#marence

[wouldntyoulichentoknow]

my secret Santa piece for @eleayres! happy holidays from the College - don't forget to keep up with your studies 😎

thanks to @scorchedcandy for hosting this event!!

#tessecretsanta2023 #Elder Scrolls #Skyrim #cracks knuckles. time to tag everyone ahaha here we go #Drevis Neloren #Mirabelle Ervine #Savos Aren #Colette Marence #J'zargo #Onmund #Brelyna Maryon #Phinis Gestor #(+ assorted other students) #Fanart

[thana-topsy]

A short comic based on the ACTUAL in-game dialogue between Colette and Urag that was so cringe I had to get it out of my brain. Thanks to @kookaburra1701 for pointing it out and cursing me with this.

Featuring Enthir being a menace.

#topsy draws #skyrim fanart #elder scrolls #skyrim #girl not ‘green-skinned’ 😭 #Bethesda writing at its best #orc #Orsimer #Bosmer #Breton #tesblr #college of winterhold #urag gro shub #colette marence #Enthir #skyrim comic

[atopvisenyashill]

A timeline of the ruling princes and princesses of Dorne from Meria Martell’s death to the formal union of Dorne and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in 187 AC.

Anything marked with a * means it’s a canon date. The rest are speculation and a lot of math on my part. I also made up the names for a few characters as well! Also rip the quality on this but when you click it, it looks better.

More explanation under the cut.

Where I ran into most trouble in trying to figure out this timeline when we have not nearly as much information as we do about literally every other major Great House of Westeros, is the line from Morion the Mad to Qoren Martell. There’s several quick changes in princes during that time and we don’t even know what their relation is to one another in several instances. So I tried working out the timeline in a few different ways - I tried it with Mara Martell, Morion’s heir, as his very young daughter, as a twin sister, as a younger sister, and I finally settled on her being his much older aunt as making the most sense.

I think it makes the most sense because Morion is considered young and yet his father was Prince for a very long time; it doesn’t make sense that a ruling prince would wait so long to have an heir unless in a parallel to Jaehaerys’ later issue, several of his heirs die and leave the line of succession a bit uncertain. So I concluded that Morion’s father, who I named Voren, had several older children that died, likely during the Vulture King’s first war (we know it’s suspected Deria was funding him) so when Voren died, the throne went to his reckless, dumb ass youngest son, Morion. With Morion dying without any children, the throne passes next to Deria’s second child, Mara, and the Nymeros Martell line descends from them. This also makes sense because in canon, Morion was angry that his father didn’t send soldiers to kick the Iron Throne out of the Dornish Marches during Lord Rogar’s War; if Voren had children that had died in a previous conflict, it would make sense that he’d hesitate to get involved again.

Qoren was also a bit tricky. He had to be old enough to fight in the Stepstones War against Daemon, but young enough to not be married yet and be considered a potential match for Rhaenyra two years later. After a lot of wondering how in the hell I make that work, I finally figured - again, similar to Cregan Stark and Jaeherys, that there was a surplus of heirs at this time. Mara would have come into her throne already old with children and grandchildren, and her heir would come into the throne also already old, same as Meria/Nymor/Deria. Makes sense that the prince before Qoren was therefore a grandfather or great-grandfather, and that Qoren’s father never took the Sunspear Throne.

I stopped at the unification of the Seven Kingdoms simply because we get absolutely no information on what was going on in Dorne until Doran’s mother. Apparently, Dorne was real quiet during the Blackfyre Rebellions, hah.

And as for names...

Voren - we have several instances of Dornishmen with names that end in the -en sound. Doran, Oberyn, Llewyn, Yoren, etc. It seems like a common naming quirk, similar to the Northerners being really fond of -on and -ard endings. I thought Voren sounded the most like a real name.

Ellario - We have Elia and Ellaria so I figured there should be a male version of the name. I didn’t want to use Elio, so Ellario was born.

#valyriansource #valyrianscrolls #house martell #house nymeros martell #getting on my soap box #dorne #rani graphics #qoren martell #mara martell #morion the mad #deria martell #meria martell #nymor martell #maron martell #myriah martell #marence martell #qyle martell #aliandra nymeros martell #maron nymeros martell #marence nymeros martell #qyle nymeros martell #aliandra martell #mara nymeros martell #meria nymeros martell #deria nymeros martell #nymor nymeros martell #fuck i think that's everyone

[ehlnofay]

secret santa for @everybodyknows-everybodydies part ii !!! ft. all the canon sapphics you'll find about the college. all of them are in the game. you will find them all if you look hard enough

(I drew the first picture and I thought Well. I wanted to draw how I picture the characters from the college and I haven't done mirabelle and faralda yet. might want to doodle those. and then I did and thought I might do more. so I did)

#it's all very logical of me #I feel like kharish didn't turn out quite right... her hair is a bit more black than intended and her jaw looks a bit off to me #Oh Well. I can try again at another time!!! #don't love colette's clothes either. will probably redraw those sometime #the elder scrolls #skyrim #fay draws #my art #college of winterhold #tesblr #tes #colette marence #mirabelle ervine #faralda #kharish gra-shatul #(she's a canon character in the game. you cannot convince me otherwise) #tessecretsanta2023

[hvarra]

today is my 19th birthday and i decided to draw all members of College of Winterhold! вот они слева направо

#tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #college of winterhold #savos aren #mirabelle ervine #tolfdir #faralda #enthir #drevis neloren #phinis gestor #colette marence #sergius turrianus #arniel gane #nirya #urag gro shub #brelyna maryon #j'zargo #onmund

[jiubilant]

cw: brief blood mention, horror elements

By the time Colette Marence circles back to his lightless, airless room, the new Archmage of Winterhold has ransacked it.

“Ah,” he rasps with brittle brightness. “Good. Help me with this.”

He’s levering the chest of drawers in the corner—which could very well crush him, thinks a staring Colette, if it wobbles the wrong way—away from the wall with that stupid staff. He’s already upended the bed. It lays in the middle of the room like an overturned beetle, legs in the air; in the bedclothes, trampled and kicked across Colette’s fine, clean floor, sits the flask still filled with his sleeping-draught.

Her colleagues can accuse the man, Colette thinks with exhausted indignation, of spinning a spider’s tale: ghosts, a magic mask, a showdown with the witch-king of buried Bromjunaar. They can accuse him of scheming with Psijics, with Falion and poor Mirabelle, with the Dominion diplomat they’ve dumped into the sea.

But of lacking industry, never.

“Mother’s mercy,” she says with venom, and snaps the door shut behind her. She seldom has the patience to deal with this man, much less this man as a patient—and she has other wounded to tend, and has all night, and will all day tomorrow. “What in the world do you think you’re—”

The Archmage silences her with a sharp wave of the hand. Urag had donated an old tent of a bathrobe, too big, to the cause of clothing him in something clean; dressed in that and bandages, his face haloed all about with filthy hair, the man looks like Galerion’s ghost.

“How does one kill”—he plants his good foot against the wall and, with a rigid smile, heaves his makeshift lever like an oar—“what’s already dead?”

He’s been cracking strained jokes since they peeled him, a few hours ago, from the Hall of the Elements’ floor. Some people are like that when they’ve had a shock, Colette reminds herself, and Ancano had probably given him several.

“I don’t know,” she says virtuously. “How?”

“You don’t know?” The Archmage looks at her over his shoulder, surprised. “You’re Mistress of Restoration—”

The chest of drawers crashes to the floor like a calving glacier. Colette’s hand flies to her mouth. In the incredible silence that follows, the Archmage stands immobile, ears pricked and listening, his face as full of shadows as the corner of the room now bared to air.

“Suppose it rode in on my cloak,” he says, and laughs: a high, quivery laugh, all wrong. “All the way from Bromjunaar. Clingy. Buy a man a drink, first—a little light, please, dear heart.”

He’s talking, Colette realizes with terrible pity, to the staff. He cups it as if shielding a flame. An infant star sizzles to life at its tip, cradled in his palm—then shivers, exhausted, and sputters out.

“That’s all right,” the Archmage murmurs, as if to a child. “You’ve done plenty.”

He props the old butter-churner on the doorjamb and, for reasons unfathomable, picks up one of his boots instead. That does it.

“They’ve put such blather in your head,” Colette snaps, as though it’s his fault. She strides to him and snatches his elbow, steering him back to the storm-tossed bed; at a glare from her, it rights itself and skids sheepishly back against the wall. “Archmage just because you fetched that stick. Well, when I was a girl, I had a terrier—”

The Archmage trails after her, obliging as a terrier himself, though he keeps twisting around. He stares with dreadful resolve at the darkest corner of the room, behind the splintered chest. “Lettie, hush a moment—”

“Sit,” Colette jabs back, ignoring him, “so I can see to your side”—which he’s reopened with his redecorating, she thinks, scowling at the rusty stain spreading across his bandages—“and tell the truth, while I’m at it, about where you’ve been all this—”

The Archmage reaches for her arm. Then he hesitates, thinking, no doubt, what she is thinking: whatever’s caked under his fingernails should not encounter her sleeve.

“Lettie,” he says, his face terrible and calm. Ever his own tyrant, Colette thinks. Only the tremor in his hand, hovering over her wrist like a suspended spider, gives him away. “Aren’t we friends?”

He’s come back a stranger, this man Colette’s quarreled with all year. The skin of his face is stretched taut over the bones like leather on a scraping-horn—and there are new lines in it, tormented and deep, as if the scraper had been careless with the knife. Colette can almost believe that he’d seen spirits, stepped through time, stolen that stupid stick from a king beneath the earth.

“I suppose,” she says, hoarse, blinking. She hadn’t known it before. But a healer anticipates sudden complications; she clears her throat and rallies, the needle of her voice rising to prick. “Yes. And I’m telling you, Ravila, as your—”

The Archmage’s hand settles, with gentle desperation, on her wrist.

“Be my friend, Lettie,” he says, leaning close enough for her to count the bruises on his throat. She hadn’t noticed them before. “Be”—his eyes skitter around the room, and he swallows—“quiet.”

Colette Marence opens her mouth.

Then she closes it.

Then, in the darkness and the silence, something scrapes.

The Archmage’s hand tightens on Colette’s wrist. She holds her breath and listens. In the perfect silence of their vigil, something in the room moves again: scraping, scuttling, scratching in the corner by the chest of drawers.

A rat, Colette thinks, and takes a breath to berate him. All that for a rat.

Then she sees the look on the Archmage’s face, constricted and close to sickness, and something pricks at her chest. She gives him a meaningful look. He stares at her for a moment, struggling with an uncomprehending smile—then the smile jumps once, twice, like a thread being tugged. He nods tightly. Like reflections of each other, they stalk in predatory synchrony to opposite sides of the fallen chest—

—and Colette, with all the pent-up force of five weeks of disaster, gives her side a tremendous kick.

The thing behind the chest bursts out, scrabbling away from Colette’s foot. The Archmage, with a bark of strangled triumph, pounces with the boot: thunk, thunk. Thunk. Thunk—

“It’s dead,” says Colette, alarmed, and circles the chest to catch his arm. “Ravi, it’s—land’s sakes, Ravi, it’s dead.”

The Archmage, his face a rictus, clears his throat as if trying to dislodge a laugh. He coughs on it, instead. “Let it know, and I will be obliged.”

In the darkness, the thing that had been hiding behind the chest looks like a lump of shadow. It has too many legs to be a rat. Colette bends, with a mixture of revulsion and real worry, to inspect the corpse. “I thought you liked spiders—”

She stares. Smashed at their feet lays the crushed carcass of a hand, severed at the wrist, its skin sloughing from the bones like burnt leather.

#skyrim #college of winterhold #microfic #colette marence #oc tag #ravi

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Colette Marence: How old do you think I am?

J'Zargo: How old is Galerion the Mystic?

#colette marence #j'zargo #vanus galerion #college of winterhold #nerevar queue and star #incorrect quotes #incorrect elder scrolls #incorrect skyrim quotes #tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #source: bob's burgers

[ghoulsbeard]

At noonday the College common is packed with hungry young prentices, a handful of traders, journeymen and masters and an envoy from the jarl having her lunch. Wispy clouds flit overhead on a biting steady wind. No sign of any Synod stragglers listening in— or Thalmor robes.

“I understand the budget is stretched thin,” Colette says, as usual, with an eye on the envoy, but then— she fidgets with her scarf in a little self-conscious gesture, and studiously avoids Mirabelle’s eyes, as she has not done before. “In my younger years I served as scribe to a shipping clerk. I wouldn’t deign to pen your letters, of course, Master Wizard; but I have a good eye for copying, and a clear hand.”

From Tolfdir, gently: “Terrible on the back, you know. Sleeping in that dreadful desk chair.”

Mirabelle steps aside for a string of chattering teenagers hauling armfuls of books and spellery supplies. “…I will consider that, thank you, Colette.” She is surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. “But to business, while I have you both. There is still the matter of Mzulft.”

“Dear me,” says Tolfdir.

Colette frowns. “Plinius and his set are two days gone.”

“Loria asked after them the other day. She’s convinced— that is, the Augur, the orb, this old staff they’re all determined to unearth.” She glances round again for Ancano and doesn’t find him. “I don’t believe in coincidence. And I won’t have them pin our students in the middle of their plans. We must be ready for trouble.”

“The Archmage,” Colette begins, and trails away. “…Yes, of course. Whatever is needed.”

“I don’t like any of it,” Tolfdir agrees. “The scroll and Saarthal have been trouble enough.”

Mirabelle drops her voice. “If this staff of Magnus should come to our halls— ”

“Master Wizard,” Colette cuts in primly. “You have a visitor.”

Mirabelle turns; at her elbow, Urag’s nervous young assistant clears her throat. It’s the first time Mirabelle has seen her dressed in College colors. The faded sash and mantle are both a touch too large.

She smiles. “Good afternoon.”

The poor young woman trembles all over.

“Ervine!” Arniel Gane appears as if unhelpfully conjured, harried and out of temper, storming her direction from the Hall of Attainment.

“I, um,” says Tsona-Vos. Her frills flutter. “Ah, never mind— I can see you’re very busy…”

“You may return during office hours,” Colette intones, scowling Arniel’s direction.

“I did,” Tsona-Vos says, miserably, and then as Mirabelle watches she lashes her tail and draws herself up. “Master Wizard, I— I’ve made you something— and Nirya said it was well done.”

She can feel Tolfdir raising his eyebrows.

“By her stars!” murmurs Colette.

The gift is a bronze pendant, about the size of a standard Imperial coin, thick and dark and sorceled from heart to cool circumference in a sternly woven shielding charm. It’s her policy to scrutinize magical gifts, but the craft involved is confident; and many of her students have been frightened since the Augur spoke. She had no idea Tsona-Vos was studying enchantment.

“How thoughtful,” Mirabelle observes. “This is fine work.”

Tsona-Vos gapes for a moment, then startles to attention and awkwardly clasps her hands at her back with a fraction of Urag’s gravity. “Er, yes. I mean—! Thank you, Master Wizard! I…”

“Mistress Ervine,” Arniel yowls as he advances from behind a group of gossiping journeymen.

Tolfdir touches her shoulder. “Alterationist at thirty paces.”

“I’ll put it on right now,” Mirabelle decides, and somehow Tsona-Vos’ huge stunned eyes seem to widen even further. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” cries Tsona-Vos, rambling her gratitude, and waves with both hands when Mirabelle bids her good day. At the gatehouse Faralda and a fellow in a sealskin coat have gotten into some loud disagreement with Enthir, swanning about half-frozen in his dressing gown. Mirabelle tucks the gift beneath her collar, with a private grimace for the rough twine it hangs on.

“If this staff of Magnus should come to us, we’ll have more to contend with than the Synod.”

“Perhaps the Augur has been misinterpreted,” Colette suggests under her breath.

“Just so,” Tolfdir agrees, turning to wave at Onmund and Brelyna. “And it will take them a week to return from Mzulft, a week at least. In the meantime I’d like another look round Hall of the Elements— if you don’t mind, Mirabelle.”

“Well,” Mirabelle begins, sharply, but then Gane is upon her all afrost. At the edge of the crowd, Ancano meets her gaze and smiles.

——————

There was no time or sense to any of it. Later it came back out of order: Ancano’s shadowed face in the screaming light of the Eye— the sucking gasp at the center of her chest where something woke— an airless shattering bright tide of will— the wave of magic risen to his hand. She thought she remembered Faralda carrying an apprentice under each arm. She knew Tolfdir lingered at the doors, even without seeing him actually do it; nothing and no one could persuade him to leave her behind, despite being ordered out with the rest. The blast itself never returned except in certain dreams.

She had a dim idea of being thrown, hard; then Tolfdir was shaking her by the shoulders, where she was flat on her back instead of her feet, bruisy-headed, piled like a sack of fish against the cold chamber wall. “Not like this, no, Wolf-mother, please not like this, please, please— Mirabelle. Please, Mirabelle. Can you hear me?”

She moved her tongue around a mouth of blood and magic ash. “Yes.” The air blazed pale terrible blue. Her eyes stung. For a moment Savos hung over her, concerned or confused; she blinked hard and he was gone.

“Can you get to your feet? Take my hand. In her claws, Mirabelle, I can’t believe you— I thought— ” his voice shook. “I feared…” He shut his eyes, smiling, and shook his head. By the Eye’s wall of endless light he looked old as the cliffs. “I’ll be grateful for your luck as long as I live.”

“I don’t understand it either,” Mirabelle told him, lowly. Tolfdir’s face shuddered beneath his crying. “I felt every ward drain to the marrow.”

From a groggy distance she realized her hand was pulsing with hurt. She forced it off her chest and pried each of the stiff fingers open. Clenched there in her fist: Tsona-Vos’s charm, shattered into six blood-slick pieces, where the last of Ancano’s spell had found its mark.

#microfic #mirabelle ervine #colette marence #tolfdir #tsona vos

[libartz]

They despise each other and eventually fight to the death but this screenshot looks like they're either dating or chaperoning a field trip

#I mean the altmers #in case that wasn’t clear #the fight was epic in my head #like something out of avengers #skyrim screenshots #perlas #ancano #colette marence #drevis neloren #j'zargo #brelyna maryon #college of winterhold #ancient screenshot #he was like level 15

[wouldntyoulichentoknow]

narrator: the door was meant to be pulled from this side, not pushed, which would only become apparent after a truly painful series of door-related puns.

#Elder Scrolls #Skyrim #Kharish gra-Shatul #Colette Marence #scribble comic #someone comes through from the other side and Kharish is like WH. HOW DID YOU OPEN IT. #'...I just pushed?' 'I'VE BEEN PUSHING - ...oh.' #don't ask about the cropping posting more silly things unfortunately does not mean sizing them symmetrically #sorry :(

[rosette-dragonborn]

Rosette collected herself and stood on shaky feet. "I must go to Labyrinthian."

Colette looked up, her eyes wide. "But, you mustn't! Your arm is broken!"

"I must! Or there is no limit to what Ancano will do. Savos entrusted this to me."

"Then - then you should not go alone! Perhaps some of the others teachers would go with you. I would, but... well I'm afraid my offensive skills are not on par with my restoration…"

"Oh, but Colette," said Rosette with a slight grin. "Restoration is a perfectly valid school of magic."

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #college of winterhold #colette marence #tes 5 #skyrim fanfic #writing fragment #oc:rosette

[atopvisenyashill]

The Ruling Princes and Princesses of Dorne

Leaders During the Unification with the Iron Throne

Aliandra Nymeros Martell - Nora Attal

Qyle Nymeros Martell - Marwan Kenzari

there’s two potential candidates for who the prince of sunspear was during daeron i’s war so I included both of them because it made the number even.

Qyle, Aliandra’s younger brother, is one of those candidates, because we don’t know if Aliandra ever had children

Qyle would have been a bit older by the submission of sunspear which is why I went with Marwain Kenzari

Marence Nymeros Martell - Rayane Allali

Elio and Linda give Maron and Myriah’s father the name “Marence” in the game Blood of Dragons.

It’s only semi canonical though and it should be noted that we don’t know how he’s related to Aliandra.

More on all that in my “who the hell is maron and myriah’s father” meta.

If Marence is Aliandra (or Qyle)’s son, he likely would have been a bit young when Daeron’s war starts so I went with a younger face for him

Maron Nymeros Martell - Tahar Rahim

Maelor Nymeros Martell - Fu'ad Aït Aattou

I specifically looked for a mixed model for this one, and Fu’ad is French and Moroccan.

Now, obviously Maelor is a Valyrian name, but it’s close to a Dornish one as well - Mallor.

I thought, given how much Maron is said to love Daenerys as well as the story Doran tells of Daenerys teaching her son how to rule, that Daenerys had a heavy hand in raising him and perhaps in naming him as well, something virtually no other lady has control over in the series

Hence, Maelor - it sounds like Baelor, it’s a less common Valyrian name, but it sounds Dornish enough as well. Kind of a meeting of both cultures, just like their son would be. 

Loreza Nymeros Martell - Leila Bekhti. 

This meta here lays out why Loreza is likely her name but to sum up:

Oberyn is clearly trying to reunite his family through the names of his children with Ellaria. Elia, Obella for himself, Doreah for Doran, and Loreza probably for his mother.

Doran Nymeros Martell - Alexander Siddig

Can you believe they wasted the perfect casting choice on that nonsense?

Arianne Nymeros Martell - May Elghety

#valyrianscrolls #valyriansource #asoiafedit #a song of ice and fire #house martell #house nymeros martell #maron martell #doran martell #arianne martell #loreza martell #loreza nymeros martell #aliandra martell #marence martell #arianne nymeros martell #doran nymeros martell #aliandra nymeros martell #maron nymeros martell #rani graphics #i think nora and rayanne and tahar and fu'ad look fairly alike and i'm proud of myself for those #i actually also think the loreza/doran/arianne one is good too. this one was a lot easier for fancasts i think i just had a clearer idea #of what i wanted them all to look like. obviously bc these martells are pretty well fleshed out #even loreza tho she doesn't have a name.

[sheirukitriesfandom]

Thinking about Savos' relationship with Colette.

They're both healers and I do think there's a huge amount of respect between them due to both of them understanding how much effort goes into their respective field of study (healing & wards). However, I think on a personal level Colette is a major stress factor for Savos. She probably shows up every other day complaining that someone disrespected the school of restoration when in reality they just looked at her funny. This sucks because Colette legitimately is looked down upon by her colleagues, but Savos is now desensitised to her complaints.

#elder scrolls #skyrim #Savos aren #Colette marence

[clemsfilmdiary]

The Tale of John and Mary / Pohádka o Honzíkovi a Marence (1980, Karel Zeman)

8/15/22

#The Tale of John and Mary #Pohádka o Honzíkovi a Marence #Karel Zeman #animation #Czech #Czechoslovak #80s #family #adventure #fairy tale #shepherds #dwarfs #fairies #forbidden love #bodily transformation #castle #jousting #knights #medieval #swans #shape shifters #fantasy #cutout animation

[hiddenfaithy-arts]

Siulon faces Ancano in a desperate bid to stop him from using the Eye of Magnus to cause further harm.

#elderscrolls #tes #skyrim #oc #siulon #college of winterhold #fanfiction #chapter #update #iona #ancano #magnus #eye of magnus #urag gro shub #colette marence #mirabelle #savos aren #faralda #those three mentioned

[butter-and-too-much-bread]

Colette: This is a graph of the death rate from infectious disease in this province. The heroes of my field have slain one of the Daedric princes. While the heroes of your field gathered in the arctic to create a new one.

#Colette Marence #incorrect skyrim quotes #skyrim incorrect quotes #college of winterhold #the college of winterhold #Skyrim #tes v skyrim