There are indents in the mud from how many times he’s reset his stance. The grip on his rapier is slick from sweat, voice hoarse from shouting the incantations channeled through the blade’s tip, fire shooting in a cone into the sky. He scowls. It’s not perfect.
“Once more…”
“As much as I’d love to figure that out,” he said, hands up, feigning defeat. He managed a laugh, but he’d be watching his back. “I think some questions are better left unanswered. I’m certain the Absolute has some Warlocks in its employ that you could test them out on.”
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Wyll cringed— his tent was on the other side of camp. If Minthara heard it…
“I’ll… see about taking our ‘discussions’ elsewhere, next time.”
The Absolute’s army didn’t leave too many inns standing on their warpath. In the back of his head, his patron cackled.
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If you hear noises coming from his tent, do 𝒏𝒐𝒕 disturb— currently dealing with some of the 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑡 of his contract.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝐘𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑.
𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒, ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝐷𝑜𝑣𝑎ℎ𝑘𝑖𝑖𝑛— 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏.
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A NSFW, story-driven portrayal of Skyrim’s 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛. Seeking plots and connections. MDNI. More details below.























