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quinttyz · 2 years

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oh yeah! bit of oc lore hehe

Avarice’s main weapons are a fan (shield-type, an heirloom from her Nord mother which was blessed by Sanguine when they did the dirty ooo) and a dagger (gifted to her by Malacath when she granted death to an old orc who wished for it)

Also I installed the Sinister Seven Vampires mod (because I am a masochist playing on legendary mode so OFC i wanted more challenge) and I thought of her backstory with that mod as: Long ago when Avarice roamed the realms of the Daedra as a wandering demiprince, Molag Bal took a liking to her as she passed by his domain, even wanting to take her as a concubine. She flat out refused him and even spat on his face HAHA. Being the Daedric Prince of domination, this greatly infuriated him. Avarice narrowly escaped his wrath by having Sanguine take her in temporarily but when she was set out on Skyrim, Molag Bal sent out his strongest vampires to hunt her down. Kaidan and Rumarin still doesn’t know her true nature so they are VERY MUCH CONFUSED WHENEVER ASSASSINS JUST DISMANTLE EVERYTHING AND TRY TO KILL THEM HAHAHA

(like there’s this one assassin duo there in the mod that absolutely hate each other but teamed up to take down Avarice so I headcanoned that the two are madly in love with Molag Bal and she just taunts them by saying ‘’I didn’t even put any effort in and your puny master still fell for me. Try not to disappoint him girls.’’)

also omg the the second and third fight happened at the white phial and windhelm SO WHEN QUINTUS WAS THANKING THE GANG FOR RETRIEVING THE WHITE PHIAL CAN U IMAGINE ME JUMPING OUT OF MY SEAT BECAUSE THE STORE JUST FUCKING EXPLODED HGAUFAERUAEF

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dawns-beauty · 3 months

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Elderly Elves part 2: Neloth

For Neloth, I didn't want to stray too far from his original design: I feel like the hair and beard choice was pretty iconic (though I did end up making his mustache thicker.)

I reshaped his ears and gave him earrings to better reflect his design in Morrowind. I lightened his hair color and darkened and saturated his skin somewhat. Additionally, I tweaked the facesliders that came with Expressive Facegen Morphs to give him a more unique facial structure than Vanilla.

Morrowind Neloth

Elderly Neloth (uses your own regular Dunmer male textures)

Truly Elderly Neloth (uses my customized Dunmer-Elder textures)

Updated planned coverage list:

Nurelion (DONE)

Neloth (DONE)

Devenin, Bosmer in Solitude

Runil, Altmer priest of Arkay in Falkreath

Calcelmo, Altmer court wizard in Markarth (nephew coverage for consistency will be an optional module)

Nelacar, Altmer in Winterhold

Savos Aren, Dumer Archmage at Winterhold (with special ritual scar texture)

Children of the Pariah (orc NPC overhaul) addon: all the Wise Women, the Old Orc, and Urag

#skyrim #skyrim mods #elderly elves #denizens of the north #my tamriel now #neloth

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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday ♥

a HUGE thank you to @dirty-bosmer @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @skyrim-forever and @umbracirrus for tagging me this week!! i appreciate it so dearly, and i hope everyone's having a good wednesday. <3

i'm tagging @aphocryphas @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @totally-not-deacon and @thana-topsy !! and of course, anyone who wants to do this and i didn't directly tag, please feel free to say i tagged you! no pressure as always, can't wait to see what you're all working on!

this week, i have two bits to share. one's from Cycle of the Serpent, chapter 18, and the other is a one-shot i'm slowly piecing together about athenath's mother, Lorasephona, and how she met their family friends. i like working on backstory stuff, and i hope you'll all appreciate it, as well!

Cycle of the Serpent - Chapter 18

Wind raked its strong fingers through the plains. He tugged his cowl over his head to escape the sudden chill. The scent of wood-smoke from chimneys perfumed the air, stirring up against the indigo skies. Houses lined one district of Whiterun, businesses in another. A world of grids and winding streets atop rolling hills, with Dragonsreach perched high above it all, the ground it crested like the great claw of one of those heinous beasts. All of it stuck to him, the images of the houses and trees, the stones and the wood posts, the sound of night birds and insects in their natural chorus. At one time, he'd been adrift in the world. At one time, he'd known nothing but long roads and surface-level observations of towns, and here, he became keenly reminded of that life. After all, it was one he'd sunk back into before he'd crossed into Skyrim.

Briefly, he allowed his memories to play out before his eyes as he walked cautiously through the Whiterun streets. He'd made a good living in his travels, selling wares, healing the sick, even tending to ailing animals when called upon to do so. While he'd never called himself a physick, some did. Saving a few lives would do that to a man's reputation.

As he gazed out on the city, passing through narrow streets, his expectations of Skyrim unwound from his tight hand. Did he truly expect Nurelion to drop everything and take him on as an apprentice? He scoffed at it now. Still, it was worth a shot. He did not intend to give up, quite the opposite. But for now, just for now, a larger purpose presented itself in the wingspan of a beast and the path up a mountain.

Purpose. Lives needed no purpose to exist. He'd shake his head and deny it all he wanted, but in the back of the Bosmer's mind, the longing for it remained. To be known, to have his name scrawled across academic papers and his work lauded far and wide, an alchemist who did things none else could do, who created potions none else could make, who had lived and worked with purpose.

He didn't think his life would ever involve dragons, but c'est la vie.

Guards patrolled long into the night, bearing small torches whose flames starved for more oil. One passed him as he approached the temple of Kynareth, turning his metal face to Emeros. He only stopped momentarily to take a look at the Mer, then muttered an apology upon realizing this was one of the Thanes, and marched off into the dark. Emeros wondered what had passed through his mind.

He figured he didn't want to know.

With trepidation carrying his steps, he approached the Gildergreen. The tree startled him in its stark contrast to the land; where the city lived, breathed, and buzzed, this tree was cold, a husk, discarded shell. He scanned the upper branches, peering into the dark, the torches of passing guards giving him enough illumination to glimpse the wooden carcass before him, the warping in the branches, the angles and jutting shards of the once-living center of Whiterun. He found himself on a bench, allowing the night air to take hold of him. He tugged at his cowl like a shield against the withering breeze, a reflection of the week's past events crawling up from the streams of his consciousness. A week, that's all it had been? Disbelief rattled against him, but he shouldered it anyways.

He'd heard whispers of the Civil War. He had only heeded them as rumors, something that would surely not affect him. If he made it to Windhelm, to the White Phial, he would be so engrossed in work and conversations with Nurelion that the war wouldn't brandish a single thought to his neck. He'd been crossing the border, right before dawn, the thick of night's last breath still coating layers of pink against the horizon. He could remember a struggle, words exchanged, something murky in his memory, people in blue and silver mixed frantically with red and brown armor.

Then, he'd woken up in a cart with two other elves, and quite a few Nords.

The shock of the bindings set his nerves alight and he struggled against the tight-bound leather, but Wyndrelis - apathy coating his features, defeat, even - explained that it was no use, that he had already tried. Together, an idea formed, and they attempted to pry the bindings off one another. An Imperial soldier leading another cart observed them carefully, and they realized with dread pitting their stomachs that this was no use.

Then, Athenath, the wide-eyed Altmer awoke. Last to be tossed on the carts. Last to struggle. His fearful gaze grasped each face for a sign of help, from himself to Wyndrelis to Ralof to Lokir. All of these men were certain that they were going to die. Emeros swallowed the fear. He would go to the axe with dignity. Aldmeri pride, perhaps, stemming from his father.

Of course, they wouldn't make it that far. And with their former captor now a possible ally, they'd promised to warn of the dragon, and made their careful way to Whiterun.

Emeros rested his chin in his hands, watching the dim puff of torchlight and smoke, light passing over the houses, Nord architecture steadfast and hardy, stubborn and proud, much like the people inhabiting each home. He thought back on his companions. Wyndrelis, a mage with strange eyes and a calm demeanor. Athenath, a bard with a bright, silvery laugh and a bitter temper.

And of himself? There wasn't much to tell.

One-shot (unnamed atm)

The night threatened to clasp its hard fingers around her. As she was about to give up any chance of finding another living soul in these woods, a torch landed from a tree above her, plotting down into grasses below. She closed her eyes, the image of her surroundings in flames springing to her mind, but when she opened them, she saw nothing but the torch and it's decisively controlled flickering.

"What brings you here, elf?" Came a voice, roughened against and deep inside the throat of the speaker. Lorasephona slashed her gaze through the trunks of the trees, but catching nothing, she turned her eyes upwards.

Concealed in the darkness, an Alfiq, black as night, golden eyes narrowed down at her curiously. The Khajiit swished her tail lazily from the branch she rested, comfortable, it seems. Perhaps she'd been waiting for someone, Lorasephona thought as she backed slowly from the torch. She knew better than to try to defend herself from bandits, it did more good to outrun them, and Lorasephona was a very good runner.

"I don't-" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "I don't know, I'm quite-" she didn't know why she was admitting her situation, but the Alfiq raised her chin, inquisitive in her posture. "I'm lost, dreadfully, and-"

The Alfiq woman put up a paw, silencing the elf. "Mhm," she hummed, rising to her feet, slinking down to a fork in the branches where they thickened against the body of the tree, hunching down, tail swishing down against the bark. "Ka'taaji thinks, perhaps, you are more lost than you dreamed."

Lorasephona knit her brow. "Was that a threat?"

Swish.

"Only if you make it so."

Swish.

Lorasephona frowned, brow knitting. The Khajiit sighed, and with a controlled motion of her paw, the torch levitated. It found it's way to Lorasephona's hand, nervously outstretched, fingers clasping the handle.

"This one has no ill will for you, but… Wary, perhaps. These are unkind lands, and far from home, one must be prepared for whatever comes their way."

The elf nodded slowly, strings of her blond hair curling around her cheeks. The pallor of her face seemed to alarm the small Alfiq momentarily, golden eyes widening. She wiggled for a moment, cautious of the jump, before leaping down into the grass with an elegance and grace that betrayed her possible upbringing, images of wide, sprawling woods and golden-adorned mages of Elseweyr padding around Lorasephona's thoughts.

"Are you ill, elf?" Ka'taaji asked, tilting her head. Lorasephona paused, knitting her brow.

"What do you mean?"

"If the elf girl is ill, Ka'taaji will take her to Dra'khurra. Simple."

She weighed the options for a moment, but lying felt worse in these circumstances. Biting back the urge to say yes, on the off-chance that these people had food and a spare bed, she closed her eyes and ran her fingers through a stray curl at her cheek.

"No, I'm just… I'm not ill."

Ka'taaji waited, but with Lorasephona's refusal to elaborate, she gave a small shrug. After a moment, she turned, the grass prickling under her paws. "Follow this one, you must be hungry. And take care of that torch, Ka'taaji is using much of her magicka to keep it lit."

So it was magic. Lorasephona, confusion matting her expression, decided not to question the Alfiq, and followed.

#tes fic #skyrim fic #skyrim fanfiction #ficblr #tesblr #tes v #bishop.txt #oc ; athenath #oc ; emeros #my writing #cycle of the serpent #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; ka'taaji #oc ; lorasephona #elder scrolls

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ladytanithia · 3 months

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So what inspired Miranja? Was it a specific Skyrim playthrough or did you come up with her post game?

You opened the proverbial can of worms, my friend! Haha!

Miranja is the product of my own naughty fantasies I started thinking about after I got addicted to Solstheim. I was playing as a male Khajiit at that point, so I abandoned that playthrough and made myself an actual Miranja PC.

She looks similar to me, but she's better-looking. She behaves a lot like I did when I was her age, thinking mostly about sex, being impulsive and living in the moment. She makes thoughtless, selfish mistakes sometimes, but she has a conscience and a loving heart. Being Dragonborn gives her abilities and privileges and notoriety that allow her to do things for people (and sometimes herself) that my poor ass could only dream of doing. She's got lessons to learn and she's growing wiser a little at a time.

The whole thing was meant to be self-indulgent smut when I started, but her story wanted to be more than that, so I turned down the horny a bit and went with the flow.

But seriously, though - what better place to be a slutty Dragonborn than a world where practically any illness or disease can be cured with a potion? (Side thought: what on Nirn could master alchemist Nurelion possibly have died from that he couldn't cure? Sounds like a story idea!)

#skyrim #elder scrolls #tesblr #miranja #fanfic #ao3 #tes #tanithia's asks #slutty dragonborn

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jiubilant · 2 years

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i think that ayo and lydia find the white phial for nurelion. i think they put soup in it

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ehlnofay · 11 months

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19 for the worldbuilding prompts + Torr?

the profound quiet of a small settlement at night

North Eastmarch is freezing cold all over, but it wears different outside the city than within.

Torr would never call Windhelm warm – not even in summer months, no matter how used to it they are – but what little heat it has it clings to with great determination. The walls huddle together, trapping the air so that it’s either still and muggy or a howling wind, like each close-knit house is breathing in tandem. The heat of the people run up and down its streets, blood through its knotted stone veins. The city is alive, an ecosystem unto itself; its snow, dark with footprints, runs sludgy down the roads; a fireplace is always burning somewhere.

Outside of the walls, surrounded by nothing but empty air and snow-laden trees, a slow-moving stream running with barely a burble – it feels dead, in contrast. Silent. Branches reach needle-sharp across the blue-black sky, the ground is gleaming white and undisturbed by anyone else’s footprints, and the nearest fire is the barely visible gleam of the Kynesgrove mining camp, up the hill and through the sporadic spindles of the trees. The breeze ghosts past Torr’s neck and whips the mud-stained snow into a flurry.

In the city, Torr’s comfortable sleeping almost anywhere – as comfortable as they ever get, anyway. Some of the buildings have great gaps under the porch where the snow can’t reach and no-one ever finds them; there’s places in the nooks of the walls, and sheds built into the side of the house that people don’t lock, and Torr knows a few people besides who don’t mind him kipping on their floor every now and again, as long as he doesn’t ask too often. The outside isn’t like that. There’s not many places to go. He’s lurking around Kynesgrove tonight – on his way back from a quick venture out to get some things done that pay better than running errands around the markets – and there aren’t many options. The inn, which he can’t afford – the mine, which would be warm but is very guarded – the miner’s encampment or someone’s house, both of which would most likely result in being chased off. Besides, there’s a performative element to meeting people, especially adults, in strange places, and Torr’s not in the mood to play to strangers. So much of his being is caught up in Windhelm’s grimy alleys, tangled in the hair and fingers of its discarded children; he doesn’t know how to be himself away from it all.

But they don’t have to, seeing as there’s the rickety old sawmill on the edge of a stream feeding into the harbour. It’s not bad, as shelter goes; no walls, so the wind rubs its fingers wraithlike down Torr’s cheeks and tangles them in his hair, but at least there’s a roof. It looks newly thatched, too, the floorboards free of rot, the water-wheel still chugging creakily along. There’s no wood to cut here, all the nearby surrounding trees too scraggy to be worth the bother. The only big ones are part of the grove up on the hill. There’s no point in keeping the mill running, but Torr is glad it is; he watches the distant firelight flickering through the scrub, and listens to the splashing of the wheel. It’s proof that people and the things they make do still exist – if not necessarily here.

It really feels dead, out in the cold, with the leafless trees and the wind that doesn’t even whisper. It always does. It’s a bit discomfiting, which is maybe why Torr doesn’t go on out-of-city endeavours as often as perhaps he could; but really, there’s not work out here enough to make it worth it. There’s always problems with bandits on the road, but Torr’s not a good enough fighter for bounty work; there’s collecting plants and things to sell Nurelion, but that’s easy enough to do on a day trip. (And, really, it’s more for Torr’s own enjoyment, besides. They never even venture far south enough to get to the sulphur pools, which is where the more interesting things grow.)

This trip, though, is an outlier. Unusually efficient. Just a quick job for Niranye, scouting a merchant’s cart on the road – almost definitely for something shady, but that’s not Torr’s business, and it was too much money too easy to turn down. And then – just earlier today, foraging out in the wilderness as best as Torr (a distinctly urban animal) knows how – they’d come across a giant’s corpse, stiff and white as the snow it lay in. Torr’s no master alchemist but they know the value of a cadaver when it comes to brewing alloys and admixtures, so they set to with their blunt-edged dagger and now they’ve got a sack full of what may as well be gold. (Long as it doesn’t start to rot before they can get Nurelion to preserve it, anyway.)

Torr’s going to be rolling in it when they get back to Windhelm. They could use that money for nearly anything – pay off a few things they borrowed, new warm things now that winter’s coming back strong, bedrolls, waterskins. Endless options – which, strangely, is more exciting than it is burdensome.

It’s all the sort of decision that would ordinarily feel life-or-death urgent but right now feels – not small. Not insignificant, not at all, but distant. A choice to be made at another time, by another person.

(Torr’s whole being belongs to Windhelm’s back streets. They’re someone else, away from it all.)

That’s the other thing about leaving the city, spending time in the discomfiting slow-paced ghost-world outside. It’s quiet. Torr sits surrounded by the wind in the trees, the lazy murmur of the stream, the creak of the water-wheel, and nothing else.

He’s been called a worrywart (mostly by Griss in a strop) but to tell the truth he doesn’t think that’s true. Torr doesn’t fuss for the sake of fussing, he just doesn’t like to leave things undone; can’t stop until he finds a solution. Out here, alone, in the empty cold, there are no solutions to find – same old problems back home, he knows, but no steps he can take at this time to right them. That’s never true while he’s in the city, so he can never stop thinking about it, every choice and action accompanied by a buzzing background chorus of everything else he really should be doing – that really should have been done by now – that should never have been left undone this long, what was he thinking? Everything is urgent when it’s doable. But here and now, there’s nothing to do.

So Torr sits hunched on the board floor of the ramshackle watermill, huddled among their heaps of bags and blankets, and thinks of nothing at all.

Not strictly true. They think of supper – haven’t eaten since an apple this morning, except for some snowberries they found around noon, and it’s been a long day. They nabbed some turnips from the garden of the Kynesgrove inn on their way to the mill. They’re fresh, if nothing else – also covered in dirt, so Torr rises reluctantly from their pile of stuff to crouch on the banks of the stream and dip the vegetables in to clean them off. It aches like hell, the frozen water turning their joints to ice – they almost drop the turnip they’re washing, so they scrub it as best they can with the frigid pad of their thumb and whip their hands out of the water soon as they’re able. They stick their fingers in their mouth to warm them back up.

Even after all that time spent warming up their hands, arraying all their belongings back around themself to conserve body heat, the turnips are still cold enough to hurt Torr’s teeth when he bites in. He eats them anyway, relishing a little in the unearthly silence and the aching of his lips and palms. They taste delicious.

With nothing else to do after, the gnawing of his stomach sated, he wraps himself in his shawl and stares up the hill at the camp’s fire until it goes out. The stars wink into brighter being. The wind whistles through the whip-thin branches of the trees. The water-wheel creaks.

Torr sleeps, but he feels like he hears it all – a silent observer, an echo, a beginning – until morning.

#I considered doing something with post-questline torr for this #but it would have been so fucking sad #and I didn't want to write something that was so fucking sad!#I'll post about torr after the horrors eventually but Not Today.#this was also initially supposed to be an exercise in writing something short that focused more on a distinctive atmosphere #than a scene or character study as most of my pieces are.#oops.#snowballed into an absolute monster of a ramble.#maybe sometime I'll use these prompts to write Actually Short pieces with more of a focus on the worldbuilding aspect...#would be good practice. everything I've written lately has been a thousand words minimum.#I could write about my minor characters or npcs with it too... yeah I think I'll do that at some stage #but. anyway. I quite like this piece as a sort of study #I fucking love writing characters who are having a nice time. with just a hint. just a whisper. of the problems #I enjoyed putting in the reference to the alchemical giant's toes especially because that is an allusion no-one but me understands #to a line in one of my very bad very early pieces on torr #it's not well written but I loved that bit because it's such a wonderful microcosm of the way torr is even before the murder cult thing #Yes he's the busiest most hardworking caretaking boy in the world taking trips into the wilderness (comparatively) to feed his family #and Yes his first instinct on seeing a corpse is to cut it up and sell it for parts #(he's done this to human bodies too but only in extremely specific circumstances. the risk of legal repercussions is too great otherwise)#I'll make a post rambling sometime about torr's ethical system because I'm so obsessed with them and their unhinged point of view #Anyway #done rambling #my writing #fay writes #oc tag #torr #the elder srolls #tes #skyrim #tesblr

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drgarrisonandpaul · 2 months

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Skyrim OCs, if you're interested

Might post art of them, dunno

So, in my mind, anything that's a mix between a mer and a human counts as a Breton. It makes loose sense to me, idk

Lamutash The March - The Listener - Nord/Orsimer blood (so a HUGE muscly woman) - Fights with dagger/sword combo - Sneaky in Heavy Armour (somehow) - Business oriented - Exes with Betrid Silver-Blood - Married to Aela The Huntress - Raised as a thief in Markarth and grew morals and honor along the way - Brings thought

Siesse T'irtha - The Prophet of Zenithar - Redguard/Bosmer blood (durable as hell) - Fights two-handed (despite her small, thin stature) - Makes Light Armour look trendy - People oriented - Married and first-loved with Camilla Valerius - Adopted and raised by a Redguard family in Anvil City, is now basically a priestess - Brings relief

Jee Aurlon - The Dragonborn - Altmer/Imperial blood (Magic-ahhh) - Fights alteration/one-handed combo - Makes shabby robes into weapons - Loyalty oriented - Exes with Elenwen - Married to Nurelion - Intended to be a Thalmor but carved her own path - Brings truth

I wanted them to play off each other and be ABLE to work together but like- always be doing their own thing. Always in different cities until they're not.

#skyrim #skyrim oc #drabble #rant #might post art later #dunno #elder scrolls #maybe I can do a QNA with them

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sheirukitriesfandom · 2 years

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Random Nurelion headcanons

Still feeling under the weather so which makes sleeping difficult so here's some random HCs about one of Skyrim's unpopular characters. Enjoy

Nurelion's blunt rudeness/rude bluntness (you decide) knows no boundaries. He says what he thinks whenever he wants no matter the circumstances. You could probably put him in front of any daedric prince or god and he'd start roasting them.

After the civil war broke out, Nurelion was called to the Palace of Kings to be questioned and to swear fealty. He wrote a letter telling Ulfric to get off his lazy ass and come drag him out of his shop himself like a true nord warrior. I earned Nurelion a personal escort courtesy of the Windhelm guard and a night in jail but ultimately, Nurelion got Ulfric's approval—which he promptly "commented" with an eye roll.

He's somewhat famous throughout Tamriel and has even published several works on alchemy.

He's a distant associate of the College of Winterhold despite knowing nothing about magic. The main reasons are the Arcanaeum and Archmage Aren's personal interest in botany and alchemy.

He can't stand traditional nord cuisine and will take any chance to eat something else. Quintus knows this and has imported Imperial food to the White Phial.

Speaking of food, Nurelion continues the pattern of "great alchemist, terrible cook".

Nurelion is financially savvy if not outright stingy. However, the 5 Septims at the end of the quest are not stingyness, but pure spite.

He's extremely guarded when it comes to his emotions and also doesn't quite know how to deal with them. He reacts with snark or anger if someone tries to get through to him. Only to Quintus he reveals some vulnerability once every blue moon.

Despite being proud of his altmeri heritage, Nurelion doesn't care about the other elves in Windhelm and even views most of them with disdain. He views them as lazy, self-pitying and entitled. He built a good life for himself so why can't they?

Because of his job, Nurelion is well respected among civilians and Stormcloak soldiers alike.

He may not know how to show it, but he cares deeply for Quintus does see great potential in him (he also leaves everything he owns to Quintus). God help anyone foolish enough to insult Quintus in front of him—only he's allowed to do that!

Nurelion doesn't suffer from one mysterious super-illness but a variety of smaller age related issues.

He doesn't care for politics; as long as he's left in peace and can continue his search for the White Phial, he doesn't care who's ruling. He does, however, hold a grudge against the Thalmor for keeping any records of the White Phial & Curalmil locked from the public.

He is well-travelled because his search led him all over Tamriel (And got him into serious trouble in Valenwood that he won't talk about. Ever.)

#skyrim #elder scrolls #Nurelion #my headcanons

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juniperberries-canisroot · 1 year

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Every time I do Blood on the Ice, it gets buggier and buggier, to the point that I can't even do it anymore. I'm not looking forward to my new saves going to WindHelm.

Last time it happened, Calixto was inside his MASTER LOCKED house/museum so I couldn't sell him the amulet. Ofc I could just proceed as normal with the quest but then the amulet won't become the strange amulet and it will be stuck in my inventory for all eternity. Also Calixto has been acting up and killing people in broad daylight.

On all new saves after my Stalleo-Io save where I couldn't proceed with the quest and characters who haven't been to WindHelm, I'm avoiding that city and the area surrounding it like the plague. Problem is, even if you don't enter the city and go to Brandy-Mug farm outside, the docks or stables, it still counts as a visit to the city and it makes things more difficult. Plus, if I want to fully complete the White Phial quest, I have to go to the city atleast four times; once to get it, second to bring it back, third to talk to Quintus after he sends his letter and fourth to finally fix it and Nurelion dies in peace. ALSO if I want to do Theives Guild stuff, that's a whole lot more visits to the city, five jobs and one special job.

The graveyard scene is supposed to trigger from 7pm-7am, but it has triggered in the daytime as well so I can't even only go to the city during the day to avoid starting the quest.

PLUS there's also Rise in the East, convince Tolbjorn to give the Argonians better wages, Northern Maiden to Solstheim and back (you can't fast travel to anywhere on Skyrim from Solstheim, it forces you back to the docks of WindHelm), Muiri's DBH contract on the sister, Itchy Scales double distilled skooma quest (he has a habit of not showing up every time I go there, one time I broke into their assemblage and got the quest like that), Shavee's Amulet retrieval, BlackSmiths guy's Queen Freydis' sword, FangTusk bounty, basically alot of quests that involve leaving the city and coming back. I think even going on the docks, going in the city and going back on the docks still counts as each individual visit, so just gettin the Argonians better wages is 3 visits. Not to mention sometimes NPCs won't give me their quests when I talk to them. Octieve San and Noster Eagle-Eye in Solitude won't give me their quests as well as the BlackSmith in WindHelm also won't always give me the sword quest when I first talk to him, the option isn't there. There's also Adanto who wants you to deliver a book to Solitude and he sometimes doesn't give me the quest. Luckily you don't have to come back to him. There are a few quests that can be taken care of inside the city but there are many more that can't.

Even if I condense everything into as minimal visits as possible, Rise in the East and going to Solstheim and back are still gonna fuck me up and put me over the four visits.

I'm doing the quest according to the detailed walk through of UESP to the T, talking to NPCs and retreiving items in the exact order listed in the walkthrou. Tova is still alive (I do the DBH after Blood on the Ice), high elf stable hand lady is still alive, not going to Hjerm until needed, talking to guards and Jorleif, talking to Wulferf the Unliving instead of having him jailed, TRYIN to sell the amulet to Calixto before talkikg to Viola Gordiano, but the game keeps messing shit up for me.

At this point the only real solution is to pick the Imperial side in the war so the guard never has a chance to give me the quest. I'm not sure thou if this will entirely get rid of the quest or if it just 'stunts it', Susanna the Wicked still gets killed, Calixto still locks himself inside his house but no more people die atleast. But now I'll have this permanent quest on my log.

#Skyrim #Elder Scrolls #Elder Scrolls V #tes #tesv #I deleted my Leif save who was going to be a StormCloak #and buy Hjerm cause none of my saves can buy it #never done the war yet #but if I cant even do Blood on the Ice I cant buy Hjerm #I deleted it cause I wanted to redo it #but if I ever do it again he wont be able to live in Hjerm

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crazysodomite · 11 months

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im just like that guy Nurelion from skyrim... Pavel is asleep and dying.

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tirsden · 2 months

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| Chapter: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 |

Ulfric Stormcloak, true High King of Skyrim, is dead. Long live Ulfric!

Yep, the "kill everyone" challenge continues, with Windhelm being the first big city to fall. (I don't count Falkreath which died pretty early-game, since it's small.) I debated on how much wiggle room the challenge has when I picked up Boethiah's quest, since it requires getting someone to follow you... yeah, they technically die shortly thereafter but, hmm.

Meanwhile in Windhelm, Nurelion glitched and wouldn't move after his initial dialogue with his underling, and stayed happily standing while dead too. Then as I was killing off the main tavern, one dude just sat there watching patron after patron mysteriously fall over. I realized he was a hireling, and thought it was pretty fitting he didn't seem to care about the carnage around him. Thus, Stenvar found himself a bit richer for about sixty seconds and I successfully progressed Boethiah's quest to bag ye olde Ebony Mail. I also caught a fare to Solstheim and thanked the captain with an arrow to the everything, because now I can fast-travel between continents and mess up Raven Rock later.

Since kiddos can't be killed even with the code I'm using, I picked up the Dark Brotherhood quest but wasn't sure how far it would get because the courier kinda died ages ago and there appears to only be one courier NPC in the game. Welp, off to Riften, which was a pain in the tush due to Brynjolf being fully invincible with uncanny eyesight, but at some point he glitched into starting the Thieves Guild quest and after forcing me into convo at the tavern, he was killable... as was half his guild but sadly I can't get to the rest of 'em due to the quest-locked cabinet door. But wouldn't ya know... took a nap some time after killing the Dark Brotherhood quest target and boom... transition successful! Next session, we see if I can walk into their lair or not. Sithis knocks, it's time to clean house.

#tirsdenoriginals #skyrim #I killed my two favorite Skyrim characters today #sorry my king #sorry Brynnie

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dawns-beauty · 3 months

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I've scrungled your local alchemist.

Nurelion has always bothered me, he just looks like a regular Altmer when he is supposed to be frail and dying. So I set about changing that with custom clouded eyes, thinning white hair, more gauntness, and a more, uh, complex complexion. Now that's what I call a fella who should stay at home, instead of going on a dangerous quest!

I've got two different versions: Elderly, which uses your default textures, and Truly Elderly, which uses the wrinkly, saggy Tempered Male Skins Elder Race textures, but with the elven brow ridge built into the normal maps.

He will be released in my Elderly Elves modules, whenever I finish them.

I am currently planning on covering:

Devenin, Bosmer in Solitude

Runil, Altmer priest of Arkay in Falkreath

Calcelmo, Altmer court wizard in Markarth (nephew coverage for consistentcy will be an optional module)

Neloth, Dunmer wizard on Solstheim

These elves are all either old in lore or use the old man voice. I will also offer patches for the old people in Children of the Pariah (Yatul, Sharamph, Murbul, Bolar, and the Old Orc.) Any more suggestions?

I ended up making elderly textures for both male and female, all 4 Mer races, so I will also release the ones I don't use as a modder's resource.

#skyrim #skyrim mods #my tamriel now #well damn i didnt mean to post this so early #elderly elves #denizens of skyrim

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amai-no-ura · 4 months

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Skyrim Typology - Windhelm

The worst city in all of Skyrim bars none.

***Only NPCs with enough depth are listed here

Ulfric Stormcloak

ENFJ 8w9 sp/so, Burnt Badger-Lion

He is a pitiful man. He is broken by his less than honorable surrender to Thalmor torturer. He is a gallant warrior and a highly dynamic man who care for people under him but guilt and anger made him into a warmonger he is now. He thinks the Empire abandoned him (who fought for the Empire his entire life) and worse, that they abandoned his people. He is angry at himself for giving into Thalmors manipulation but also at the Empire for failing him again and again. So he weaponizes his rage and construct the entire narrative about Skyrim's independence (which is a sign of high Ni - abstracting away from real event and make them into symbols). His entire narrative and decisions are made with people and emotions. It is all about 'people of Skyrim' which indicates Fe.

Nurelion

ISFP 4w5 sp/sx

This fucker is really annoying. At first he might look vaguely like a grumpy INTJ but when you look closer, he is high Se with piss poor Te. His body is frail, weak and he is incredibly sick but he still wants to go dungeon diving so he can put his hands on the White Phial. That shows his high Fi (I want this), high Se (I need to get my hands dirty and do it myself, now), semi-strong Ni (this is my life goal) and poor Te (ignoring the fact that he will surely die because he is incredibly weak and that he can better use his resource to strike a deal with someone so they could do it for him).

His poor Te shows again and again. All he cares about is his needs, he steamroll over his apprentice with Te sledgehammer (I want this now, and I expect it now! Ignoring the fact that he isn't the only thing that exists in the world). He offended LDB by giving him 5 gold after he brought the White Phial to him which is incredibly stupid move (thee man single-handedly killed an army of Draugar and came out unscathed) and has no sense of value of things.

Niranye

ESTP 6w7 sp/so

She is a smart woman. She knows how to make a deal and maneuver around the racism in Windhelm. She has strong sense of realism and detachment from emotions (Se-Ti), She knows she needs to bribe and endure some racist remarks but she is cool with it because it's just the way it works. She is also very charming and tries to appeal to people's emotions to get her way. Instead of negotiating a deal with LDB, she appeals to his sympathy instead (I could be killed!) this shows her Fe-tert. She also occasionally takes other's problem as her own to solve and tries to do right by people around her. She offers the priestess of Talos a way to escape the city in case the Thalmors break into the city. This shows her superego tendency to do things right (6) and her Fe. Her Ni is nonexistent.

Calixto Corrium

INFJ 9w8 sx/so

He is an odd one. On one hand, he is a narcissist who kill others without feeling an ounce of guilt, on the other, he is a broken soul who wants nothing more than seeing his sister (who he is very attached to - enneagram 9 trait) again. He constructs his grief into a vision (again, Ni-dom trait) and enacts it. He has no Te because his thinking is all about 'this is what I want to see, it must happen and I'll ignore everything outside because it makes sense to me) which shows Ni-Ti loop. He also has competent Fe - likable, diplomatic and knows how to appeal to people's emotions. His Se is horrible though, he doesn't know how to fight but still impulsively trying to fight someone much stronger in a desperate attempt to make his vision come true.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #enneagram #sorting hat chats #mbti

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throughtrialbyfire · 5 months

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"Cycle of the Serpent"

Chapter 18 - Moon in the Trees, My Guide

prev. chapter | index

preview:

Houses lined one district of Whiterun, businesses the another. A world of grids and winding streets atop rolling hills, with Dragonsreach perched high above it all, the ground it crested like the great claw of one of those heinous beasts they were, apparently, destined to fight. All of it stuck to him, the images of the houses and trees, the stones and the wood posts, the sound of night birds and insects in their natural chorus. At one time, he'd been adrift in the world. At one time, he'd known nothing but long roads and surface-level observations of towns. For a moment, he was keenly reminded of that life. Always observing, but never a part of it, always the admirer, never the artist nor the brush nor the paint. Briefly, he allowed the hazy memories of these forgotten towns to play out before his eyes as he walked through the Whiterun streets. He'd made a good living in his travels since that fateful year he left Valenwood, studying alchemy under anyone who'd take a shine to him, selling wares, healing the sick, even tending to ailing animals when called upon to do so. While he'd never called himself a healer, a physick, some did. He could admit he'd managed to save a few lives in the process, so perhaps the title had been earned. As he gazed out on the city, passing through narrow streets, his expectations of Skyrim unwound from his tight hand. Did he truly expect Nurelion to drop everything and take him on as an apprentice? He scoffed at it now. The idea, at one instance in time so tangible, now ludicrous to the Bosmer. Still, it was worth a shot. He did not intend to give up. Quite the opposite, in fact, yet he knew it would be more time than he was comfortable giving until he reached The White Phial's snow-smocked doorstep. A mountain awaited. There was purpose to this mission that he and his newfound companions were to undertake. Purpose. Lives needed no purpose to exist. He'd shake his head and deny it all he wanted, but in the back of the alchemists' mind, the longing for it remained. To be known, to have his name scrawled across tome after tome, his work to be replicated and rejoiced in both the university and the simple healer's hut and mage's altar, an alchemist who did things none else could do, who created potions none else could make, who had lived and worked with purpose. He didn't think his purpose would ever involve dragons, but c'est la vie.

{ read on ao3 }

#tesblr #tes v #skyrim fic #tes fic #tes v skyrim #skyrim #the elder scrolls #skyrim fanfiction #ficblr #writeblr #cycle of the serpent #dragonborn trio #oc ; emeros #bishop.txt #LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

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