#altmer names are a handful

[powdermelonkeg]

You can't just say "I've got her whole name" and not share it! /j

Ahem.

Cirinel 'len Alonaire Silas Elendore 'ata Malcamar Fandalion Terena 'cal Direnni

#cvf #custom voiced follower #skyrim custom followers #skyrim #tesv #cirinel direnni #ask bee #altmer names are a handful #but honestly such a good reflection of their culture #yeah they're obsessed with genetics and being a 'pure race' of mer of course they carry the exact names of their lineage around with them

[severalowls]

Elder Kings 2 emergent storytelling fun. The king of Orsinium, whose father reestablished on the border of Skyrim and Cyrodiil, has a dunmer shows up, fleeing from House Redoran for being a rival claimant, and he refuses a diplomat's demands to turn him over. Later, the dunmer shows up dead.

Fast forward 50 years. The king has died, his son succeeded him and expanded our borders from the Reach to Chorrol. He is now almost 70 years old and his lifelong wives are slowly passing away. Long past the need for strong heirs (his eldest spent time in the Legion and is unmatched in combat), he marries for capability (I have a mod obscuring hard numbers for people you don't know well) and a 140 year old Altmer woman catches his eye who is incredibly skilled and has been living at court long enough for everybody to really like her despite cultural differences, and old enough that meddlesome heirs are unlikely to be an issue. He takes her as his hearth-wife.

5 years later, a threat has been made on the king's life (it turns out to be from the king of what remains of Chorrol), and the spymaster goes digging for clues. In the process, he uncovers evidence of the hearth-wife's secret: she was sent here by House Redoran, as an assassin, and murdered the dunmer claimant half a century ago!

This isn't technically a crime because nobody gives a shit. They all live happily ever after until the king of chorrol's plot succeeds and subsequently has his head bashed in by the ancestral heirloom legendary mace by the next king.

Not mind-blowing but I'm now really invested in this elf who came as an assassin and stayed as a queen and may outlive several generations more.

#i cant remember anybody's names bc this was last night #she also has a counterpart who is some kind of altmer jester-knight who is the king's champion and has the coolest armour #ftr theres a handful of altmer at court because we had an altmer-culture province on the coast near Anvil for a while #which i think we inherited through a marriage from a wood orc? fuckin colovians seized it though #the family mace is a godsend though. i got it on an expedition to black marsh like a century and a half ago #and it has massive bonuses to personal combat and martial skill #so when the chosen heir inherits it its rare for rivals to even dare face its wielder #which feels extremely flavourful n fitting for fantasy bs

[tastesoftamriel]

I hate hot food. For many reasons. I know a lot of Argonian meals are served cool/cold, but do the other races have meals intended to be the same way?

While not particularly common in some Provinces, chilled dishes can be found across Tamriel and are the perfect refreshment when hot food feels a little too weighty.

Altmer

Probably the Tamrielic masters of cold dishes, the High Elves are probably best known for their cold raw seafood dishes. Fresh fish, prawns, squid, octopus, sea urchin, and much more are sliced with a deft hand and served with wasabi and saltrice sauce. Sometimes, the seafood is placed atop rice and wrapped with a thin slice of nori to hold it together. While the idea of eating cold raw fish may not appeal to many, it's one of my favourite foods in Tamriel.

Argonians

Keeping clay or metal vessels submerged in water is an age-old Argonian technique of keeping their food cool, which is an absolute must in the hot and muggy climate of Black Marsh. Cold swamp jelly and seafood salad topped with grilled prawns and chilled marinated snails is a customary dish offered to visitors, and it's delightfully refreshing! The swamp jelly doesn't taste of much, but its soft, jelly-like texture complements the crunch of the seaweed.

Bosmer

Cold food isn't much of a thing for the Wood Elves, but one exception jumps to mind: the humble cottage cheese dip. Cottage cheese made from timber mammoth milk is aged in caves for two days, seasoned, and kept chilled. The dip is served cold with dried cured meats to dip with. It's not terribly exciting, but there's nothing quite as satisfying as eating meat and cheese in one bite!

Bretons

Chilled soufflés are all the rage in High Rock, and require lots of patience (and swearing) to master. Both sweet and savoury soufflés are served in this manner, from orange liqueur to parmesan and rosemary. My personal favourite is the chilled chili chocolate soufflé from the Rosy Lion in Daggerfall, part of their seasonal menu. The combination of rich dark cocoa with a touch of Alik'r spices is out of Nirn!

Dunmer

Chilled foods aren't an integral part of Dunmeri gastronomic culture, but certain Houses, namely the Telvanni, Hlaalu, and Redorans, do enjoy them. A Telvanni specialty is a cold chicken salad, where the chicken is marinated overnight in a blend of matcha, fire fern, saltrice sauce, and secret spices. It grilled and shredded, and served cold with hackle-lo leaves and gold kanet seeds atop steamed saltrice. However, don't let appearances fool you; any Telvanni with cold chicken salad leftovers can probably be found gobbling it at midnight straight from the cold cellar.

Imperials

The Gold Coast is famous for its chilled seafood soup, made with a creamy tomato and fish stock base, and loaded with all manner of fish and shellfish. While the hot variant from Bruma is more popular in colder climes, the cold seafood soup is a delightfully refreshing meal when beating the summer heat, especially when served with a mojito on the side.

Khajiit

If there's an excuse to make a food cold, the Khajiit will find it, and for good reason: the Deadlands-like heat of Elsweyr. Cold vegetable curries are a notable mention. Three or four small bowls of different curries, from mild okra to spicy potato, are served with moon sugar, saffron rice or tandoor flatbreads, and are meant to be eaten with your hands. I must say, though, that there's a rather jarring contrast between the cold curry and the searing heat you get from biting into a bird's eye chili.

Nords

Unlike the Khajiit, Nords look for any excuse to make food hot, with a couple of exceptions. Cold smoked salmon, mudcrab, or trout with dark rye bread is one of them. This rustic lunch dish is served with chilled horseradish cream, goat cheese, and fish roe topping, and is the perfect meal for when you want something filling that won't send you straight to sleep.

Orcs

Glass noodle salad is an Orcish delicacy said to have originated in Wrothgar in the early Second Era. The noodles, made from sweet potato starch, are thick and chewy, and are served chilled. To turn it into a salad, simply throw in some cold shredded daikon radish and carrots, sweet frost mirriam vinegar, peas, cold rare beef tongue slices, and fried chorizo. Easy and delicious, while packing lots of flavour!

Redguards

Cold foods are a welcome treat in Hammerfell, where the searing heat can be just as unbearable as Elsweyr's. Cold, pulled goat in a chilled tomato and harissa-based stew is eaten as a soup, and is a filling meal when mixed with bulgur or cous-cous. While it may sound and look a little like last night's disappointing leftovers, one bite of this on a Midyear day in the Alik'r will have you moaning with delight.

#Asks #Food #Cold #Chilled #cold food #Tes #The Elder Scrolls #Worldbuilding #world building #Cooking

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

wooooooooo! i'm on time this week!

thank you to the lovely @umbracirrus and @your-talos-is-problematic for tagging me!! <33

tagging @skyrim-forever @dirty-bosmer @changelingsandothernonsense @archangelsunited @oblivions-dawn

@orfeoarte @saltymaplesyrup @thequeenofthewinter @mareenavee , and YOU! no pressure as always, i'm very excited to see your wips!! >:3

this is a bit from chapter 32 of Cycle of the Serpent that i churned out at uh… 5 this morning? i think? anyways for a rough draft, i think it's fun. lets just say things are about to get weird in this arc <3

The manuscripts on display were the first things Athenath lead the other two towards. Peering down at the glass that kept them safely contained, Athenath leaned forward, trying to digest every ounce of information they could from the plaques and the pages themselves. Some of them were old poems and epics, some were histories, all against cushioning, dark velvet. Two pages of entire worlds, contained in glass and mahogany. The beauty of the calligraphy didn't slip Athenath's mind, either, every stroke of a quill in deep, vivid inks, faded only by the ravages of time, still left an impression on the Altmer as they examined the artful detailing of the letters. There, in one, an indrik portrayed in thin hues, and a poem to match its beauty. They looked up from the manuscripts, their eyes falling on a tapestry above the stairwell. A plaque sat against the wall, and on trepidatious feet, he inched to it, eyes scanning the text. 'Wolf Queen of Solitude' He narrowed his gaze, reading the text over and over, along with the name of the artist attached. He looked back up to the tapestry, the deep emerald and indigo hues of the background twisting into the image of an old woman, ghostly in her own right, pale and small in the thick colors, with a wolf making up the foreground, ice-white eyes watching over all who passed under the stairwell. The weaving of it was masterful in its own right, probably taking up weeks, months, or even years of careful consideration over the colors and the pattern, of the style and the technique. Every move seemed deliberate, every choice imbued with purpose. They turned, his friends already examining other works, with Emeros taking time to carefully read the faded correspondences on display, and Wyndrelis pouring his attentions into a painting, the details so fine that it was as though one could step right in. Athenath watched them for a moment, before speaking up. "Do either of you know who the 'wolf queen' is?"

Emeros straightened, rubbing at his eyes. "She was a ruler in Skyrim, was she not?" He asked, carding his fingers through his chestnut hair. "If I call, she had something to do with a siege of Solitude, but it's been quite some time since I've heard the name." "That would be Queen Potema," came a voice, carried on brisk footsteps from another hall. The trio turned, their attentions fixated on the Breton coming into view, his chin held high and a smile pushing the lines finely into his warm, square face. "She was the wife of King Mantiarco, who ruled Solitude up until the one-hundredth year of the third era." He continued, bringing his hands together in front of him, elbows wide apart, his posture high and keen like a preening bird. He turned his gaze from one to the other, the elves still and quiet before him. "I assume you three are applicants to the college?" A smile plastered itself onto Athenath's mouth, eyes bright as they nodded rapidly, raking fingers through a section of their curls. "Yes, we're hoping to join the Bard's College this term," he replied, stilling the excitement that rambled like a river under his voice, "we've completed our course selections, where do we need to…?" "Oh! If that's the case, I'll take them up to Viarmo's office," he extended a large, calloused hand. Emeros cleared his throat and tapped the papers atop a glass display into an even row before stepping over, passing them into the waiting palm of the Breton. "And who might you be, if I may ask?" Emeros arched a brow, the quizzical look on his face not tamping down on the Breton's grin. Athenath thought about elbowing him in the ribs, that same, boiling sensation, both inside him and all around him that they'd hoped had been snuffed out sparking for one quick moment, before again dissipating into nothingness at all, along with the urge itself.

The man laughed, adjusting the cap on his head. Dark and flat on the top, banded with a round, white material, which was wrapped with strips of blue ribbon, and plumed with two periwinkle feathers. "You're right, I guess I should introduce myself. I am Giraud Gemane, the Dean of History here at the Bard's College. You will be taking classes with me sooner or later, though I'd suggest sooner, as we've a lot to cover in my course." Emeros extended a hand, and Giraud shook it. He extended his own to Athenath, who shook it firmly, enthusiasm in their grasp. When he extended out towards Wyndrelis' direction, the Dunmer shrunk back and waved a hand. Giraud didn't seem offended by this, shrugging as he straightened out the papers in his palm. "Well, I'll see that Viarmo gets these," he turned towards the stairs, his fur-lined boots making great thuds against the tile, "and I hope I'll be seeing your faces in my course very soon." With that, Giraud ascended the stairs, his footsteps echoing after him.

#bishop.txt #tesblr #tes fanfiction #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim fic #wip wednesday #cycle of the serpent #my writing #oc ; athenath #oc ; emeros #oc ; wyndrelis #dragonborn trio #if you think athenath is acting a little strange here... they are. you're not wrong :3 #this is the arc ive struggled with and i finally know where its going. very excited <3333333

[spoonmagister]

Behind the Scrib

The Tavern is a cornerstone of society. All adventures, mysteries, quests, jobs, observations, the passage of information, the meetings of heroes, the plotting of conspiracies, the purchase and subsequent consumption of bread and sujamma, the act of suddenly becoming silent when a Foreigner walks in… it all occurs here. This is just How It Is.

With this critical importance in mind, I found myself at the door of a tavern. This tavern, tucked away within the corner of the Foreign Canton in Vivec, is no secret to the locals, traders, and pilgrims who pass through those halls, yet it blatantly and plainly obfuscates its nature on its very doorstep.

A cursory glance at the scrib-emblazoned banner by the door revealed the name of Black Shalk Cornerclub. Even the casual entomologist or adventurer would understand that a Shalk is not a Scrib, and yet the sign to the establishment casually and confidently proclaims otherwise. This was not the first time I had seen an inn or tavern signified via a scrib banner, and it was a curious lie indeed.

The immediate atmosphere of the Cornerclub was one of a wretched hive, full of scum and villainy. It was absolutely crawling with spies, assassins, Fighter’s Guild enthusiasts, and coin-addled Hlaalu agents. A lizard by the bar watched newcomers as they entered, as though he were expecting someone specific, and upon seeing me did not appear to find what he sought.

I chose to sit — and I must stress that I sat down, rather than stand idly as folks here are keen to do — at a table close to the wall on the upper floor. I sat here for some time, pondering the nature of calling a Shalk a Scrib while levitating roasted ash yams and saltrice bread into my mouth.

It is always a scrib. Why IS it always a scrib?

At this time, two particularly ashy dunmer entered the tavern, visited the bar, and proceeded to shamble over to an adjacent table against the wall. Drinks in hand, they subtly nodded to each other and quietly exclaimed “The Sixth House is risen and lord Dagoth is its glory” before indulging. They did not sit down, of course, but continued standing rather distressingly close to two empty chairs.

The appearance of the average dunmer may already give one cause to be wary, but these two were notably horrid. They possessed eyes which seemed to singularly focus on a distant and invisible object, and their limbs and facial muscles were experiencing bursts of frequent and unnerving spasms. Hideous and gelatinous growths dotted their skin and bulged beneath their clothing. Appearing as if they were slowly being replaced by another material, I could only surmise this was the ultimate fate of those who remain in the Simulacrum for too long.

“It is unfortunate that you were chased out of that house so easily,” one of them said to the other.

“IT WAS A DECENT HOUSE. NOT MY FAVORITE HOUSE.”

“Our initiative is to spread awareness, not find temporary housing.”

Why is it always scribs? For what reason would the importance and prominence of the tavern be represented by the common, lowly, diminutive scrib? Does the scrib possess hidden qualities which would elevate its role in society? Is the scrib meant for more? IS the scrib MORE?

“I LIKE TO SURPRISE THEM WHEN THEY ARE BUSY. THEY DON’T SENSE MY APPROACH WHEN THEY ARE DISTRACTED BY THEIR ADVENTURER NONSENSE.”

“They might listen more enthusiastically if you approached with a bit more tact.”

“YOU CANNOT LET THEM GET A WORD IN OR THEY WILL QUIZ YOU ON ALL MANNER OF INANE AND UNRELATED MATTERS. RUMORS, MY TRADE, SOLSTHEIM…WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?”

Their words trailed off again, and in their place crept the reassuring yet alarmingly ever-present voice of the CHIME. Like a tinny static, it permeated the spaces in my thoughts and dug into my copious brain matter like the roots of Tel Uvirith, my new home, fortress, and thinking-space. Its MESSAGE was not wholly clear, but the Spoons already in my possession began to hone and tune it into words.

[Altmer… ~~~…HEED…~~~…a grand purpose…~~~…celestial emissary…~~~…~~~ PROTECT…~~~…~~~scrib…~~~…~~~…~~~prophecy disregard…~~~…~~~…COSMIC DEALINGS….~~~…~~~gesture]

Cosmic dealings? You want me to make contact again? With the gesture?

[…~~~…AFFIRM…~~~provide angles….~~~…]

It is well-known that Cosmic entities are strict adherents of angles. They do not even consider the notion of making Contact with beings who cannot demonstrate angles. But what unknowable and indescribable dealings was I going to make with such a being?

[Altmer…~~~…~~~…bring (10) Cats…~~~…(14) Time…~~~…(400) scribs GET…]

What am I going to do with 400 scribs?

“It was a shameful display. That a native would so quickly seek out the aid of an outlander just to remove a peaceful missionary.”

“A SHAMEFUL DISPLAY. THAT OUTLANDER ENTERED WITH NARY A KNOCK OR A SHOUT, YET I AM THE RUDE ONE?”

“Outlanders don’t knock. If they did, they would be turned away, and then we would not be in this predicament in the first place.”

“THE ONLY GOOD OUTLANDER IS AN OUTLANDER DENIED ENTRY.”

One of them, the more agitated and fanatical of the two, produced a pouch from his robes and removed from it a substance that looked strikingly similar to the growths which marked the two dunmer. He frantically searched the area, seemingly unable to find what he was looking for. He glanced to the adjacent table where I sat, for I had foolishly made eye contact.

“SAY, OUTLANDER, DO YOU HAVE A SPOON YOU ARE NOT USING?”

“I am using all of the spoons currently in my possession, all of the time,” I replied, unable to hide my disgust at the question.

The more diplomatic dunmer blinked at me as he seemed to mull over what I had said. “Ah, we understand, outlander.”

The Fanatic, clearly not understanding, began to shake.

“YOUR POSSESSION? TAKE WHAT YOU CAN, AND LEAVE OUR PLACE, FOR WHEN LORD DAGOTH COMES, THIS WILL BE NO PLACE FOR YOU.”

I could only silently agree that this was not the place for me, though I said nothing as my Sanctuary aura subtly deflected his aggression.

“IT IS TIME WE RETURNED HOME. TO THE HOUSE. THE TRUE HOUSE. THE SLEEPING HOUSE. HOUSE DAGOTH.”

“We are already at the House, brother. It is metaphorical in nature. I am sure you know this. Have you read the pamphlets?”

“WE ARE ONE AMONG THOUSANDS. WE MUST BRING THE MESSAGE.”

The cursed and decrepit dunmer simultaneously rose and began heading for the exit. Plumes of ash swirled and settled in their wake, and the table beside mine was completely coated in a fine layer of the gray sediment. On the table, and in a trail towards the door, were scattered bits of strange and hardened organic material. I would later notice that my skin developed a persistent itch which Divayth Fyr promptly addressed for me in exchange for my promise to stop stealing from him.

Of all the curiosities of the Reality Hallucination I had encountered thus far, the events within the Black Shalk were perhaps the most curious.

A day later, upon my arrival back to Tel Uvirith, I would deliver an important missive to my Mouth, Fast Eddie. It contained instructions to deliver the following message to Raril Giral, publican of the Black Shalk Cornerclub and pawn of the Reality Hallucination. It read as follows:

Black Shalk Cornerclub — 3/5 Spoons. Food was good. Service was okay. I got the Divine disease from one of the other patrons. Not very sanitary. Person at table next to me was a loud and dirty cultist. Misleading signage — no Scribs present. But there will be.

#fiction #gaming #humor #morrowind #house telvanni #the elder scrolls #vivec city #fine dining #curse #health concerns #cultist

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

I barely started the Winterhold College quest line but imagine Ancano getting obsessed with the annoying newest apprentice and not knowing why until he's in way too deep. They're obviously inferior to him, both as a mage and because they're not of the Thalmor (and likely aren't even an Altmer like him). So why does he keep thinking about them? Well...they are a comely little thing, and easy on the eyes. And they aren't at his level, but they do know their way around a spell. Well-read too.

Despite how cold and rude he is to them, he also wants to be around them all the time. He'll use his magic to surveil them and watch them when they think they're alone...oh? They're bathing, and he can finally see if they look how he imagined they would under their robes.

He may deny any notions of attraction to them from his colleagues, but the tips of his ears are hot whenever he remembers fisting his cock while watching them some nights: sighing pleasurably, imagining their soft lips wrapped around his cock while begging him to make them his. Softly moaning filth to himself, wishing it was in their ear while he pinned them down with arcane chains and his own hands. During the day, he uses their name or some manner of insult to address them. At night when he's watching them in secret, they're his Treasure, his Pet, his Little Minx. He'd throw his soul to the Divines if it meant he could keep them all to himself, and he'll secretly make plans to do just that if he'd prefer to kidnap them instead of putting his pride on the line by trying to seduce them: A ring cursing them to stay bound to him and close at all times but blessed to give them a "pleasure-filled reward" whenever they do what he commands, a circlet with his name written in his mother tongue that shows who they belong to, and enchanting his own robes to keep them extra warm whenever they wear them (and nothing else)

#.ancano #.skyrim #yandere ancano #yandere skyrim #.myshit #thots #tw: dubcon

[linda-likes-to-draw]

Ok hear me out

Chrysanthe as a dad. (+Miraak)

I actually had these finished a long, long long time ago but never uploaded them xD so here they are! GHD Timeskip!AU featuring Chry and Miraak as dads. How wholesome. This was all just an excuse to draw family shenanigans with Chry and Miraak sksksk

(the first two panel did not happen btw. it was a joke from the server xD Chry would be So Not Thrilled to know their baby is stolen and their parents killed by Miraak.)

After the whole Alduin Business they decided to get a baby from an orphanage! Hooray! I have never actually decided what the baby's name should be. Maybe @99corentine you'd like to choose one for them? 👀

And also have these two where. Chry has like 4 babies because we thought ''hey let's give them MORE'' and boom.

Info about the babies below!

Basically the Nord+Altmer kid is their lovechild(as in their biological son) gifted by Mara(cuz you know. they gay. can't really give birth.) Chry & Miraak got really confused but still kinda rolled with it. This baby has both Chry & Miraak's traits, having slightly pointy ears and a mix of white + golden hair, and has mostly Miraak's fight-y personality but still listens to Chry if he scolds them. They are Miraak's favorite and so they feel proud about it.

The Snow Elf, however, was made bc I accidentally misinterpreted @/mellowscrolls' convo and thought Erandur somehow got another child from Mara and was told to give them to Chry xD they are very shy, and clings to Chry the most. Miraak scares them a little due to his ominous aura lol They also like Erandur a lot! cuz he was the one that took care of them first hehe

The HERMAEUS MORA ONE, HOWEVER, is there simply and solely bc HM wanted to mess with Chry & Miraak. So after he heard that they got so many babies, for some reason, snatched/created a baby himself and corrupted it with his daedric dark magic or something. and just. left it at Chry's front door lmao Chry and Miraak did NOT take them well at first. Miraak in particular, as he refuses to even acknowledge them. Chry was afraid of it, thinking they could be HM's pawn. But, this kid was, in fact, just a kid. They are corrupted by Mora, but they were actually not influenced by him at all. They still maintain their toddler mind. And so Chry refused to kill them, as much as Miraak suggested to.

Chry starts to warm up to this half-daedra a little, but he is always unable to stare into their face, which is covered with numerous Hermaeus' eyes. Does HM have the ability to spy on them through those eyes? Nobody knows. They can also summon tentacles, which freaked Chry & Miraak out very much, so this ability was never brought back out again.

Because of both parent being wary of them, this baby is more mature and understands how different they are and does not blame either of them. They are actually a very sweet kid and takes care of all their siblings. But they know how much of a ''monster'' they are. They know about HM, they even hear his whispers to hurt Chry & Miraak when they sleep, and so they despise him, even if he was their ''creator''. They love their new parents and would never hurt them.

As they grew, maybe Miraak finally took pity and hand-carved a wodden mask for them to wear outside. They treasure this gift with their whole being as it was the first time the nord father cared for them.

Chry needs rest.

#oh boy this was long #i wanted to draw all of them in digital but im in an art block #so have these! #i love these babies with all my heart #gol hah dov #my art #fanart #skyrim #chrysanthe #chry #miraak #lucien flavius #ghd baby au #erandur

[thescrolls-haveforetold]

Hey so in response to your art request callout, I've got two possible suggestions, one practical and one hopefully interesting? On the practical side I'd love I lineup of your OCs, names and pronouns and all that, because I've just found your stuff and I'm fascinated! And on the more creative side, I'd love to see a look at some of the crazy shit your Nerevarine got up to in their(? her? his?) early days on Vvardenfell! Like, the really early days when you're clearing caves and tombs and nearly dying constantly XD

i have like..40-50 or so ocs, so while that would take a lot of work (that i’m Far Too Lazy to even try to do) i will introduce the main group thru words

Kynwyn Heraclea Chirharia ‘The Dragon’/Maldovjun (little-dragon-king) is my last dragonborn, 15, she/her. she is a dragon in every sense of the word, she hoards, she steals, she collects and with her voice she kills. There’s more to her dragon bloodline than meets the eye. She brash, annoying and anything but selfless. But what can you expect from a kid. She is brunette, white strips of hair, big purple eyes and a mischievous grin

Valiel Hlaalu(-Septim) is my Hero of Kvatch, he/him, 38. Prior to the Oblivion Crisis, he was a courtesan by no choice of his own, by pressure of his mother to use his beauty to gain secrets for political advantages, he despises politics. He loves Martin, but he’s grumpy, rude but surprisingly down to earth for a noble from the imperial city. He is also a little stupid. He is a very pale dunmer with icy eyes, beauty marks and a scowl.

Nerevar ‘Neht’ Mora is my Nerevarine (who isn’t the nerevarine in a classic way, because he IS nerevar), he/they, the body he’s in is 25, but the man himself is at this point at least 800-900 or so years old, he himself doesn’t know due to him being snatched up by slavers at an early age. He is literally Nerevar. Just The Indoril Nerevar Mora stuffed into the body of some poor unsuspecting individual who had the shit luck to be hand picked by Azura. He is totally aware of his former companion’s troubles, and he hates them for it. He’s hedonistic, hyper competent, extremely intelligent and extremely difficult to kill. There is a reason the idea of Nerevar coming back was so terrifying for the Tribunal, and Nerevar, in the most literal sense, returned. As soon as the individual put on the ring Moon-And-Star, his consciousness and soul was sacrificed, and the empty vessel was replaced entirely with Nerevar’s soul and consciousness. Nerevar’s vessel is a redguard with gold eyes, branded with Nerevar’s partial heterochromia to symbolise who he is. He has long locs and a red jacket.

Gwyndir Shadowfoot is my Eternal Champion, she/he/they, I don’t have much lore on her yet, i do know she’s a werewolf bosmer. He has antlers, with an autumn colour palette, brown skin and freckles. They wear a green cloak.

Arenwe the Fair is my Hero of Daggerfall, he/him, again, there isn’t much lore on him. Arenwe is a long, fair haired pale altmer with pink eyes and a shy smile.

OBVIOUSLY HERE YOU CAN TELL WHO THE FAVOURITE IS LMFAO

in regards to cave trotting and stuff like that, i’d actually love to draw a comic or write a fic about it, I just don’t have that much faith in my author skillz to actually manage writing a fic . or a comic for that matter. Maybe at some point when i feel okay with it i’ll actually try to start mapping out Nerevar’s story

#the elder scrolls #tes #morrowind #elder scrolls #nerevarine #oc: indoril nerevar mora #oc: valiel hlaalu-septim #oc: kynwyn the dragon #oc: arenwe the fair #oc: gwyndir shadowfoot #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK BTW I HAD LOTSBOF FUN

[totally-not-deacon]

Friday Kiss Tag!!

Tagged by @throughtrialbyfire! Dragging @molliehaswords, @rogueshadeaux, @adventuresofmeghatron, and @just-another-wasteland-merc if you wanna go.

Rules: post a smooch between your OCs for Friday. It can be as light as a peck or as intense as a makeout. It can be romantic or platonic or familial. As long as a smooch takes place it’s free reign!

I've never done this tag before, and I have no clue why I'm feeling shy over posting it considering it'll be on AO3 in a few weeks anyway lmao. Most'll be under the tag, enjoy!

He bought them each a bottle, on her tab, of course. Maybe she didn’t exactly need it, but no one said he was a good influence. The quietest corners of the Mare had turned all but silent in the late hour, the closest they could get to being truly alone within the city walls. Neither spoke at first, not needing to. As he said, he’d been there.

“You look good out of your armor.” She rested heavy against his shoulder, looking up at him with a mischievous lilt to her voice. “…even with the helm.”

“Well, of course I do. It’s those pure, Altmer genes at work.” he said with obviously put-on arrogance, holding his head high.

“Sure thing, farm boy.”

He sighed, “I never should have told you that.”

“Really though, it’s nice to be able to feel you for once.” “Feel me?” he teased, keeping his tone light despite the twinge in his gut. Gods help him. “I mean – I,” Her cheeks darkened, shoving his shoulder and laughing. Her drink sloshed, leaving droplets on the tabletop. “You know what I mean.” “Hm, can’t say that I do.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “You’re a bad liar.” Her eyes glittered in challenge, as well as something else. Something deeper. Something dangerous. “And you have a terrible gambling face.”

“Says the mer that gets to hide his.” She leaned in close – too close – tapping a finger at the center of his helmet sight, right between his eyes. Unbeknownst to her, they flicked from her lips and back to her own. He felt his throat tighten, getting hard to breathe.

Oh, no. The wine must be hitting him extra hard tonight. There was no way he was this drunk already. He should have eaten Xelzaz’s cooking, he really should have. Oh, no, no, no. His mouth opened of its own accord. “Close your eyes.”

Bad idea. Terrible idea. What was he doing?She grinned, eyes fluttering shut and waiting patiently. Oh, if he’d misread all this, let Auriel smite him right here and now. If he didn’t, she would. A quick glance around the inn – still as empty as it was the last time he checked all of thirty seconds ago. He lifted his helmet sight to just above his nose. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Her breath hitched, feeling his own against her.

Too late now. His lips met hers, plush and eager, just waiting for this moment. A hand curled along her jaw, drawing her in further. She leaned into the touch with a pleased, surprised hum, a hand resting on his chest.

Nebarra pulled back, eyes lingering on the blush creeping up her cheeks and the soft smile she gave him, eyes still dutifully closed for him. He resisted the urge to lean back in, to capture her mouth once again. He wanted her fingers in his hair, his name – his real name – on her lips. He wanted, he wanted –

He slid the guard back down on his helm. Feeling her relax against his side with a content, if tired sigh, he finally released the breath he’d been holding. They were still blissfully alone, he hadn’t been shouted to pieces, and the world hadn’t ended… yet. Now if only he could get his damned heart rate under control before he dropped dead on the spot.

#friday kiss tag #it's smooch-thirty baby #tes #skyrim #skyrim custom followers #oc marasa #my writing #arenthia red #nebarra #skyrim nebarra #nebarra skyrim

[blogberthday]

Chapter 2 - The Hands of a Healer

To read the first chapter in this fic, click here! -> Chapter 1: Blood on the Shrine

. . . . . . .

She had been working for thirty minutes to stabilize him. The clouds had rolled in, and it looked like it would rain at any moment. Still she pressed on, diligently casting until her magicka reserves were nearly depleted. Meeko remained beside her, keeping watch for passersby and wild skeevers. As she worked over him, the Justiciar's breathing became deeper, stronger. Colour started to return to his face, his pale cheeks regaining their golden complexion.

The mer stirred beneath her, moving his head.

"Easy, easy," she put a bloodstained hand on his cheek, holding his face with a touch that was gentle, yet firm. "You're going to be alright, just keep still."

Someone long ago had told her that she had the hands of a healer. She tried to remember who, to put a face or a name to the voice that she remembered, the words that had meant so much to her - but she was met with the usual mental block. Nothing. She sighed, reaching back with her free hand to brush the loose strands of hair behind her ear.

She swore that at one point, she had known stronger healing spells than this, but if she couldn't remember how to cast them now, what good were they?

Feeling the Justiciar come to, she returned her focus to his face.

If she couldn't find the answers to her questions about her past, she might as well get some answers to her questions about him.

He opened his eyes with a jolt, reaching immediately for whatever was touching him. There was a woman, a Breton, crouched over him, her hand resting on his face. Or was she a Breton? Maybe she was a Nord..? She was human for sure. They all looked the same, with their round cheeks and ears, their small eyes.

"Shhh, shhhhh," she held him more firmly, steadying him. "You're okay. Deep breaths."

Gods. In his final moments, and his dying fantasy was of a human? Not an Altmer, or a mer of any kind? His father was right to have been ashamed of him.

Another bark. He couldn't possibly be dreaming.

"I've done the best I can for now, but I'll need to take a break before I can do much more for you. Can you speak? Do you know where you are?"

The Justiciar coughed, blood leaking from the side of his lip. This human... She was... healing him? He took a ragged breath in, removing his hand from hers and clutching the wound at the side of his chest. "You... You're helping me? For gods' sakes, why?"

"Because you're a person. And you're hurting. Why shouldn't I?"

"You do realize you're aiding a member of the Thalmor, right? No doubt the people of Skyrim would prefer to see us all dead."

"A member of the Thalmor?" She replied sardonically. "Really?! I never would have guessed, with you wearing those oh-so subtle Justiciar's robes."

Offended and delirious from blood loss, he responded in kind. "Sarcastic, aren't we? You have a strange definition of decent attire. With a drab outfit like that, you must have pieced it together by looting the bodies you've slain! No decency, no decency at all!" He coughed again, this time spitting out a chunk of bloody tissue. Urgh.

She softened. "Fair enough. But you can critique my outfit later." Reaching over with the long end of the mer's robes, she wiped the blood off his face. "Who are you?"

He hesitated before answering.

"... Taliesin."

Author's note: fic updated 2023/08/02 with in-fic date and location, along with link to previous chapter. Some minor changes to wording and punctuation. Thanks for reading! 💕

#skyrim #skyrim taliesin #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim fic

[quicksilverdrabbles]

Saturn: *walking down the path near Helgen, passing the Guardian stones*

Nebarra: I still don't know how you managed to get all the way from Markarth to Falkreath when your next destination is bloody Whiterun.

Saturn: I took a detour. Uncle didn't say I had to be back by a specific time.

Nebarra: Just because I don't know doesn't mean I asked.

Saturn: So rude.

Taliesin: *from afar* I wonder what the color blue smells like...

Saturn: What the hell.

Taliesin: *manic laughing* Oh Gods, I'm hallucinating!

Nebarra: ... Nope, we are leaving. Now.

Saturn: No, we are going directly towards that voice.

Nebarra: *groans* I will never understand why I follow you.

Saturn: You and me both, Nebby.

Nebarra: Stop calling me that!

Taliesin: And who in Oblivion are you two supposed to be?!

Saturn: Adventurers. Who the hell are... *frowns, recognizing him* You?

Taliesin: Huh? What in the world is that look for??

Saturn: ... The agent that went with Sanyon? I hadn't even realized we were in this part of Falkreath.

Nebarra: So we were lost, you idiot.

Saturn: Shut up. What was your name again..? It's on the tip of my tongue.

Taliesin: ... Taliesin.

Saturn: Nope, it wasn't that-

Taliesin: It's an alias. I'd prefer not to tell you my actual name if you're with the Thalmor. Do I know you?

Saturn: Maybe. *waves her hand, sighing* Saturn. Daughter of Elenwen.

Taliesin: ...? I didn't know Elenwen had a daughter. I've always heard she had a-

Saturn: Daughter. Like I said.

Taliesin: I see... Although, maybe you shouldn't be spreading that information around-

Saturn: *annoyed* I know that, ya' tuskin jerk.

Taliesin: So vulgar. And what on earth is with those clothes? With a drab outfit like that, you must have pieced it together from the clothes of all the different people you've slain!

Saturn: *wearing royal elven armor forged in Markarth* ?!?! I'll have you know I forged this armor myself, you ignorant squaking crow!

Taliesin: With that shoddy craftsmanship?

Saturn: It's better than those hideous Thalmor Robes!

Taliesin: HIDEOUS?! I'll have you know these are quite fashionable among Altmer!

Saturn: They're hardly even worthy of being worn by tusking peasants!

Taliesin: Listen here, you little- *stands from his place on the ground, realizing he barely even goes above her shoulder at full height* L-little- Gods you're quite tall, aren't you? One could mistake you for a giant.

Saturn: One more word out of you and I'm witholding this healing potion from you.

Taliesin: ...

Saturn: What on earth happened here, anyways? I'm told she was hoping you both would die, but one of you managed to live.

Taliesin: Tell her and I will spill your guts.

Saturn: Try it and I will paint the shrine of Talos with your blood.

Taliesin: Hah. Feisty.

Nebarra: Shut up, for Gods' sake-

Saturn: Anyways.. *tosses the healing potion at Taliesin* I'm not with the Thalmor anymore, and I won't tell my mother you survived. I'm actively trying to avoid her, actually. Setting out on my own, n' all.

Taliesin: Huh. You know you'll never be able to return, right?

Saturn: Was counting on it.

Taliesin: ... What say I go with you?

Nebarra: Absolutely not.

Saturn: Sure.

Nebarra: Why on earth would you want him with us?! What if he betrays you??

Saturn: He won't or else I'll make sure it's the last thing he does. *looks at Taliesin with an overly wide smile* Isn't that right, Tally?

Taliesin: Hah. Careful, I might actually start to like you.

Saturn: I would rather die.

Taliesin: The feeling is mutual.

~

For context, this is the height difference between Tally and Saturn LMFAO

She's so tall god-

#spoiler alert they fall in love #can't wait to see her height next to Kaidan #skyrim #tes #the elder scrolls #modded skyrim #dragonborn #ldb oc #skyrim taliesin #nebarra skyrim #saturn oc

[powdermelonkeg]

Assorted headcanons about my current Team Dragonborn:

Lydia Iron-Forged:

Former Companion, left after being invited into the Circle

Serious to a fault—a fan of deadpan humor, to the point where you often can’t tell if she’s actually joking

Older sister ran off to join the Stormcloaks, carries an amulet of Talos that was sent home shortly after

Can lift a werewolf if she really tries

Likes her mead with snowberries

The kind of drunk that laughs at everyone and everything. Tally thinks it’s an unsettling change

Practices, either with sparring or with forms, her swordplay just before dawn

Has a soft spot for horses, uses them as a litmus test—good people always take care of their animals

Can cook, mostly hunts for her own meals. Makes a good hearty stew

Sword is named “Stormblight,” enchanted with shocks. Was a gift from her father, bought off a Khajiit caravan

Has a scar on the back of her neck from a fight with a troll

Mikael used to pick on her when she was a little girl. Her sister taught her how to punch to break noses, and Mikael’s nose hasn’t been straight since. She’s the one woman he won’t flirt with

Bisexual, with a preference for Ysolda women

Kaidan (of Northwind):

Once had an affair with a young noblewoman named Isabel. She got engaged to the count of Bravil, so he tried stealing her away and was thrown in the dungeon for it. Paid the fine, was going to serve sentence (40 lashes), but Isabel got in the way of one and stopped the whole thing. She didn’t say anything else except to tell him to leave. She still has a scar on her cheek

A thrill-seeker, though won’t admit it. Takes vampire contracts for the rush of adrenaline

The tattoo on his face marks him as blood-kin to the Orcs

Has a faded lightning-pattern scar spread across his back, beneath the newer interrogation lashes. Rosalind gave it to him

Could learn a shout if he really, really tried for it. Not as easily as the LDB, but in a vastly shorter time than the Greybeards (as per the Akaviri Dossier). Would learn Aura Whisper (Laas Yah Nir) if given the chance

Can follow being read to much more easily than reading. Not that he can’t read, just prefers a voice—pages blend together after awhile

Very much a “hold my beer” kind of drunk. Don’t tell him he can’t do anything or try to show off in front of him

Does scrimshaw to burn extra stress, especially after a nightmare. Tries to make his work useful in some way (ie a horn, some cups, a knife, etc)

Sells his scrimshaw in between contracts

Gets tense and snappy from moon sugar withdrawal

Caryalind Thallery:

Wears gold lipstick when in town. It’s very subtle and usually only noticeable to fellow Altmer

Is a slow morning person—the kind to wake up early, but spend the next hour basking in morning sunlight in a silk robe with a coffee

Skyrim’s air is NOT good for his curly hair. Whenever he can manage it, he scrounges up some septims and stops by the caravans to see if there’s any orange oil in stock. He always smells faintly of oranges

Whenever Cary senses magicka, he immediately goes on high alert, even if it’s just Restoration

Cary got a handful of threatening/hateful letters as prince, and kept them, feeling terrible and not as if he should be allowed to throw them away. His friend back home (Termia) found them one day and convinced him to burn them with her

His hair is soft. Very soft. Feather-down soft. Yes, it’s natural

His calian (sphere of aetherquartz that denotes his place in Altmer society) is clear magicka blue, the size of a clementine, and has translucent etchings of his birthsign’s stars set in it. Sometimes he almost laughs at the irony

Taliesin (alias):

He used to write up letters on the field about things he’d seen to send to his sisters. Couriers were sparse, so sometimes he’d wind up sending 5 at once because he’d been holding on to them. He keeps them in his robe, next to his chest

He had a packet of letters on his person when the Talos Shrine incident happened. They got bled through

He still writes sometimes, even though he might never be able to send them

He once swiped the head Justiciar’s hood and pretended to be him to amuse his colleagues. Said justiciar walked in on it

He will judge you SO HARD if you eat dog meat. No it’s not the same as when he eats slaughterfish, slaughterfish at least have the decency not to slobber everywhere!

A decent cook, if only because he got tired of having to special request everything

Very intelligent. Not in the sense of book smarts (though he does have those), but he has an uncanny knack for reading the room and gauging reactions—part of it is to be of service to whatever his current task is (knowing when someone is about to run, playing good cop/bad cop with other agents) but the majority is because he had to learn how to read his father’s bad moods

Pays extremely close attention to how his friends react to others’ mistakes. Especially mistakes he has in common with them. What’s the difference between his past and Paarthurnax’s? Kaidan’s? Caryalind’s? Bonus points, this means you can gain his trust more effectively by treating people besides him well

His jokes and wit double as a litmus test. When he meets someone, it’s to test how much of a pain they are to get along with. Past that, it’s his subtle way of checking in; if someone who normally laughs at him is annoyed, or someone who’s usually annoyed doesn’t react, something’s wrong

Complains because it’s cathartic and misery loves company

Has a few dragon scales in his pocket once he starts traveling with the LDB. It’s to show his sisters if he ever sees them again

Accidentally acquired a taste for firebrand wine—Summerset cuisine is notoriously delicate, so drinking firebrand was the “cinnamon challenge” in the Solitude Thalmor ranks. Naturally he wanted to show off and one-up everyone

Like Kaidan, is a “hold my beer” kind of drunk. If the two get drunk together, they’ll keep one-upping each other until they either black out or are physically separated

Never learned how to swim because when he was little, his father deadpan-joked about maormer in the water kidnapping altmer that didn’t behave. He avoided deep water like the plague, then never remedied it when he got older

Calian is milky-rose quartz, big as a gooseberry. It got chipped once on the field; after repairing it, he’s padded its box with as much cotton as he can get

An absolute ace at card games, and decent at dice. Won his horse in a game of cards. Loves her to death and spoils her

Has a lovely voice but makes you earn it. Favorite song to sing is “Star-Eyed Bride of Alinor”

Very much an “I told you so” kind of person, takes it to the point of “Oh, I was right? What was I right about? Speak up, my pointy ears can’t detect your whispers of shame.”

#skyrim #tesv #taliesin skyrim #caryalind thallery #Kaidan skyrim #Lydia skyrim #what can I do for queue #long post #apologies. these got progressively more wordy as time went on

[rose-like-the-phoenix]

Skyrim thieves guild headcanons

The daedric prince of Hyperfixation is at play here, enjoy my ramblings. Also check out @thequeenofthewinter she writes some really awesome stuff 😁

Brynjolf (aka my fave)

He was recruited by Gallus around the same time as Mercer, he rose through the ranks of the guild quite quickly... a little too quickly if you asked Mercer. Gallus was going to make him the next guildmaster but after explaining he didn't care for responsibility he told Gallus to give the position to Mercer

He's not an easy man to pin down. if he reveals any part of his personality, other then overconfident, cocky and flirty, to you willingly, you should consider yourself special.

Flirts with everyone, lads and lasses alike (especially his guildmates)

He grew up in a settlement somewhere in the riff. The village of about 20 was mostly made up of Dunmer refugees, a handful of Khajiit and Argonians and a couple of Nord families, he sees them as equals and feels as though he can relax more around them then he can around other Nords. It's partly why he often avoids going to Windhelm

Speaking of Windhelm, it's the last place in tamriel he would ever want to go. Not only because of the Nordic residents poor treatment of the other races but also because he prefers warmer weather and doesn't care for the near constant snowfall

As recruits, he was the youngest and only teenager (17 to 19) and Mercer was the third oldest (mid to late 20s)

Occasionally gets caught on purpose for fun and thrills

When someone in the guild ticks him off (usually Mercer) he'll mumble insults in scottish gaelic to avoid the guild fighting amongst itself

If you're on a job with him and things go south, let him do all the talking (he's silver tongued for a reason)

Absolutely littered with scars

*spoiler alert* spells take a lot out of him, once that frenzy spell Mercer put on him wore off, he collapsed and was breathing quite heavily, unfortunately he didn't have much time to recover

Has a general distaste for bandits, however on the way back from a job, he was attacked by three bears and a Nord in bandit armor ran up and started helping him, once the bears were dealt with Bryn excepted the man to attack him or demand gold but the bandit just sheathed his weapon and turned toward him with a smile on his face "Heh, you fight pretty well. Name's Thrynn, mind if I travel with you for a while? There's plenty more bears around here"

Has definitely been told more than once that if he doesn't wipe a smirk off his face, his armor is going in the pond... with him in it

Brynjolf doesn't know Glover Mallory very well but, knowing it would never happen otherwise, took it upon himself to write Glover a letter for his birthday each year, usually a handful of gems will accompany that letter. He also makes the rest of the guild sign said letter and every time Delvin's just like "why would I need to do that?"

Has a tattoo of the guild shadow mark on his left forearm and "dying breed" across his shoulders

Doesn't go on jobs alone very often

Kept a journal he lifted off a drunk altmer once, it's mostly just filled with drawings, client information, stuff about the Nightingales and (much like Gallus) plans to make the guild good amounts of coin

Mercer Frey (aka captain backstabber)

Hated Brynjolf's guts from day one and always thought the scottsman was full of himself

Muttered and cursed under his breath more than he liked to admit

Was shocked to hear Brynjolf tell Gallus to make him guildmaster and when he asked why Brynjolf's answers only infuriated him more "I don't care for responsibility" "I'd rather not be a leader" "I just don't want to" etc.

"Brynjolf's a showoff" when Gallus asked why the pair didn't get along.. among some other more direct reasons

Mostly just payed for the upkeep of his house to keep the guild from going through his things and using them as leverage/playing keep away with him/hiding things from him/using his stuff for pranks etc. He only keeps the bare minimum of what he needs on a daily basis in his chest, end table and desk

Would never say it, but he did find Bryn somewhat funny BUT he definitely wasn't laughing when Brynjolf and Delvin dumped two bucket fulls of cistern water on him at 1AM

Gallus told him to teach Brynjolf some magic in hopes they'd learn to get along. Brynjolf however, politely declines the offer, explaining that "magic and I don't mix well" *Mercer nodding* "noted"

Ironically is the first person to start calling Brynjolf "Bryn"

As a teen, Brynjolf used to call him a "grumpy old man"

"I hate to admit it, but Brynjolf is the best person we've got at finding new recruits. That man really knows how to read people"

Delvin Mallory (old man *affectionate*)

The "fun" uncleTm

When Brynjolf was new to the guild, some recruits Gallus was training at the time, thought it was a good idea to mock Bryn's accent. Delvin was the one to put an end to it "just 'cause the boy's young, he's already twice the thief compared to the rest o' you lot"

Vekel "I know better and I'd still say the old bastard has a drinking problem"

Definitely issues all the drinking challenges/games

One of the only guild members who is even remotely or the slightest bit religious

Will begrudgingly pay off a guild members bounty if the guards are really hounding their ass, just feels like he should

Straight up refuses to retire, retirement is a drity word

Can't sneak for very long anymore due to his age so he's usually sent in as a distraction and if you don't know how to sneak very well then he can sure as hell teach you

Hardly ever seen without a bottle of mead in hand

Brynjolf was the one who gave him his opening line when someone asks for sneak training "if you need training, go talk to Delvin. Stick with him and they'll never know you're there"

Thrynn (Ex-bandit)

Very sarcastic and brutally honest

Uses archery targets for punching bags

Can left most guild members above his head

Once after a particularly aggressive troll attack, he carried a very injured Brynjolf back to the Flagon, despite Bryn's protests, which led to him calling Brynjolf "featherweight"

Damages his armor more than anyone else, which according to Tonilia is saying something considering Brynjolf is a bit of an injury magnet

He's pretty good friends with Brynjolf, considering the pair usually do jobs together. They've gotten to know each other quite well, sometimes too well

Can sneak, just doesn't want to

Doesn't quite understand the idea of magic, despite being from Winterhold "so you just hold your hands up and fire comes out of them? Weird"

*someone uses big words/scientific terms* "just get to the point"

Bear hugs/lifting people up from behind unexpectedly is one of his favorite ways to amuse himself

Prefers ale to mead, unlike his buddy Bryn who likes honey in his drink

Tonilia (♡?)

As quartermaster, she basically does everything Brynjolf or Mercer/dragonborn doesn't want to do

Gets annoyed easily

Met Vekel after she joined the guild

It's a rumor that her and Brynjolf are having an affair, what happened was some drunk in the Bee and Brab was trying to get a bit frisky with the fence and Brynjolf stepped in saying "the lass said no and so do I" Mercer saw them walk out of the inn, arms linked, he couldn't hear what was said but he watched Tonilia thank Brynjolf and hug him. Now, Mercer being the asshole that he is started the rumor of her and Bryn being a little too "friendly"

Probably had a girlfriend at some point in the past

Sapphire (💙)

Sapph and Brynjolf have an interesting relationship, it goes beyond friendship, more like a brother and sister who haven't seen each other in a long time but were never particularly close. They both lost their families and each have a deeper understanding of the other because of it

Her and Bryn were out and about in riften and ran into someone she knew before her family... well you know, when they asked who Brynjolf was she introduced him as her brother for lack of a better explanation

Vex is older than Sapph by nine years, Tonilia is younger then both of them but has been with the guild longer

Mercer would never tell, but Brynjolf saved his life. Sapphire's last order from the dark brotherhood was to assassinate Mercer Frey, it was the middle of the night when she snuck into the guild's hideout, Brynjolf and Mercer were up late working. Brynjolf convinced her to follow along with some jobs and she'd be payed more than what the dark brotherhood offered, she agreed on the terms that the guild was to not meddle in what she called "personal affairs"

Has a few coin purses filled with her collection of stolen sapphires in her end table

Viper the fleet (🙄..)

Was one of the last recruits to tarin with Gallus before he was murdered, Brynjolf picked up where his predecessor left off

Even Bryn can't stand how lustful this man is, Brynjolf's flirtatious jokes are one thing but Viper takes things too far in the the opinion of the senior thief

The last time the second in command caught Vip trying to bed Sapphire, he told Thrynn to trouble shoot his brain (bash it in..)

Has two heads but only enough blood supply to run one at a time

He can be a good thief but only if he would actually get his head out of the gutter

If it had been up to Bryn, Viper would have been fired from his position... MULTIPLE TIMES

Vex (our little vex <3)

Was a drifter, ended up in riften and has been there ever since

Second oldest female in the guild, the first being Karliah

Over heard Braith and Lars arguing while on job in Whiterun, Braith reminds her more of herself than she'd like to admit

Second best in a fistfight, first being Thrynn and third being Brynjolf

Usually slaps the back of someone's head if they piss her off

Her parents told her stories of the dragonborn but she never believed it until the the last dragonborn became part of the thieves guild

Much like the redhead she deems annoying, no one really knows where she's from

Curses the most

Vex: *punched Brynjolf in the shoulder as he walked past her* Brynjolf: *stumbles forward, look's at vex with a smirk* "I like that lass" Vex: 😳

Her closest friend in the guild is Sapphire

Rune (🪨..)

When Brynjolf heard Rune's story, he started asking the male Imperial to accompany him and Sapph on their outings. once the three got to know each other better, Bryn explained that he and Sapphire had lost their families as well

Him and vex were the only Imperial members of the guild for a long time

His little rune rock is his most prized possession, understandably

Most of the long time guild members have in someway attempted to decipher the symbols, if you were to ever get your hands on the second in commands journal (which he keeps in a locked dewar in his desk) you'll find a page with Rune's well, runes drawn on it, surrounded by notes of what they could potentially mean

Can be very blondeTm sometimes

Is happy that Sapph and Bryn have fond memories of their families but it also saddens him sense he can't remember his own, the other two notice this however and try not to bring it up too often

At a time when thoughts of home, wherever it may be, was weighing heavy on his mind, Brynjolf slung his arm over Rune's shoulders and claimed him as his younger brother

Is at least two or three years younger than Bryn

Second closest to Brynjolf, the first being Thrynn

Enjoys spiced wine occasionally (if you catch my meaning...)

No one's sure how but he says he has "connections" with the Whiterun guard

Lived in Whiterun for a period of time

The Inconspicuous drunk, you wouldn't know he was drunk until he tries to stand

This all I got for now, might reblog this with my ocs from my thieves guild fanfics 🤔

#skyrim headcanons #thieves guild #brynjolf #mercer frey #delvin mallory #thrynn #tonilia #sapphire #viper the fleet #vex #rune

[throughtrialbyfire]

Friday Kiss Tag Game ♥

wooooo!! thank you so much for tagging me @boethiahspillowbook !! <3 this was so much fun to write and i'm delighted to share this piece!!

i'm tagging @totally-not-deacon @trickstarbrave @your-talos-is-problematic @skyrim-forever @orfeoarte @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @umbracirrus and anyone who wants to do it, if you're not tagged, feel free to hop in!! and no pressure as always!!

Rules: post a smooch between your OCs for Friday. It can be as light as a peck or as intense as a makeout. It can be romantic or platonic or familial. As long as a smooch takes place it’s free reign!

decided to bring a little treat, this features my very first LDB oc, Hyron Aedther! he's such a challenge and a joy to write. this is fresh out of the brain, and i hope you enjoy it!!

Hyron was not a very tactful man, but he was good at what he did. Stealing seemed to run in the family, as whispers of his grandfather's history with the Thieves Guild of Cyrodiil echoed down the branches of his lineage like a harsh and hollow wind. Still, wind nonetheless, and he tended not to reflect on the dead too long. The Altmer wound his way through the streets of Riften, noon sunlight dripping along the mountains like cupped hands desperately dragging water from a stream, in hopes this would quench the thirst. He had found himself doing this more than he liked. His silver hair tied behind him, the world at his back, he wondered if this would all come to a peaceful end. No, he chastised himself, don't be so dramatic, Hyron. It's only a crush. He seldom found himself in these positions, heart bent over backwards for the attentions of someone who he didn't know if would or could return his feelings. But he'd found himself watching the other man in the Ragged Flagon with increasing interest over the past few weeks, the way the ginger joked with Vekel and Delvin, the way he laughed at Vex's dry humor, the sound of his laugh, gods, the sound of his laugh. It battered Hyron open entirely, the sound of that thief's laugh. Brynjolf. Gods, his name even felt right in his mouth. Brynjolf, his friend, Brynjolf, his fellow thief, Bryn… Gods. Gods, he was utterly pathetic.

Pathetic. Like a soggy, sopping wet hound back from a hunt with nothing to show for it, to a master who would only feed him half the scraps he'd saved that night as punishment for his effort. His stomach churned with the weight of it. The thought of Brynjolf rejecting him made him want to tear his hair out, the image of the man's mouth moving in such a way to say, 'I'm sorry, lad, I just don't feel the same.' Or worse, what if he laughed at him? What if he thought Hyron was a lovesick fool, unfit to handle being in the same room as him? What if he hated Hyron for this, solely on the basis that Hyron had shown one fleck of weakness in the wild portrait of his life, the intensity of the color so rotten and bare it turned all away with it? What if… "Ah, there you are, lad. I've been looking for you."

The sound of his voice made the Altmer jump. He turned, the other thief rushing to catch up to him, his guild boots - mismatched with his regular dayclothes, his blue coat wrapped around his arms - thudding the wooden boards of the bridge over the canal. "Oh." Brynjolf furrowed his brow, slowing his pace as he approached the taller man. "Something on your mind?" Hyron shook his head. "No." A moment passed between them, before the other shrugged his shoulders, taking in their surroundings with familiarity, a boredom passing into his face. "What'd'you say we head to the Bee and Barb, get something to drink?" Hyron scoffed with a frail smirk, "why not the Flagon?" Brynjolf returned the smirk with a shrug. "Need a change of scenery, of course." Much to Keerava and Talen-Jei's displeasure, they found the two thieves in their tavern, keeping a distance from the bar, choosing instead to sit by the stairs. After a couple of small drinks and a paltry meal, Brynjolf turned to Hyron, his sharp gaze not missing the slight flinch of the elf's shoulders. "Alright, come on," he said in a quiet voice, "what's on your mind, lad?" Hyron knit his brow, and Brynjolf rolled his eyes. "You've been quieter than usual, and that's saying something."

Hyron's pulse quickened. "Nothing." He paused, and before Brynjolf could interject, he piped up, "I'm adjusting to my new life. It's hard." Brynjolf thought this over, rubbing at his chin, the bristle of it against his hand making a noise that Hyron only wished could be caused by his hand in the same place on the man's face, only wished he could rub his cheek, thumb his cheekbone, run his fingers though his fire-red hair, look into his eyes so intensely it was as though staring into a chasm of ice back in Winterhold- "You seem to be doing a lot of adjusting lately. I'm guessing this has something to do with that whole Dragonborn business." Hyron nodded. A lie. It worked. "I see." Brynjolf didn't seem satisfied, leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his barrel chest. He looked towards the bar, flitting his gaze between Hyron and Keerava, before rising. A few moments passed of him exchanging quiet words with the Argonian woman, before she handed him a key. Approaching Hyron, he cocked his head quickly to the stairs. "Come on, let's talk somewhere private." His heart hammered against his chest. In his throat. No way out. Mouse. Mouse in a trap. Hyron stood there with the door behind him and the bed before and Brynjolf opening the window to let some fresh air in - as fresh as it got here - and turned back to him, noon sun golden on his skin. "Come on, out with it, lad. I know it can't just be this Dragonborn mess that's got you all worked up." Hyron swallowed hard. His chest hurt. He sat on the edge of the bed and released a loud, exasperated sigh, cradling his face in his hands. The pressure next to him told him that Brynjolf was seated right there, right there, next to him, gods, he could feel his body heat, it made Hyron dizzy. Intoxicating, the feel of the other's presence. "Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't," he grunted in his typical manner, cursing himself internally for it. He was never one for words. Never found them useful. So, instead, he remained quiet most often, but here and now with Brynjolf beside him…

"I may be in over my head with something." He finally decided that this was a conclusive enough answer. He looked through his long, golden fingers to Brynjolf, who appeared taken aback. "It's not something I'm used to." "Well, if it's debts you need settling, that's your own business, I'm afraid. We look out for each other in the Guild, but we pay our own ways." Hyron waited, then shook his head, silver eyes latched to the other. Brynjolf relaxed only momentarily, before leaning closer, intrigued. "…Oh, lad," he grinned now, a waggle of his brow catching Hyron off-guard, "is it perhaps a lady you're in trouble with?" Hyron waited. Shook his head. Brynjolf, this time, cocked his head to the side for a second before it hit him, and he nodded slow, almost sagely. "A man." Hyron nodded. "I see." The silence threw Hyron under the weight of the entire lake, an entire mountain's worth of pressure in his spine, his stomach tying furious knots, a sailor afraid of falling overboard. Before too long could pass, before the moment could fall apart, Brynjolf raked his fingers through his hair and rested his elbows against his knees, leaning forward, something bitter crossing his eyes. "I understand." What?

Hyron removed his hands from his face as the other began to speak, picking his words carefully. "I've had relationships that have gone… Well, for lack of better words to describe it, terribly. But I've also had some lovely ones. Sometimes someone comes along and everything about them tears you open like a ragged purse, reminds you of all the things you once wanted when you were a young man. I don't really chase these sorts of urges, to spill open for people, but…" Neither spoke a while. The noon crept closer to evening. Hyron watched Brynjolf and Brynjolf watched Hyron and before the Altmer could find the words for it, he cradled the other's face in his long, spindly hand, and when Brynjolf pressed his own palm against it, terror seized him that it was to push his hand away and to tell him to leave and to never come back and to forever fade from Brynjolf's memory, but now, no, he did not do that, instead the Nord ran his fingers along Hyron's and seemed to grow closer to him, closer in a way that made Hyron's stomach ache and his chest burn and bleed open with his pulse, so loud he swore the Nord heard it. It was a soft kiss, much softer than the Altmer anticipated. Brynjolf's lips were rough, not unexpected, but warm, and he was so tender with the other, so unexpectedly comforting. Hyron swore he glimpsed the gods a moment there, and he found his arms around Brynjolf's neck, deepening their kiss until he thought he might break his own nose against the other. When Brynjolf pulled away, he laughed, heartfelt and soothing. Worry turned away from Hyron's mind, no longer interested in haunting him, his eyes locked on the Nord. "The night's still young. There's loose coin for the taking, and plenty of room in this bed afterwards." The promise of more tore Hyron open with light, a burning, a brightness that he hadn't felt in so many years. All he could do was nod, and together, the pair departed, off to fill the Guild coffers with gold and their time with each other.

#ldb oc #ldb x brynjolf #brynjolf #tes fic #skyrim fic #tesblr #thieves guild #tes v #my writing #bishop.txt #oc ; hyron aedther #one shot #oc x canon #last dragonborn

[spoonmagister]

A Perfect Ending — The Chaotic Nature of Doing or Not Doing Things

They were all dead. The final spell blast was an exclamation mark to everything that had led to this point. I released my hands from the magick. And then it was all over. To make any kind of sense of it, I need to go forward 3 days, to the day the story will have started. And also ended. Time, as I have come to know it, is convoluted.

Larrius Varro, the Legion Champion at Moonmoth Legion Fort, was telling me a little story. For a Legion simpleton, his speech was laden with cryptic language, heavy-handed as it was. It was a story of corruption. Of a bad magistrate (I am told this magistrate does not exist, and I harbor no surprise at this revelation). Of bad people — a scout, a pawnbroker, a savant, a thief, and a smith. Of the inability of the law to combat these forces. Of the possibility of my taking action, and also my taking no action. Of the prayer for a bloodbath. Of the open-ended nature of the story which could possibly become VERY closed.

I related to him that I was not interested in the futile designation of good versus evil in a false realm within which good and evil only serve as a distraction. Similarly, I had no interest in those, like Larrius Varro, who restrict their own actions within something as absurd as “Law” — this was merely an excuse for inaction.

“Maybe the story will have a perfect ending,” he said as I headed to the exit. “It isn’t over yet.” He was trying to buy more sand for his hourglass. I wasn’t selling any.

As I teleported back to Tel Uvirith, it occurred to me that Larrius Varro’s story may very well be over, his prayer answered. I dug through the recent documents and pamphlets I had piled onto the desk of Netheles Berom, my personal librarian. Beneath a collection of mysteriously acquired Writs of Execution, was a copy of a two-day-old edition of The Ebonheart Bellman — a periodical of note. After briefly confirming its contents, I had Netheles copy it and sent a messenger to personally deliver it to Varro. Attached to the periodical was a note, which read simply: “The bad people are all good people now. Possibly.”

FIVE DEAD FOLLOWING CARNAGE AND CONFUSION AT BALMORA COUNCIL CLUB A high-ranking Telvanni was arrested following a bloodbath at the Balmora Council Club. Witnesses say the conflict arose over the alleged theft of one (1) silver spoon. The Telvanni, an Altmer, was released shortly after her capture. Solea Nuccusius, Fort Moonmoth Legion Guard, could not be reached for comment. The Telvanni Altmer, due to potent and constant Illusion magicks, could not be reached or identified. The names of the victims, all dunmer, are as follows: Vadusa Sathryon — scout Marasa Aren — pawnbroker Madrale Thirith — thief Sovor Trandrel — savant Thanelen Velas — smith

#gaming #morrowind #house telvanni #the elder scrolls #fanfiction #imperial legion #elder scrolls

[isamajor]



Whump drabbles : Nebarra

I – Rescue

The dragon's breath had burned everything: horses, carts, merchants and their merchandise. Only the mercenary hired to escort the caravan had survived, owing his life to his reflexes as a former soldier. However, his legs had been burned and he could no longer move. Attracted by the smell of cooked meat, a black sabrecat approached dangerously close to him. He couldn't run away.

Suddenly, an arrow pierced the eye of the beast which collapsed net. The mercenary looked at who had just recued him: a disparate group made up of a red-haired Bosmer, a scrawny Imperial and a warrior in iron armor. (105)

•

II - Wound Cleaning

Nebarra gritted his teeth as Taliesin poured the stinging liquid over his wound. The searing pain of the act made him curse and clench his fists. The smell of strong alcohold filled the air, mingling with the heavy scent of blood.

"It's a shame to waste such good alcohol in this way. You would have let me drink it, I would have forgotten my pain."

Taliesin carefully cleaned the deep gash that marked Nebarra's arm. With each pass of the soaked cloth, Nebarra flinched, his body instinctively tensing in discomfort. He glared at Taliesin, who replied with a jaded sigh. (102)

•

III - Bleeding Out

Nebarra stumbled, his hand clutching the wound on his side. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his moonstone armor. The pain was unbearable, radiating through his body like a relentless fire. He could feel his strength waning, his vision blurring. A cold sweat coated his forehead under his golden helmet, coating his long blonde locks to his face. Bleeding out, his thoughts flickered to loved ones left behind, in this small isolated farm on Auridon. Nebarra gritted his teeth. Even though he knew that this was the kind of end that awaited him, he didn't want to believe it. (100)

•

IV – Secrets

His "name" was just an alias. Nebarra. It was an insult, even. And it was better that way. May his identity remain a secret. May his very face remain secret, hidden behind this golden helmet with its narrow visor. So much the better if they thought he was dead in that bloody war, decades ago. At least his family would be spared the dishonor and punishment reserved to deserters. Even though it made his heart ache every time his thoughts took him to the countryside of Auridon, dreaming foolishly he could perhaps, one day, come back and reunite with his family. (101)

•

V – « Let's get you cleaned up, »

The fight had been particularly brutal and bloody. Nebarra stood there, frozen, the Moonstone sheen of his armor covered in blood, towering high above the corpse of a young Altmer woman, a conjurer. He was shaking. Blood dripped from his helmet, as if a spray of blood had seeped through the narrow visor.

After long minutes watching him, Xelzaz dared to come closer and put his hand on the elf's shoulder.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

Nebarra shoved him away curtly.

"Alone. Leave. Me. Alone. I don't need you to bathe me, or anyone." (97)

•

VI - Nightmares

He was paralyzed. Lying on the ground, unable to move, among egg sacs and corpses wrapped in spiderwebs. The big frostbite spider began to crawl on his body, and Nebarra felt its legs on him and even trying to remove his helmet. Then, the spider began to talk.

« I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver - your hands only. »

Somehow, the Altmer could once again move and he tried to run away from the courier-spider but the latter would catch him up.

Nebarra woke up, shaking and panting, curled into a ball into his bedroll. It was a nightmare. (105)

•

VII – Dehydradation

The sun in the Alik'r desert was harsh and biting. Everything felt dry. His skin, his eyes, his tongue. He would have kill for a few drops of water. Nebarra felt dizzy walking under the sun, in the sand and rocks of the desert. If he stopped, he died. Lots of his comrades have already died. He felt his heart pounding faster, its beating ringing in his ears. His head hurted, his limbs hurted, even swallowing was hurting his throat. But he had to move forward. A step, then another one. The thirst was haunting. It was his only thought. (101)

•

VIII - Bad Coping Mechanisms

Drink to forget. This bloody face with an arrow stuck through it. And the other horrors of war. The atrocities that he himself committed. Nebarra reeked of alcohol, was confused in words, in memories. Xelzaz thought it was almost some kind of suicide, at this level. Snatching a bottle of Colovian brandy from his hands, Nebarra sharply retorted that he needed it. That it was for him only to kill two birds with one stone. And in the watery eyes of the elf seen through his helmet, you could see how much the war had affected him, more than he cared to admit. (103)

•

IX – Insomnia

It was yet far from the first time, but insomnia was a  pain in the ass to deal with.  It seemed like whenever Nebarra was ready to get some well earned rest, his mind exploded with thoughts, and old fears. His body got unexplicable restlessness, preventing him to stay still and fall asleep. After turning and turning over in his bedroll for quite a time, Nebarra finally stood up. A bottle of Alto wine will surely do the trick and numb his mind enough to get some sleep. The Mer grinded his teeth thinking of his headache the next day. No pain, no gain... (104)

•

X – Forced to Watch

Nebarra and Telmiltarion ventured into Markarth's market, in search for provisions, unaware of the looming danger. Guards working for the Silver-Blood family emerged from the shadows, cornering them in a narrow alley. Quickly, Telmiltarion found himself disarmed and restrained by a bunch of men in green armor. Other guards tore off Nebarra's helmet, exposing his defiant expression and youthful face.

"Harmless as bunnies, eh?" one guard sneered, landing a vicious blow on Nebarra's cheek.

Others joined in, pummeling Nebarra with blows. Telmiltarion's heart pounded as he fought against his restraints, desperate to help him. He could do nothing but watch. (105)

•

XI – Grief

Nebarra stood by the edge of the river, in front of a small wild rosebush. The sight of those flowers weighed on his heart. The memory of her bright smile and playful laughter haunted his thoughts. Her life cut short, an arrow to the head during the war. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white into his gauntelets, and let out a shaky breath. The pain of grief and the horrors of the war consumed him, leaving him feeling hollow and broken. He deserted, drowned his sorrows in alcohol, had known other girls to forget her face, in vain. (100)

•

XII – Alcohol

The bottle of Alto wine passed silently from one to the other. In the midst of the tranquility of the place, under teh stars, neither of them managed to find sleep. So there was alcohol. To forget the horrors of the past that jumped out at them as soon as their eyes closed. Nebarra grimaced. It wasn't strong enough for him. Taliesin cracked a smile. Of all their companions, Nebarra was ultimately the only one who could understand him. He too was haunted by the war. The mercenary often verbalized it, like a litany of the horrors he had seen and experienced. (103)

•

XIII – Rope & Water Inhalation

The rope was binding his wrists and ankles tightly. Panic gripped the Mer's chest as his captors threw him into in a skiff that was already taking on water. Nebarra watched their boat move away. The water rose rapidly in the frail boat weighed down by his own weight. He wiggled like a worm trying to free himself from his bonds as the water was already tickling his cheeks. Every move took effort and soon the water covered his mouth and nose. He sucked in water. Coughed violently. Tried to keep his head above water while trying to loosen the ropes that held him. (105)

#skyrim #skyrim custom followers #nebarra #whump #whump drabble #depictions of violence and pain