▼ – childhood headcanon
J’hasi took a bit longer to learn to speak than his nest-mates. While he was fully capable of understanding others, he couldn’t figure out how to make certain grunts and squeaks among the multitude of sounds that his body wasn’t properly equipped for. When he did finally begin to speak, he spoke with a speech impediment that he was teased for on occasion by the other hatchlings of the tribe, though never for very long.
—-
∇ -. old age/aging headcanon
The Bosmer flinched when the beast lunged. Yet he didn’t run. Something, some deep, hidden, battered part of Jinn’s soul, kept him rooted to the spot.
He could be like this, the voice breathed. One bite from that maw, one scratch… one ounce of its blood…
And all that raw, unlimited power would be his. Wide eyed, but with a peculiar blank expression, Jinn stepped over his pathetic mound of coals and inched forward. He didn’t blink. Hardly breathed. As though he attempted to approach a timid deer rather than a ferocious abomination of nature.
One bite, one scratch… please let it work…
The ‘wolf’s ears flicked back, the growling increasing even as it moved backwards, stepping over it’s kill and hunching its body as its fur bristled. It gave another menacing snap of its jaws, but it was ruined by the beast’s retreat, rather than darting forward to take a chunk out of the mer in front of it. Another shudder passed over the creature, stronger this time, and it whined, looking between the dead deer at its feet, and the seemingly fearless (or just plain stupid) Bosmer advancing on it.
It bolted.
Snow was kicked up in a flurry, the long limbs that allowed the beast to chase after the deer put to use for bounding away in the deep snow. The sound of underbrush cracking was the last thing that could be heard before the werewolf seemingly vanished.
He hadn’t felt his heart cram itself into his throat like this since a saber cat came out of nowhere and pinned him to the ground with teeth at his throat.
J’hasi’s fur fluffed on his tail and around his collar, feeling his breathing restrict as his heart jackhammered in his chest. He swallowed, trying to will himself to calm down, he’d bring less attention to himself if he was calm, collected, not at all suspicious. Besides, the mer wasn’t even looking at him, and wouldn’t unless he didn’t calm down.
The Khajiit’s mouth was dry as he continued down the road like nothing was wrong, nothing at all, the long bundle on his back feeling like a lead weight burning accusingly into his back, worsening with each step they took towards each other. His hood was up, hiding his eyes when he closed them as they passed each other, feeling the slight breeze from the flap of their robes by his legs. The next few steps felt like slogging through a river of mud, his throat tightening until it felt like it would snap as his ears intently listened to the footsteps behind him.
No pause, no break in stride, no rasp of a blade or crackling of magicka, not even a single word.
J’hasi took a hesitant breath in his lungs, as if he was expecting it to be ripped from him any second now, slow and quiet and a little shaky as he kept walking, his tail quivering even as he forced it to flick casually, like nothing was wrong, nothing at all.
It wasn’t until the footsteps grew too faint for him to hear that he relaxed, his shoulders tense. He realized he had been clenching his jaw so tight his teeth were aching. He opened his mouth, stretching out his jaw, the action much more difficult than it was normally, swallowing as his heart started to slow and quiet.
The Thalmor justicar had blue markings on his face.
Jinn gawped.
He couldn’t do anything else. Every synopsis in his brain appeared to have shut down, overwhelmed by terror—and awe. He’d never dreamed of something so horrible, so loud, so bloodthirsty...
So inspiring.
A panting, slathering creature of nightmares stood before him, and yet the Bosmer saw nothing more than everything he lacked and wanted more than the whole world. The strength to fight as the Stormcloaks; the energy to rip apart anything that stood in his way; the speed and dexterity enough to chase down even the swiftest of prey and swallow it whole…
Its loud, rumbling snarl pulled Jinn out of his reverie. He inched back, slowly, saucer-wide eyes transfixed on the thing’s enormous teeth.
“…Good boy…?” he squeaked.
The fact that the mer wasn’t screaming ‘werewolf!’ or reaching for a weapon seemed to surprise the beast a little. Its ears pricked for a moment before they flicked back once more, its hackles raising, leaning its weight forward. The ‘wolf planted a forepaw on the snow, staining it with blood before it sank out of sight. It’s claws left long marks in the frozen blanket that was draped over the landscape, similar to the marks torn into the hide of the downed deer. It snarled a little louder, its breath visible in the waning moonlight. The beast’s fur bristled even as its fluffed tail curled in close to its legs, its body hunched and curling in on itself.
The werewolf stared, unblinking, growling for a few moments longer, completely still other than the quick lick of its lips over its bared teeth. When the Bosmer didn’t seem to move and just stared right back, albeit in what seemed like fear (from the smell anyways), the ‘wolf let out a short, loud snarl, its jaws snapping shut with a short lunge towards the mer, closing far from their flesh. It stared, waiting for a reaction, a small wince causing the ‘wolf’s eyes to close a little, a shudder rippling through its body before it resumed its wide-eyed staring, uneasily shifting on its paws.
No acknowledgement of it at all, really. When he was younger (AKA before the Nerevarine prophecies completely flipped his life upside down and gave it a kick for good measure) he used to like it, though he rarely got to do anything for it after being taken from Argonia.
Nowadays though, he would much rather not have anyone know about it at all. He doesn’t like to be reminded that yet another year has passed and he hasn’t aged a day since 3E 427.
If he’s anxious, brushing/braiding his hair. Otherwise he’ll read, sketch, and/or drink if he deems it appropriate. He gets incredibly antsy if he isn’t doing something useful, so he’ll exhaust any other options to do something helpful or productive before resorting to those options. If he hasn’t slept in a while and he feels it’s a safe enough place, he’ll nap. He’ll do pretty much anything to avoid thinking about himself or his situation, which happens when he’s allowed too much time to sit still and do nothing.
If it’s not super serious for him to remember, or he’s not trying to remember something very hard, he looks up. If he’s trying harder to remember, has a time limit or some sort of pressure to make hurry-up, or if he’s getting frustrated because he can’t remember it right away, then he looks down. So most of the time he looks up; if he looks down when you ask him which way town is, you’re most definitely lost.
For once moonlight glistened on the snowy landscape. A lightening of the sky to the east suggested morning at some point, but for much of the world it still clung to darkness. Wind cut through all but the warmest of clothing, and the air near froze in Jinn’s lungs, but the starry sky and its beautiful aurora could be seen without the blemish of clouds.
Which was fine and dandy for a poetic soul, such as a graduate of the Bard’s College, but for the scrawny Bosmer curled under a tree it only meant a colder night.
He’d managed to light a fire before the deadliest temperatures could set in. Snow to two sides and a sturdy pine overhead did trap enough warmth for him to survive; huddled around the embers in a shivering heap, brambles clinging to remnants of stolen clothing, he might have been mistaken for a shrub in the predawn light.
Thus, he wasn’t surprised when a deer crashed into the clearing barely three yards from where he crouched. He was surprised at the panic emanating from the beast—no mere wolf or bear elicited that kind of reaction.
He wallowed in confusion for almost a heartbeat before things became rather more interesting than he’d bargained for…
Not even a split second after the deer burst from the trees, a massive black shadow crashed out of the underbrush, a terrifying roar that rivaled a grizzly’s in ferocity shattering the relative quiet. The dark shape’s long limbs sank deep into the snow before it sprang back into the air, pouncing on the panting doe. A short, panicked bleat came from the poor creature before her legs crumpled under the weight of her snarling hunter, a flash of sharp white teeth snatching her tender throat and tearing it wide, steaming red splattering onto chill white.
The beast let out a sharp growl, shaking its head violently to make sure its prey wasn’t going anywhere, a sharp crack issuing from the struggling doe’s neck before the hunter released the ripped flesh to let out a long, grumbling breath from between stained teeth. The steam from its hot lungs rose in a smoky cloud, illuminated by the light of the twin moons as it panted, sides heaving as it caught its breath. It growled once more before diving into its kill, tearing open the soft vulnerable belly of its kill. The beast tore a long strip of flesh free, meat and fat from the belly quickly snapped up, entire pieces swallowed nearly whole as it quickly and noisily, for lack of a better term, wolfed down its meal.
It was only a few minutes of eating before the beast stilled, nose twitching as it sniffed, ears pricking. The creature’s gleaming green eyes searched the darkness for the scent it was picking up, lighting up when they snapped to a huddled Bosmer near a pile of coals.
The werewolf’s muzzle wrinkled in a snarl, blood still dripping from its teeth before a low warning sound rumbled in its chest, bright green eyes wide and dilated with the quivering rage barely contained in its body.
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