed to put it back after all the trouble his makeover gave me lawl. he went to the magical tattoo removal wizard okay. i love this set of screenshots because they coincide so perfectly with this lil excerpt from my WIP ~

“How can you say that?” He snapped. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Sure I do.”

Her voice softened. He could hardly stand to look at her, but heard a smile in her words all the same. 

“You’re tall and skinny - I know you don’t eat enough. When you first pulled me from the Arena and we fell over each other, I thought it impossible that anyone could have limbs so long. But your shoulders are broad, your frame big, so you don’t look scrawny. More… elegant. Willowy.”

“Your eyes are so dark most people would say they’re black. But in the light - the light of the fireplace in the orphanage, or the fire now, I can see that they’re violet. With a touch of blue. Indigo, maybe. They look like the night sky, like stars and galaxies.”

“I know a few other elves with grey skin like you,  but yours is the most beautiful by far. It changes so much depending on where you are. In the dark it’s cold, pale, almost white. Like you’re made of marble. But in the light, like right now, it’s warm. Or the promise of warmth. Like ashes, like kindling.”

“Your hair grows like weeds. You’ve had to shave your head three times since I’ve known you - about once a week. I wonder what it would look like if you let it grow out?”

“And… I know when you blush it goes to the tips of your ears. It’s cute.”

like wow put this dude in different lighting and he looks completely different. i love it. love him :3

#tharael narys #enderal #vynblr #tharael x prophet #i have so many cute hcs about tharael but the blushing one is my fave #u know dude is so stoic but turns bright red at the slightest provocation #hhhhghghhhgdfsujahsidf #babey....

[gabriellerudessa]

Arrival Celebration

I finished typing at 2 in the morning for Brazilians. Then things happened and I couldn't post it.

Now I can! Happy Arrival Celebration, Vyn Fandom, and Happy New Year to everybody else! Be with my watercolor and soft fanfic Prophetess x Tharaêl (almost 3k words, it was supposed to be short! *cries*)

This happens around nine months after the Rhalata questline, with Tharaêl and Arelyel already having found their way around each other. Hopefully I'll manage to write a longfic about these in detail lol (I started. Let's see were I go lol)

Anyway, hope you all like it! Cheers!

EDIT 5 Jan 2023: At my desktop, thank God. Corrected some typos and spacing and the wording of a phrase I hadn't noticed was weird. (posting this on my phone was crazy) You can read it on AO3 now if you prefer too.

Also, because of AO3, Titles! The one I choose comes from a line from the song "Taste" by Sleeping at Last.

(I almost named it Ricochet after the Starset song because it came up on my playlist as I started thinking of a title but TOO SAD)

What Light Tastes Like

The wood creaked and groaned and the wind howled outside the cave, sometimes overpowering her humming; still, the fire remained steady, illuminating the camp and her work, hands flying through the embroidery in progress.

She had to finish that night.

Barring a crippling injury, she would reach Ark the next day and it wouldn’t do for the gift to not be ready. Or she to lose for the second time the Arrival festivities. She was late enough as it was reaching the city on Arrival Day instead of before.

Cassiopeia, Sirius’ mother and a grandchildren of endraleans, would’ve had pulled her ears if Arelyel was late for Arrival in any of her ten years before the woman’s death.

Or finishing a gift so late.

As Arelyel understood now, gift giving wasn’t really a part of the Arrival Celebrations in Enderal, but she had loved the tradition that Cassiopeia had made a part of their lives. A spiced wine for Jespar, a treatise about the Order’s history for Calia, a scarf for Esme, even a dagger for Arantheal and herbs treatise for Yuslan… And some carefully chosen gifts for Constantine and Lishari and Sirius, buried by the side of a well-traveled path to be found by someone in need  –all dead, Sirius at the year before, but she had been unable to do the proper rite Cassiopeia had taught at the first Arrival she had spent in Enderal.

Only Tharaêl’s gift wasn’t ready. It took her ages to think properly of something, and obviously she had decided it should be something handmade.

It would make Cassiopeia proud. Arelyel had eight years when Sirius’ mother took her in, and for ten years had taught Arelyel so much – cook and sew and embroider and another dozen things from a gentler craft that Father had kept away from her hands.

Don’t. Think. About. Him.

A needle pinprick kept her in the present. She briefly stuck the finger in her mouth, just enough so blood wouldn’t mar the fabric.

In the lull of the work, she reached the bowl of wild berried and edible flowers she had gathered earlier with the other hand. Two lonely berries waited her.

Damn it, she had finished it already.

Sighing and praying for speed, Arelyel eat the last berries and went back to the embroidery.

-----------------

Tharaêl threw a look at the scroll by the table at the door side, shook his head, and went back to mixing the meat stew.

The invitation had arrived one week ago.

Arelyel had been gone already two weeks before it, three now, resolving things fuck-knows where.

He was worried, a little bit, it was unusual for her to be away so long at a time and last one she had returned… Almost as bad as when he had started living with her. He didn’t want a repeat. The worst was that he had no way of truly reaching and warning her about the Arrival Celebration at the Sun Temple she, as the Prophetess, should go.

As it was, night was falling already, meaning such Celebration was starting, together with the festivities at the market.

Maybe she had forgotten it was Arrival Day. Not that surprising if she got stuck at a sunless place for days, as it was prone to happen.

Maybe it was better this way. The invitation said “scarlet garments”, and the only red clothes Arelyel owned were the Order’s uniform. He had seen then once, months ago, when he helped her clean the house, at the bottom of a chest.

The door burst open, bringing with it a biting cold and some snowflakes. And Arelyel, armored robe dripping water and snow and bits of ice covering it in places.

“Malphas’ balls, when Ark got this cold?!” Tharaêl left the stew to close the door as Arelyel put her bursting backpack down, teeth chattering and skin cold-burnt.

“It was worse yesterday.” He locked the door, worry melting into contentment at her return.

“How?” Stiff fingers fought to unclasp her soaked cloak from the armor, and Tharaêl approached to help.

“Snowstorm. It let down during the night, but all day it kept snowing on and off like this.” The cloak fell heavily to the ground, and Arelyel groaned at the loss of weight.

“Oh. Hope it doesn’t get worse again. Thank you. Help me with the rest? My fingers really aren’t helping.”

Tharaêl hummed an agreement and threw a look at such fingers and their fingerless gloves as he started at another buckle of her armor. Pale, nails purple-ish. He hoped it was just superficial.

The both of them made quick work of divesting Arelyel from the armored robes, and soon the woman was standing in the middle of the room only in the shirt and leather pants she used under it all, thankfully mostly dry.

And then she hugged him, as she had for almost six months now.

The first three months she always asked if she could before, and always retreated if the answer was no. Then he said she didn’t need to ask anymore; she still let her arms loose so he could leave if he so wished, and only when he hugged back did she tighten them.

Tharaêl almost immediately put his arms around her shoulders tight and pressed her cold cheek against his clothed chest. There hadn’t been a hug he hadn’t returned – he didn’t want to relinquish it now that he had a taste. Also, with how many weeks she could be away, it wasn’t as if he got that many hugs.

“I missed you.” She whispered after a moment, arms around his middle tightening, and both of them relaxed, breaths deepening.

“… Me too.” He admitted after a moment, heartbeat too fast for some seconds. He was sure she could hear it, specially as she burrowed deeper in the hug, no space between them. Tharaêl felt as if they were trying to swallow each other.

Minutes passed, inside only the sounds of their breaths and of the fire in the hearth, outside hurrahs and happy screams as the night completely fell and the Arrival festivities started around the city.

But in between them, there was just an intimate and comfortable silence, and he felt a deep contentment, almost happiness, as the hug comforted and warmed them.

The screams outside had already dimmed when Arelyel retreated a little to look at him. He felt her hands, chastely at his sides, their recovered heat scorching through the fabric.

He didn’t know exactly what to do with his hands, not with her still so close. He never knew. In the end, he kept them at her elbows, half of him tempted to reinitiate the hug and keep it for days.

“What did I miss? Besides the beginning of the festivities, you know.”

“Well…” The question brought his thoughts back to the celebration at the Sun Temple that should’ve had just started. He looked over to the rolled parchment. “You were invited for the festivities of the Arrival at the Sun Temple. It must have started around now.” Tharaêl pressed his lips, a smile tugging at them at how her shoulders dropped. “You also must wear red for it.” Her shoulders tensed. “And something representing the Crimson Star.”

“I had to be the Prophetess and an Arcanist of the Order.” She mumbled, closing her eyes and breathing heavily through her nose. “Tealor will have my skin. When did the invite arrived?”

“One week ago.”

She blinked, then scoffed and rolled her eyes. Hard.

“I was at Duneville at the time and they knew because they sent me there and not even a note mentioning that maybe I should come back earlier.”

“Will you try to go?”

Arelyel pressed her lips, eyebrows tight in though, and let go of him, crossing her arms. Tharaêl let his hand fall, closing them in fists. He wanted her answer to be “no”. The invitation was clearly just for Arelyel, and he didn’t want to remain alone, not when she was in Ark.

“… I don’t know. I don’t even know if I have proper clothes. I’ll… Clean myself and decide.”

As she heaved the backpack on a shoulder and caught the rolled invitations, Tharaêl rolled her words and her voice over and over in his head. Something in the news about the invitation had subdued her happiness at being back, and he didn’t know what.

-------------

Arelyel faced her reflection, fingers dancing over the embroideries of the dress’ bodice.

The only red clothes she owned were the Order’s uniform. They had been used once, as she gained them, then forgotten in one of her chests, and it showed: they had been made for an Arelyel still too thin and scraggly of the months as a clandestine at a ship and then of living in the woods as she found her way through Enderal. The months after it, eating well and fighting and walking all over the country, had put back all the muscle and fat she had lost, and now she was once again the plump and rounded figure she always had been since her teenage years.

And even if the uniform still fit…

She would never use it again. It had been difficult already and she couldn't use it again.

Red was her mother’s and sister’s colors. They were always using it, beautiful in its vibrancy, and while Arelyel did use it as a kid, she always preferred the purples and lilacs.

Now, just the thought of dressing in red made her stomach roll and her vision darken at the edges. They were using red that day…

Pressing her eyes closed, she inspired deeply, the fragrance of the meat stew playing with her senses and making her stomach rumble with hunger. Back in the present.

Eyes open once more, she drank in the dress again and repeating to herself not red.

And it wasn’t.

Long, cotton outside and lined inside in wool, it was blessedly warm. And its wine-red color was deep enough to be almost purple. Just occasionally the light shone in the fabric just right and showed strands of red.

It should work.

She didn’t want to go to the Celebration.

Maybe she shouldn’t.

It wasn’t as if she had skirted around the final preparations for the market and caught glimpses of the food there. She was almost sure it would better than anything at the Sun Temple, as always – not because the food at the Sun Temple was bad, but because it would be almost exclusively for the nobles and rich, and months at the Nobles Quarter had taught Arelyel that she very much preferred the food of the common people. Tealor wouldn’t be happy, but when was he?

Still reflecting on going for the market, she raised her short cloak from the bed. Her eyes danced over the slightly irregular sewing against the dark-purple woolen fabric lined inside with fur, and her fingers danced over the red embroidery along the front, hundreds of tiny twelve-pointed stars spread out in a falling pattern, the string bright and eye-catching.

It was an almost exact replica of the one Cassiopeia had given her at her first Arrival in Sirius’ house. The original had been sadly lost in the civil war.

The woman had been faithful and devote. Had said that the stars where to remember Arelyel that, the same way Malphas had guided his followers, He had guided Arelyel to Cassiopeia and Sirius when she needed.

Even with her new knowledge, Areyel couldn’t bear the thought of the remade cloak not having the stars.

She threw the cloak over her shoulders and used a simple golden brooch to hold it together.

A last look in the mirror. A new reading of the invitation.

She would go to the market. There, Tharaêl could come – he had failed to mention that the invitation didn’t extend to company, otherwise she would have said from moment one that she wouldn’t go.

Better.

-------------

Arelyel came back down twenty minutes later, dressed in a deep wine-red dress, almost purple, and with short cloak reaching her wrist over it, light-brown hair down. The colors warmed her skin and even harmonized with the burn scar covering her chin.

Tharaêl forced himself to not stop breathing.

Why? It wasn’t as if she dressed that differently on a day to day basis.

Still, something… She was beautiful, but in that moment, somehow, she looked even more.

Deep in his chest, he felt it, and swallowed. A tiny bit of jealousy, that others would be able to look at her like that for the rest of the night, while he would have just this glimpse, this crumb.

Dressed like that, there was no way she wasn’t going to the Sun Temple, were he hadn’t been invited.

It was Arrival Day. Living in the Undercity, he had never celebrated it, barely acknowledged its existence. But after nine months under the sun… He had started to hope, before the invitation, that he would spend it at her side.

“… Hope you have fun and to like the food.” Tharaêl managed to say, voice steadier than he felt.

Arelyel stopped by the dinner table, fingers playing with the cloak’s hem.

“I won’t go to the Sun Temple Celebration, but to the market one.” A pause, licking lips. “Will you come with me, Tharaêl? I think the food there will be amazing.”

Warmth spread inside him, both from her own invitation, and from the sound of his name on her lips; every time she did it, it was like that, full of warmth and softness.

More hours beside her. That was everything he wanted.

“I’ll just get my cloak.”

Which he did. And then Arelyel was holding his wrist and looking better at such cloak.

“It is too threadbare, Tharaêl, it won’t keep you warm. Wait a second.”

She flew up the stars, then flew down, carrying a leather packet and pushing it towards him, eyes low.

Heartbeat fast, Tharaêl caught the packet and opened it. A neckline became visible, a gold amethyst brooch caught in thick dark blue-gray fabric.

He pinched the neckline in his hand and pulled. A cloak unrolled from the leather, inside lined in thick fur, fabric with the subtle gleam of magic, hundreds of tiny twelve-pointed stars embroidered at the front, a reflection of Arelyel’s own cloak. At a glance, it should just cover his hands.

Tears burned in his eyes. He had seen Arelyel sewing and enchanting the one she was using. It was obvious that the gifted one was also her job.

She had done so much for him, and now this.

“… It is beautiful.” His voice threatened to fail, but it kept on.

Arelyel smiled, eyes raising finally to his, and Tharaêl hoped his face managed to show just a glimpse of his own emotion to her.

He made a move to put the cloak, and Arelyel’s hand touched his.

“… Can I help you with it?”

Tharaêl’s voice disappeared, throat seemingly closed, and he needed long moments to be able to nod.

Arelyel stepped closer, pulling the cloak from his hands softly, and licked her lips.

“Can you lower a little, please?” she whispered, and Tharaêl leaned toward her in a mock reverence so she could reach his shoulders.

Their noses almost touched. He could see all the details of her face, all the different hues in her brown-eyes, all the marks of the cold at her cheeks, all the grooves of the burn scar, all the plumpness and natural red color of her lips. He breathed in, and the smell of lavender from her soaps enveloped his senses.

Arelyel threw the cloak over his shoulders, arm around his neck for a moment. He wished it was for more than a moment.

“You can straighten.” Another whisper, and he mourned the distance as he did as he was told.

Lastly, she fiddled with the brooch for some moments, then fixed the fabric over his shoulders… He wondered what exactly she saw at that moment, if a friend, or as someone… Worth of the same wonder and enchantment and whoever knew what else.

“How does it feel?” she asked, finally, bringing him back from his musings, and Tharaêl moved his arms.

“Comfortable, warm… Perfect.”

She smiled, and took hold of his wrist.

“Then it is time to go. Many foods to taste.”

As she pulled him towards the door, Tharaêl just laughed softly.

-----------------

The moment they were outside – snow and cold, but no wind –, Arelyel passed her arm around Tharaêl’s own, pressing their bodies close together and muttering about the “bloody cold” and that she hoped the market would be warmer.

Tharaêl laughed, then pulled the hood’s cloak over her head before doing the same with his.

As they walked towards the market and its merry sounds, he kept his eyes ahead, preoccupied with the patches of frozen snow around the city. He looked briefly to see Arelyel, her cheek pressed tightly against his shoulder, but not enough to caught her own glances at him – full o wonder, and enchantment, and who knows what else.

#enderal #arrival celebration #enderal forgotten stories #watercolor #Tharaêl #tharael #prophetess #vynblr #vyn #sureai #edit: I made so many typos at the first typing #Hope to have gotten them all #Also thought of a TITLE damn it :D #Song inspired obviously even if not the song I heard while painting and writing

[svarhymn]

Do you feel it, right? That pain...

It's just one page out of 3-5 (i don't know yet) and currently I am unsure whether I'll draw them or not

#enderal #enderal forgotten stories #tharael #rhalata #enderal spoilers #Heidra #art #digital drawing #digital art #my artwork #dark chambers of our mind

[spicylief]

Vyntober Day 22

War~

@vyntober​

...

~textless version and process shots under the cut~

#enderal #vyntober #vyntober2020 #myart #tharael #tharael narys #oc #prophetess #the father #rhalata #enderal forgotten stories #vynblr #maera #maera vervain

[shimyumotoro]

@vyntober​  Day 15

from Ashes to Blood, from Blood to Liberation

#vyntober #enderal #sureai #rhalata #sketch #digital

[ivell]

Only an utter idiot would take on the Rhalata.

#enderal #enderal forgotten stories #tharael #Rhalata #I wastet so much time just to save him #creating content cause no one else will #Tharaêl

[noi-albinoi]

My last braincell trying to survive through Rhalata questline: This is disgusting. I'm gonna throw up. For the love of god, please dont stop. It was amazing. This temple is a masterpiece. I've been dead inside for two weeks now and i'm still not over it.

#enderal #enderal forgotten stories #enderal spoilers #rhalata

[kileanprincess]

Rewatching the ending of the Rhalata questline just to feel something 😭😭😭

#enderal #tharael my beloved #you may be a psychopathic homocidal villain but you are still a baby #I just want to wrap him in a blanket and give him hot chocolate and kiss his forehead

[annoyed-galaxy]

In Honor Of

So if you saw my last post, you know I’m absolutely devastated beyond all belief. I had to write this because if I didn’t it was going to be on my mind as I went to bed so here you go.

Words: 2,176

Characters: Clerissa, Jespar Dal’Varek with mentions of Tharael

Summary: Clerissa becomes very depressed after the death of a close friend and finds comfort with Jespar.

(See You Again [that song that was made after Paul Walker] was playing on my Pandora as I wrote this, causing me to cry and weep more.)

!Spoilers ahead for the Rhalata questline!

Clerissa sat on the ledge for a good hour before slowly rising to her feet. Her hair was a mess, as she hadn't stopped running her hand through it. She had watched as his body slowly fell off the cliff into the massive body of water where the Room of Paintings had been.

She failed.

She failed to save him.

She took the scroll next to Brother Sorrow's body and with a heavy heart and long sigh, teleported back to Ark.

Upon her arrival, she immediately went to his old hideout. He had given her his key. She opened the chest and took everything, even the old silverware and bowl and plate. She sat on his crate and let the tears come again; her body did not move. The tears simply fell down her face and onto her armor. She had taken his daggers. It was the last thing she would ever have of him. Her heart was aching.

She had been mentally scarred when the illusion of Jespar had attacked her in the temple. Even though it had been an illusion, she couldn't help but feel as if it was Jespar and if she had killed him.

But that had been washed away.

Jespar was alive but...Tharael.

She failed.

She needed to drink it away. In the short time she had known him, he had become her third best friend. But...like Sirius and Aravel, he died.

He jumped.

He killed himself.

She failed.

He thought she didn't believe in second chances.

Clerissa stood, stumbling a little, before moving out of the shed. She took the long trek from the Undercity to the Foreign Quarter. By the time she got to the Dancing Nomad, her tears had dried up on her face, but her armor had weighed her down.

She didn't know what on Vyn she was doing at the Nomad, but her legs had taken her there. She opened the door and the happy music the band was playing filled her pointed ears. Music normally brought joy to her, but the music couldn't penetrate the darkness swirling her heart. Her eyes breifly passed over Jespar who was smoking a pipe and smiling as he watched the band perform. His eyes met hers for a brief moment before she walked to the innkeeper.

Sifting through her bag, she brought out a pouch of pennies and threw it on the bar. "Give me the strongest shit you have, whether it be mead, ale, beer, or wine." The innkeeper looked at the pouch with wide eyes. "And for everyone else in here if they want. Their drinks, on me tonight." The innkeeper shrugged before swiping the pouch away and grabbing a few bottles of each type. He plopped them down in front of Clerissa and she grabbed them all; seven bottles in total that she carried in her arms. There was only one bottle of wine.

She began walking towards the back of the inn to head upstairs when Jespar stepped in front of her. "What are you doing?" he asked, confusion on his face. "I've never seen you get anything other than wine and you only have one bottle." Jespar looked at all the bottles in her arms. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Clerissa didn't feel like talking, but one look at Jespar's eyes and she knew she wouldn't be getting away without telling him what was up. She jerked her chin towards the stairs and started heading towards them, Jespar in tow. Once they got upstairs, Clerissa began heading towards one of the vacant rooms. Jespar hurriedly stepped in her way and guided her towards his room. He opened the doors and allowed her through. She dropped the bottles on the bed and plopped down. She peeled her chestplate off as Jespar closed the door and sat in a chair sitting across the bed. He averted his eyes as Clerissa threw her chestplate on the floor. She didn't care if she was shirtless in front of him. In fact, she didn't give a damn about anything at all.

She scooted herself towards the back wall and leaned against it as she took a bottle of mead and popped the cork. Jespar watched as she chugged the bottle, some of the contents rolling down the sides of her mouth. She finished the bottle in seconds before taking a breath and letting out a burp. She opened the bottle of ale next and chugged half of it before looking at Jespar. "How do I look?" she asked, her voice raspy from hours of not speaking.

Jespar bit his lip as he looked at her tear-stained face, ruffled hair and dark bags underneath her eyes. "I would say you look charming and beautiful as usual, but holy shit you look awful. I thought it impossible." Clerissa let out a sound that was meant to be a chuckle but was actually a croak. "What the fuck happened?"

Clerissa took a deep breath, chugged the rest of the ale, and then burped. She put the empty bottle alongside the other one. "You remember Tharael right?"

"The broody Aeterna?"

"Yeah, him. He was a part of the Rhalata. We had come up to the surface to get ready for a trip to this temple that the leader of the Rhalata, the Father, had wanted to go to. I told him I'd introduce him to my friends so I did. You remember?" Jespar nodded, his eyebrows raised in confusion as he waited for Clerissa to continue. "Well, the reason Tharael and I met was because he was wanting someone to help him kill the Father. As we all know, the Father isn't exactly a good person. This trip to this old ass temple was the one chance we were going to get to kill the Father. The Father wanted to do some bullshit ritual to separate his spirit from his body or what the fuck ever. We got to the temple, found this place the Father wanted us to find and then we confronted him. The Father explained that he conducted experiments on Tharael and that he was one of the successful experiments along with his brother Letho. Tharael had thought Letho to be dead when in reality he had been present the entire time, but merely as a husk of who he once was.

The Father revealed Letho and Tharael was so broken at Letho's state that he killed him. Then he attacked the Father. I helped. It was difficult and I had a headache because I used so much of my magic that I had to draw my sword and pierce it through the Father's back. We thought he was dead, but he just came back, knocked us out, and completed his ritual along with a group of his choosing. When I got to where the room he completed the ritual was, it was gone and there was just a giant hole in the earth. Tharael was on the ledge and I talked to him." Clerissa stopped. The tears rose again and she wiped them away with her bare arm before grabbing one of the bottles of beer and chugging it. The world titled and began to fuzz, but she didn't give a fuck. "The person I was talking to was broken. Tharael was gone. He told me sorry. He said to forgive him."

Clerissa squeezed the empty bottle, frost coming out of her hand and spreading across the bottle. It shattered, cutting her hand. Jespar jumped up from his chair and hurriedly searched through the wardrobe to find a spare piece of clothing. He climbed onto the bed alongside Clerissa and grabbed her hand, wrapping the shirt around her bleeding hand. She didn't feel the stings. She didn't even look as Jespar fussed over her. She was still staring ahead. She felt herself back on that ledge and felt herself cry out as Tharael jumped.

"I...I couldn't move," she whispered. Jespar was sitll holding her hand, squeezing it with the cloth, but he was looking at her again. His pale blue eyes swirled with worry. "I failed, Jes. I tried to tell him it was okay. We could make it together...I couldn't move. He said to forgive him." Clerissa's voice broke as a sob tore through her. "He jumped. Life wasn't worth living anymore. He jumped and I couldn't help but watch as another fucking friend died because of me." Clerissa squeezed her hand again, this time with Jespar's own in her grip. He whimpered as she squeezed his hand to the point of pain. She let go, but still stared ahead. "He thought I didn't believe in second chances because of an evil man I didn't try to save. He didn't think he was worthy. I failed him. Just like I failed Aravel and Sirius." A wicked sound crawled its way out of her throat. "What's next I wonder?" Her head finally turned and her eyes landed on Jespar. "Am I to fail you and Calia next?"

Clerissa could see her reflection in Jespar's eyes. She hated the person she saw in it. She saw a woman who was broken. She saw a woman who's eyes were glazed over with pain. She saw a woman who felt like giving up, just like Tharael.

Jespar slapped her across the face. Clerissa gasped and covered her cheek with her free hand. "Don't ever say that again!" Jespar practically shouted at her. Rage glazed over his eyes. Rage and...love. "You didn't fail anyone Clerissa! Things happen in life. There are some things you just can't stop. You didn't fail Aravel. You didn't fail Sirius. You didn't fail Tharael and you sure as hell won't fail me and Calia. Tharael chose to end it, but if he asked for your forgiveness, clearing he already had regrets."

"You don't understand, Dal'Verak!" Clerissa shouted back. "I let him kill a man who was a murderer. That made him think that I didn't believe in second chances. He murdered people because of a goal that eventually turned out as a failure. I told him he had a second chance but he didn't think I believed in them because of the choice I made! I failed him Jespar! I fucking failed him like I failed to protect Aravel! I failed him like I failed to take a blow for Sirius! I fucking fail my family and friends! It's a fucking pattern don't you see?! Everyone I fucking cares about DIES!" Clerissa's voice broke as she finished shouting. There was no more rage as tears began falling and she began sobbing. She lowered her head, ashamed. "How the fuck am I supposed to stop the Cleansing when I can't even talk a friend out of suicide. How the fuck am I supposed to stop the Cleansing when I can't even protect those I care about the most."

Jespar grabbed Clerissa's face with both of his hands and forced her to look at him. "Clerissa, things will happen in life. There are some things that we can't reverse and that we have to live with. You have to realize that. You haven't failed anyone. I know that Aravel, Sirius, and Tharael all knew that you cared for and loved them. I know that because that's all you are Clerissa. The people you decide to be your family, you love them unconditionally. You try everything in your power to protect them. I know because I'm a part of that. You didn't fail them Clerissa. You haven't failed anyone." Jespar brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping some of her tears away. "You will never fail as long as you show that you tried."

Clerissa sighed before falling into Jespar's chest. He hugged her and rubbed his hands up and down her shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. Clerissa flung her good hand out and grabbed the pipe that Jespar had left on the table with her magic and let it float towards her. Her hand wrapped around the pipe and she took a deep and long drag. She exhaled for a long time before giving the pipe to Jespar. He took a drag but held the smoke in as he lifted Clerissa's chin, making her look at him. He kissed her and let the smoke go from him to her.

Clerissa closed her eyes and smiled as the effects of the peaceweed settled in her body. Why didn't she think about that rather than drinking all the alcohol? Jespar pulled away and the smoke drifted from both of their mouths. "Ah, there's that lovely smile." Clerissa smiled even wider. They both situated themselves to the point where they were laying down, Jespar holding Clerissa against his chest. She had scooted herself lower in the bed so she could curl underneath his chin. He rubbed his hand up and down her back as she slowly drifted to sleep.

That night, she dreamed of Aravel, Sirius, and Tharael and how they would be waiting for her in the afterlife with smiles.

#Skyrim enderal #enderal #enderal forgotten stories #enderal shards of the order #clerissa #Clerissa the Prophetess #jespar dal'varek #Jespar #tharael #rhalata #ocs #angst

[jilljoycearts]

My dudes, my guys, after almost a year I decided to update my fic with a new chapter and also edit the two already published ones!

Here is the link, go consume some Rhalata questline retelling: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40958181/chapters/102643824

#enderal #sureai #shadowsverse #my fic #siri&svart #tharael #otp tag #but not really #how many years from this to the moment of otp becoming otp? nobody knows

[eliasofsunhillow]

“That Was Impressive”

Warnings: Violence, minor injury

Fandoms: Enderal

Gertrude waited by the gate out of the Dust Pit, her hood hiding her face from the gaggle of spectators roaring and cheering and placing their bets. Gertrude just waited, sword in hand, waiting for her huge partner in the cage to step into the ring and dance.

This had not been what she was expecting. Her meteoric career in the Dust Pit may well be dwindling downward. She gulped, but outwardly did betray her nervousness. After all, she had slain one of these rotting giants on her own before-- by mere fluke it is true, but she had done it.

One of the Beast's keeper scrambled up the cage and released the Gate. Gertrude barely heard the commentator as the huge undead thundered out of its cage and cocked it's ruined eyes at the shape in the shadows.

Gertrude forced her breathing into a slow, regular pattern. In such close quarters as this, the things size would be an advantage; there was simply nowhere she could go for respite. She'd have to finish it quickly if she was to have any hope at all.

A dark shape, darker than the surrounding shadow seemed to rush forward to meet the Beast.

The Beast stumbled backward beneath the sudden and furious onslaught. Gertrude could barely see what was going on, but one thing she did understand was that the Beast was no longer her concern. Whoever that was with the blades of strange stone was now most certainly her concern.

The Beast fell and the shadow leapt off its shoulders.

Gertrude got her first proper look at this shadow, now that he was mostly standing still. He was a Rhalâim, and bore two knives of dark, sharp stone. Gertrude did not like the look of them.

"Let's see you dance," he growled, his harsh voice coming quick, shallow gasps. After a moment, when he had already spun into action, he added almost mockingly: "Prophetess."

Gertrude wasted few words on him. She had defeated gods and men and even Fate. If he wanted to kill her he was going to have to put some effort into it.

Red Sun flew up and blocked his first knife, a mage-shield flared and sent the second skidding off her side. Now she was in her element. The stranger was fast, but she had skill and training on her side.

One, two! She feinted towards his head and blocked his reflexive swing.

Two, three! Her block had set all her weight on one foot. He swung forward again, intending to shove her off balance. Gertrude was impressedd; few of her more recent 'sparring partners' had picked up that flaw in her technique so she never got around to fixing it.

Three, four! She pivoted her weight and stepped out of the way, bringing her sword down on him.

Four, five! He blocked, surprising strength behind his arm. Gertrude broke away and sent a shallow slice down his shoulder. The stranger cursed and stepped away. "Good fight," he said. "Now we talk."

#vynblr #enderal #tharaêl #tharael being tharael #gertrude #rhalata questline #fictober 2020 #vyn #fictober20