conjuredskies: (Happy)

The last time Jim came to Bruma was upon the tail-end of a waking nightmare. The last time he walked the streets was just before he descended into a crypt to rescue Felix from himself. Hardly the circumstances to let him appreciate the snowbound town perched high in the Jerrall Mountains above Cyrodiil.

How much has changed, though. It’s afternoon in Bruma, and Felix is leading them out of the alleys behind the house, the pair of them bundled up against the cold. The snow has been swept to one side of the streets, and the town’s citizens are going about their day, from rugged fur-wrapped hunters to young women in bright cloaks heading for the chapel. The smell of smoke is on the wind as Felix takes his fiance’s hand and leads them up to the old familiar door under carved low-slung eaves. The front window shutters are open, and he’s sure they’ll have been spotted already. He lowers his hood and shares a look with Jim, a small smile before he knocks on the varnished wood.

Terentius doesn’t move too fast these days, and he’s half-consciously expecting a couple of minutes’ reprieve while they wait. Instead the door opens within seconds. He finds himself looking – up – at- gods, he does look so much like Stratos, doesn’t he? His complexion’s lighter and his face is lined; perhaps this man is a little heavier built than Stratos… and he’s smiling. Widely, genuinely, stepping back to gesture them both in. He’s clearly had time to change, whatever clothes he traveled in exchanged for a set of dark blue and gold robes.

“Come, come, it’s too cold to stand in the street.” Time in foreign parts has diminished his Brumese accent, but it’s still stronger than Felix’s: the vowels more drawn out, the hard consonants softer. “And here you are at last. Felix-” and now he’s pulling his slightly dazed son into an embrace as fierce as it is brief, before standing back to look at him, “I’m glad to see you. And to congratulate you!” He turns to look at Jim properly, eyes bright with interest. “This must be-?”

“Captain James Tiberius Kirk,” Felix says with quiet pride. “My betrothed, father. Jim, may I introduce my father, Legate Nereus Caelus of the Seventh Legion.”
conjuredskies: (Default)
Felix has sent word via Jim that he's ready to assist Harrow - that he has everything required. He didn't specify what: Harrow knows well enough. He did specify where: a long-neglected picnic area marked by picturesque little boulders and paved with some kind of bricks. It's no doomstone circle, but it'll do. Felix has a sense of both appropriate dramatic flair and practical caution.

Granted, the 'altar' leaves something to be desired on both counts, but he had an atronach rip out the table's benches earlier and clear away the unnecessary furniture. Felix has been busy setting wards around the ritual space, some powered by blood and some by a pair of lesser soul gems: wards to keep out unwanted magical influence and bind what's in the circle from harming him. Or Harrow. Of course.

Preparations as complete as they're going to get, he's sitting on one of the boulders while he clears his mind and waits. His satchel - and the thing it contains - lies by the table, at a comfortable distance.
conjuredskies: (Default)
It’s taken a great deal of effort and no small subterfuge to obtain the right co-ordinates. But at long last it’s done, and when Felix and Jim appear it’s beneath the clear blue skies and on the gentle green grass of central Cyrodiil. They’re in a low hollow, surrounded by hillocks that block them from view, though atop one is a small circular structure of worn white columns. The air is cool, but much milder than in Skyrim this time of year. Felix draws a deep breath and turns to Jim with a smile, gesturing toward one of the hills. He’s out of uniform and wearing his own leathers for this trip - it simplifies things.

From the top, he already knows, there’s an excellent view of the grassy slopes stretching down to the shores of Lake Nibenay, its vast waters stretching out to the horizon both left and right… and beyond that, seeming equally vast, the towering white walls of the Imperial City, shadowing the tiny isles and the full-masted ships that ply the waters around it. Only one building rises above those walls: the shining spindle of the White-Gold Tower, impossibly tall from this angle. There’s a road below, following the general line of the shore, and even from a distance the sound of horses and carts and chatting travelers can be heard. It takes a lot of traffic to keep the heart of an Empire beating.

“Welcome to the Imperial City,” Felix says softly.
conjuredskies: (Indeeeeed)
Felix has no intention of showing Amelia real Tamrielic architecture in the Nexus. The main site he knows only exists because of certain rites he’d rather nobody find out about just yet. And the power that changed it into an echo of his world is not one a young girl should be encountering.

Even if she isn’t technically as young as she thinks.

That said, he can’t stop her finding him when he comes back, nor (try as he might) dampen her enthusiasm for seeing a ‘real’ piece of his realm . It’s looking as if he’ll have to resort to his backup plan: lead her on an unnecessarily long walk and lie like a Thalmor.

“We’re almost there,” he assures her, as they turn the last corner. “I promise.”
conjuredskies: (Intent)
It’s been some while since they made their informal arrangement, but Felix hasn’t at all forgotten the light-footed rogue or the dance he promised her. A pact is a pact, no matter how many duties – foreseen and otherwise – have demanded his attention.

For that matter he and Verity haven’t been meeting for Geography Club quite so regularly, and the smells when he steps through the door of the Fox and Crosier make him regret that fiercely. Alchemy study may have to be relocated whenever possible. He scrapes some of the snow from his boots and leather armor, then strolls up to the desk chicken to ask after Amelia.
conjuredskies: (Default)
His birthday may have passed, but Jim’s no less in need of a good outing to lift his spirits. At least, in Felix’s judgment. Besides, the plans were laid: properly forewarned, Verity’s supplied a generous picnic; Felix himself has scouted their destination and procured a couple of sleds that might survive the day.

He’s also been careful to forewarn Jim, so that his text won’t come as a surprise.

We’re clear to go. Do you need any help with that armor?
conjuredskies: (Sidelong)
Deep in the Parkland woods, twilight holds sway despite the early hour. The crumbling grey walls rise high and forbidding from the outside, but the heavy door stands ajar and swings open noiselessly when pushed – there’s fresh oil on the hinges.

Inside lies a great courtyard surrounded by a columned portico, with narrow doorways leading off into more dark corners. In the center, however, is a wide well with a low stone edge. Off to one side, its hooded summoner waits. Felix has spread a mat over the cracked paving stones, and now sits cross-legged beside his knapsack, picking over a few implements and books, checking the edge of a steel dagger. Aside from his hood, the conjurer has abandoned the legionary uniform for plainer leather armor, worn and mended from long use.

It’s been very quiet for some time. Just the skittering of breeze-blown leaves and birdsong drifting over the walls. Felix is quick to look up at a new presence.
conjuredskies: (Intent)
Felix wasn’t strictly untruthful to Verity, and perhaps that’s good enough.

He is, after all, free. It’s just that rather than waiting to be sent off-duty, he waits until Stratos disappears into their home portal, then scribbles a note to say that it’s been six hours(!) and he needs food. He leaves it pinned beneath a rock at his desk.

How could that possibly backfire?

He’s delved into the streets of the Nexus before, but as usual it’s an education in architecture – and food, and commerce, and the entertaining arts. His map holds him true though. Aside from a bit of shock when he learns what an Escher bridge actually is, he makes it safely to the Fox and Crozier. It’s a surprisingly pleasant place, opening onto a tree-shaded yard of its own. The clink of glasses and murmur of pleasant conversation drift through the open doors. Rather impressed, Felix glances around the lane to check if Verity’s waiting outside before he heads in.

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conjuredskies: (Default)Felix Caelus

May 2025

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