Thread: Skyrim: Primal Instinct, Flames and Desire (Tetajunlux x Ohm)

After the civil war that transpired between the Stormcloaks and the Imperials came to a simmer, Fort Snowhawk was came upon by a pastorate of necromancers. Tol'vir of the Dunes, the enigmatic high chief of Hircine's Sons, bid that his brothers comandeer the old structure and purge of it of the necromancers. Many were lost in the battle which resulted in Hircine's Sons being routed. Since Fort Snowhawk was such a bottleneck between Morthal and Solitude, it was crucial that it be in their possession. It was then that Tol'vir bid his second in command, Theodane, to seek out a redguard mage named Ohm'mali Qun whose magical prowess was revered among the alteration community. She was young, however, experienced, and the tragedy she experienced fed her flame for vengeance. After her compensation was arranged, Ohmali single-handedly annulled the lives of every last necromancer that drew breath within the fort. From then on she was conscripted to air the Sons in their attacks, offering healing and hindrance spells in tandem with their claws and fangs. Some months later, Ohmali was invited to attend an obligatory moot among the Sons. Tol'vir sent his missionaries to Markarth, Winterhold and Dawnstar, requesting the presence of his most revered ilk to share in his concern. Each arrived within three days of the missives being sent, all of different creeds and colors. One of the old werewolves, a wind-burnt and weathered Breton, ambled into the hold greeted by his kind with a clasp of the forearm. Though as a human he was wizened, the Breton was a powerhouse when barreling into an enemy on all fours. A litany of others joined in the mood -a barrel-chested, red-headed Nord, a set of twins and a platinum-blond Imperial woman whose mane was festooned with elegant, pressed glass pins fashioned to resembled nightshade. Inside of the atrium, the scent of steam-soaked meat permeated about the chamber. The Imperial woman sat in her mate's lap upon a refurbished Dwemer throne they lovingly fondled each other, much to the chagrin of Theodane who grimaced in disgust. He quickly exchanged glances with Ohmali who stood still than a statue well across the room, her eyes as sharp and dark as the backbone of an ebony sword. As a pugilist, Theodane was uninterested in the trees of magic and 'sorcery' in addition, there was something queerly off putting about this woman that chilled him to the proverbial bone. It was when Cross ambled in that Theodane began to panic. He came to learn all too quickly of Ohmali's temper and the virtually cataclysmic events that followed, thus, he sought to keep peace between the two parties. Cross ...! Theodane growled. He glanced at Tol'vir, who was draped in thick, colorful robes with the patterns of the Al'kir, as if asking permission to advance. Tol'vir said nothing and continued to smoke his pipe, giving Theodane reason to press on. Still your tongue, you fool, he continued, You've been gone a moon to long to be barking commands ... know your place. Ohmali simply raised one of her eyebrows, almost dramatically. Your patience and its capacity are no concern of mine, she hissed, I have come to grown close to your ilk over the passing months, but you ... you are no kin of mine. Sheath your fangs or, may the Fates bare witness, I will end you.