#orvas dren

[mareenavee]

(Tired) WIP Wednesday

Dragging ourselves through the week through the chaos <3

I've been ill but writing has been a balm! I'm gonna share a few snippets with you.

Was tagged by @thana-topsy (HUGE HUGS! Aiden and Sarel are adorable and you DID IT. You did the thing!) and @kookaburra1701 (I'm still waiting on Book 32 of your fic universe, and will cheer until its ready!)

Tagging especially @changelingsandothernonsense for the Sad Wars which have produced amazing content as of lately from me, for being writing exercises hehe. Not to brag, I'm just really fond of the work! And of course the amazing @paraparadigm, @thequeenofthewinter, @snippetsrus, @wildhexe, @nuwanders, @oblivions-dawn, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @throughtrialbyfire, @expended-sleeper, @inquisition-dragonborn @archangelsunited, @dirty-bosmer, @viss-and-pinegar, @ladytanithia, @polypolymorph, @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @rainpebble3, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2, @saltymaplesyrup, @orfeoarte, and YOU. Because yes. You are tagged. Tag me back if you have stuff to share! I love to see it.

Below I have a few samples from some WIPs! I'll start with World, as I'm restructuring chapter 31 <3

This selection is long, too! 1,050 words, below the cut!

1) The World on Our Shoulders, Chapter 31 Athis's POV as he goes through Northwatch Keep to save Thorald. 219 words.

Still, there was something unsettling about how unnaturally quiet this part of the keep was. The hairs on the back of Athis’s neck stood up, some instinct he couldn’t place screaming of danger. Something was wrong. He’d felt this way once, years ago, before a bear charged out of the woods that time his hip had been shattered. He’d almost died, then, if it hadn’t been for Farkas and that priest out of Falkreath. Odd, that, as it was a priest of Arkay. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Now, however, was not the time to lose focus.

Athis pressed against the wall that lead out of the twisting passageways into a room that looked, from what he could tell, like some kind of torture chamber. Only, the air rippled with some kind of magic that felt like static on his skin the closer he crept. He remembered how it felt when Nyenna used certain spells nearby; this one didn’t feel like anything he could recall, and that didn’t bode well. None of it did, if he was being honest. He got the sudden notion that perhaps it wasn’t worth all the trouble — that Thorald might already be dead. But no. If there was the slightest chance that he was still alive, Athis couldn’t leave him here. He wouldn’t.

2) Storms Like This A secret WIP I'll be editing and finishing soon for a friend. 266 words.

He’d thought back to one of his favorite memories of her, besides their wedding. Before they’d decided to adopt and start a family, they were living comfortably in Proudspire Manor in Solitude. He’d been overwhelmed at first by the city he’d only ever passed through before. Living in it meant becoming entangled in the political nonsense, which Sigyn seemed to take in stride. She’d come home, fancy clothes thoroughly drenched from the rain after being gone a particularly long time on what was supposed to be a local errand, and deposited an old hip bone into a chest by the door. Unnerving, sure, but not too atypical for her.

She took him by the hand and dragged him out into the storm, onto their back porch, all while Jordis silently judged them both from her perch at the kitchen table. Sigyn had said nothing, only smiled as he’d exclaimed from the cold downpour the further she led him outside, but then, even over the thunder, he’d heard it—the Bard’s College, practicing for the Burning of King Olaf, bright and clear, almost enhanced by the storm, music reverberating through the very stones of the building next door. They danced together, on their porch, regardless of the weather. It was if, for a moment, the entire world consisted of only them. She’d laughed even as their sodden hair clung to their faces, and as water ran freely into their eyes. [He] knew then, despite all of her chaos, he would follow her absolutely anywhere for as long as he lived.

Storms like this always reminded him of her.

3) Fragment - part of The Bitter, Bitter End (Unpublished as of yet.) Featuring Nevena Ules as the POV and Orvas Dren. (Yeah. Ew.) 209 words.

Orvas was leaning over the stone parapets, looking down into the courtyard where regular people milled around on business relating to Vedam’s gathering. The moons shone overhead and, besides the noise of the crowds and bards inside, all was silent. She cleared her throat, and Orvas turned to her. He smirked—the same sarcastic look he’d won her heart with when they were younger and under far less pressure—and closed the distance between them.

His eyes, blood red in this light, held storms. She knew what had been worrying him, but she was trying hard to ignore that part, until it was safe to talk about it. Vedam’s overreaching included parlaying with the Empire and solidifying trade between Morrowind and other provinces. Only, there would be an embargo if the Blight situation got worse—which it already was, by the day. And if all of that work was so new, the newfound strength of House Dren would be the first to collapse. Orvas had said as much, and had been bringing it up in their conversations more often as of late, because Vedam wouldn’t see reason. He thought he could see a solution, but even thought of it scared her.

He wanted to ally the Camonna Tong with the Sixth House.

4) Fragment - part of It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn (Unpublished as of yet.) This one is is Danger!Bean Varlais's POV. 353 words.

Varlais never felt like he belonged anywhere in particular, to be fair. His parents had been elevated slightly after a few turns of events when they’d moved with Ondolemar’s family to Skyrim. That was, technically, his doing, all those years ago, but they were still othered by most Altmer of any rank, Thalmor or not. It was complex, of course, and he didn’t have the energy to parse it all. He’d leave that to Ondolemar, who seemed like he could hold every political detail in his head, as if his mind was some kind of tome.

All he knew was it had to do with the Ayleid ancestry that refused to fade into the background for his family, no matter how many generations. Aerissa, at least, never looked down at him for the blue eyes, thank Auri-El, but she was back in Alinor now, doing clerical work for the Thalmor. And, of course, he was stuck here. But at least, if he was here, he could try and save her from them. No matter how badly he missed her, he’d keep fighting. Before she became a thrall, well, she’d always stuck by him. He looked down at his ring, the gold band glimmering with a faint enchantment, the metal worn and scratched. Somehow, likely by Mara’s direct intervention, he’d not lost the thing, nor had it torn through his skin and bone in some horrifying way. He touched the edge of his left ear where he’d lost an earring that way, and was grateful at least in that moment, his magic worked to stanch the bleeding.

As of late, he’d been feeling even more unmoored than usual, despite Ondolemar’s best efforts—the man was seventeen different kinds of distracted, after all. They were and always had been close as brothers, but with so much changing and hanging in the balance, Ondolemar had to focus on the plan. They had a goal, after all, as impossible as it all seemed. The Civil War and the Dragons were mucking up pretty much everything. Varlais also tended to make himself a problem, though never intentionally. Not really.

#MareenaWrites #Many many things #The World on Our Shoulders #Dragonborn and Far-Star Marked #The Heart of the World #Storms Like This #The Bitter Bitter End #It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn #Nyenna #Athis #LDB/Athis #Ondolemar #Varlais #Linare Varlais #Nevena #Orvas #Nevena Ules #Orvas Dren #Camonna Tong #Sigyn #skyrim #skyrim fic #morrowind #morrowind fic #tes #tesblr #tes fic #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fic #wip wednesday

[ervona]

Day 7: Profane / Sword for @tes-summer-fest

Out on the Inner Sea, where Ebonheart had crossed to Vvardenfell with one one bold leap set in stone, the port was rocked to sleep by languid waves. Southwards lay the vast expanse of Thirr, eastwards the City of Swords over which loomed a frozen moon, and thence a ferry sailed in worn and weathered. One of the passengers, a young lady, bowed to the boatman as she disembarked. 

Rather undistinguished in her clean but simple clothes, she was glad for it and took a deep breath of sea air that mixed with the cooking from Six Fishes, watching as stevedores hauled barrels and crates onto a merchant ship. For a few more paces across the cobblestone, she needn’t have been a duke’s daughter up until the bridge to the castle, so she took a slight turn at Forth Hawkmoth.

In the Skyrim Mission hall, she asked of a friendly ambassador all the latest rumors brought in on western winds, while in the neighboring Argonian Mission she exchanged a courteous greeting and hidden scrap of paper with the consul. The significance of each meeting was not as it must have seemed, and she continued to Castle Ebonheart whither the Imperial knight at the bridge led her in without issue.

The guards inside were all aglint in silver, but the mer that strode up to her was in beetle-green silk, embellished with countless shimmering wings. Uncle appeared to her more boyish than ever, though he’d never been older, as his face and hands showed no signs of age that more closely followed the working mer. She leapt into a hug, for the illusion of their friendship was always worth upholding.

“You look like a pilgrim,” he said with a smile; she trimmed the condescension off of it like the hands of Fishmongers’ Hall fileted fish and moved on, carving a smile on her own face. “I see them crossing the lakes daily now, all sorts of pleasant people, long traveled–”

“Good evening to you too. But where’s Father?” Often enough he would have been holding court at this hour, now his seat was an empty ornament flanked by his personal guard.

“Up in his dining hall. Shall we go, then?” So she took him by the hand and followed up the spiraling staircase, soon liberated from his idle chatter by the fact that the chamber with her drawers stood afore Father’s. She excused herself to go change her clothes before sitting at the dinner table, and he proceeded rather than wait for her, which was suitable just fine.

It was apt to call it a guest room, but it had more or less been reserved for her, and all the things she hadn’t taken with her were where she’d left them. She wasted no time dressing, though she did not miss the more restrictive, overly ornate clothing she’d worn at court. Her neighbors in Saint Delyn on the other hand would work themselves to the bone for a brocade blouse like hers. 

Once when in Tear visiting Mother’s kin, she’d taken a liking to the airy anther fabrics they favored in the humid marshlands. Grey was their color, but the city had soon been wreathed in black after a high councilor’s undisclosed passing, strife had been sown and blood ran cold. These days the young, the dissidents, and all those who’d lost their spirits and loved ones in the war had many high seats to fill. 

Her time there had taught her not the evils of slavery, for she’d already looked upon them in Empire-chartered lands, but certainly more ways to strive against it. Even with her Serano cousins had she found kindred spirits, and through them much needed contacts, Black Marsh and beyond. The Dren side of the family was truly no better or worse, distinguished Hlaalu nobles as they were, but she would put that thought aside for dinner. 

Father awaited her in his golden moth robes, and she sank into a silent embrace with only the murmur of endearments into her hair and the clatter of cutlery. There was no need to say too much. He already had the perfect image of her in his mind, carefully cultivated, unable to grow beyond it even when they were alone, for too much shared grief weighed on them. The table was set for three, each with ample space of their own and the appetizer already served. 

She nibbled on a wickwheat biscuit as Uncle seemed to continue what he’d been talking about, his newly established netch ranch, the fine leather it brought, and she bit her tongue in frustration. Him and his blood-stained netch leather and the yoke that pulled lives and souls asunder. The three of them were in different worlds by now, though still only a ferry away from each other in the isles where the sacred and worldly embraced with hidden blades. 

Then he turned to her, wondering aloud why she’d chosen to live in a pauper’s residence. Without breaking her composure, she took a sip of her mineral water. She’d explained it enough to Father, and had lived well for a better part of the year, so where had he been?

“I’d seen it and thought to myself of what wisdom I could take from living in modesty. Our kin in Tearmarsh live simple but the light of the Three hardly touches them, unlike us,” she recited something akin to what she had before and before. Uncle whose kena had been a blademaster of Saint Felms giggled at that, and Father cut him a glance across the table.

“What? We’re not in Vivec, but in Ebonheart,” he stressed that last word with a Cyrod lilt, “I’d hazard to say the Three are asleep at the helm when the people are wanting for them.”

“The Three do not judge mere ill-spoken words, but the people do. Let us eat,” was all that Father had to say before calling the next course, ornada marinated in plum and comberry.

She continued to sup in silence, but imagined if they’d cleared the table and dueled in a knightly manner. A challenge of honor, for the gods at that, had been more common in warlike times but the custom was very much alive. Say they fought to the death, Uncle if he by chance won would get his final rival out of the way and send her to wed the King’s heir Ser Talen Vandas. Father had planned much the same, though not urgently, and he would hesitate to kill his brother in the first place but if he did, she would carry the Dren name.

What did she want, then? For the dinner to carry on in peace, not to lose her composure, and not have to marry the King's dear nephew. But perhaps a queen of Morrowind would carry power, more so than a duke, only the profane ruler of all Vvardenfell. There was a cloak of decorum about Father that fit a very refined doll, having his armor shined as if every day was a holy-day, little else for him to do but dictate legally worded letters for contractless builders on Azura’s Coast and hang his head. She could never become so complacent.

Father ate rather delicately to not stain his bead-woven beard and mustache, and his younger brother followed the lead, though prior stabbing his cooked ornada without grace. The knife he sliced with, dueling the carapace, was as her cutlery gilt and engraved to go along with the ebony plating. Overhead the chandelier of green glass hung as a sword pointed at them, a thousand shimmering blades. Cruel and acute was the castle, had been from its very first stone.

After dessert, she retreated to her chambers still chewing on the apple sweetcake. Father and Uncle having bid her good night continued talking, for which she was too tired, tired of her studies at the Temple and the fragile cover they made, of parlaying with smugglers or worse playing as abolitionists, of crossing betwixt and across sharp edges, and most of all knowing that she was ill-fit for their beautiful world even if she’d ever wanted to return.

She fell upon her bed face-first and rose back up, hair tousled from the impact giving her the feeling of peeking from a thicket. Through her eastward window she could see the lanterns of the city below, Ebonheart’s diadem. Further still across the water was the palace dome awash in cold fire, circled by celestial spheres that seemed like marbles from this distance. In there did Vivec dwell, as far from the cries of the helpless as one could be in the Ascadian Isles.

Once the gods had walked among them, before her time. Perhaps it rang true that they were asleep at the helm, or had spun the wheel and left it to turn uncontrollably as gods were wont to do. It fell to the people to take hold of, but only in hands that meant well could a better tomorrow be spun from the frayed yarn of the past. 

Her bed here was softer than in Saint Delyn, only the finest, most delicate fabrics for the Duke’s household, but it didn’t let her rest easy. In the morning, or the next, depending on how much Father wanted her to stay, she would disembark once more. She would watch the waves play, sway corkbulb boats like merlings on the seaside who had been told the world was their oyster. 

There was much work to be done, but it could wait the morning, or the next, as it had waited for far too long. And she cast a wish, just a small one, to each of the three moons that adorned the sky and sea.

#tesfest23 #tes #the elder scrolls #morrowind #ilmeni dren #vedam dren #orvas dren #also honoring the dinner prompt in this. like half of my entries #we're done when i say we're done... #scrawling tag

[ketramarantus]

Orvas Dren

#orvas dren #morrowind #tes morrowind #artists on tumblr #art #fantasy art #the elder scrolls #tes #teso #fantasy #artwork #dunmer

[uesp]

"You want peace? Like the peace of the grave we've had since the Tribunal betrayed us and signed the Armistice? Dagoth Ur has made me a better offer. The Sixth House will rise again and crush the Empire and those smug hypocrites in the Tribunal. But enough talk. I know you now as my enemy, and you must die with the rest of the foreign devils."

--Orvas Dren

#UESP #Lore #The ELder Scrolls #Tribunal #Hlaalu #Camonna Tong #Dagoth Ur #Dagoth #Empire #Orvas Dren

[atypicalacademic]

Silk 🧵🪡 (or maybe 🕷️???) pls and thank you u3u

Could be both really, Silk is about the circumstances surrounding Alsal's parents, and therefore the normalest most healthiest family in the world

“A favour, not a partnership. And that can be withdrawn if you break your agreement and overstep your bounds. I can’t let you override our interests on the matter. The Council would never--”

“Vedam.”

His brother was pacing now, his golden robes lashing against the floor. Tall, handsome Vedam, who spoke Aldmeri and Cyrodilic, more personable and charming than Orvas could ever harbour hope of becoming. Not that he did. Orvas was not in the business of envy. He could rub two sides of a coin without bleeding his thumb dry.

“From here on, I would ask you to consult me before--”

“Velanda Omani. Nevena Ules.”

He stopped. Orvas read the dawning dread behind his eyes. Not both of them. It said. No.

Little brother, the light of his life. His nix-hound on a golden leash. Orvas smiled freely now. “I can make you Grandmaster.”

#house hlaalu #i am aware im taking outrageous liberties with canon perhaps #but theyre a soap opera #i need them to be a soap opera #orvas dren #vedam dren #morrowind #house hlaalu and its fun ventures into organized crime

[fallen-chances]

#hd bloodmoon graphics vs legends art. FIGHT! #morrowind sexyman poll #morrowind #tes #korst Wind-Eye #orvas dren #im bet these guys have nothing in their tags either

[the-real-nerevar]

*the average day in the hlaalu council manor*

Orvas: I HATE YOU.

Dram: OH? WELL NEXT TIME DON’T STEAL MY MONOPOLY.

Vedam: Dram, give Orvas his 200$, you landed on his property.

Dram: NO. HES IN JAIL. I’m not gonna give money to a CRIMINAL.

Orvas: THATS NOT HOW YOU PLAY!!!

Crassius: Vedam, why is Orvas screaming.

Vedam: Shut up, Crassius, you’re not gonna talk after stealing my LAST RAILROAD.

Orvas: I WISH I WAS NEVER BORN

#morrowind #house hlaalu #Orvas dren #crassius curio #dram bero #Vedam dren

[aladaylessecondblog]

I had yet another idea for a Fallen Star Au I NEED TO STOP

Where while she's hiding from the ordinators with the Argonians in Ebonheart (and slowly getting bigger due to pregnancy) Orvas Dren busts in with his goons looking for that escaped slave and what do you know, he finds her instead

She's still recovering from some pretty bad wounds the ordinators gave her and Azura won't let her heal

Ever eager to do his lord's will Orvas smuggles her back to Red Mountain where Voryn has been frantic the last months because he couldn't reach her in dreams at ALL

#my brain wont stop making these up #in the actual story she wont get found #i mean this would SORT OF be the better ending #but at the same time #i gotta stop doing this

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Some more Twin Lamps Josh.

Inspired by @mareenavee fic Serpens Caput. I'm very all about Josh's Molag’shaln persona atm. The revenge he gets on Orvas Dren here is so so well done!

#my art #teldryn sero #danger!josh #dunmer #skyrim #morrowind #nerevarine #twin lamps #tesblr #tes #the elder scrolls #nerevarine teldryn

[sylvienerevarine]

With the addition of some new people to the Sylvieverse, I wanted to do a proper re-introduction to all my OCs! Part 1 of the masterpost is my three main girls, Sylvie, Sacha, and Sophrine. Keep an eye out for the rest in the next reblog

Deets below cut:

Sylvie, the Nerevarine (starring in: Saint Sylvie, Land of Ash and Heart)

Thanks to some narratively convenient amnesia, can't remember anything that happened to her pre-prison. She's keen on mushroom towers, interior decorating, and flirting with every Nord in sight. Has some of Nerevar's memories, most of them weird sex stuff. Best friend: Falura Llervu. Biggest non-god nemesis: Orvas Dren

Relationship to the Dragonborn: Great-great-grandmother

Sacha Llervu, the Hero of Kvatch (featured in: A Respectable Lady's Guide to Skyrim)

Escaped slavery as a teenager and began a life of crime so she could get rich enough to free her sister Falura. Spends her free time drinking coffee and wine, often at the same time, and doing puzzles. Briefly became the Divine Crusader in an attempt to bring Martin back, which did not work. Best friends: Martin Septim and Sir Mazoga. Biggest non-god nemesis: Count Terentius of Bravil.

Relationship to the Dragonborn: Great-great-great aunt

Sophrine Aulette, the Dragonborn (starring in: A Respectable Lady's Guide to Skyrim, Land of Ash and Heart)

On her dad's side, descended from very sensible Breton innkeepers. On her mom's side, descended from the weirdest assortment of people imaginable. Loves cooking, alchemy, and terrible puns. Has an existential crisis at least twice a week. Marries a loveable himbo named Roggi after blackmailing him into not paying his bar tab. Best friends: Lydia, Mjoll, Serana. Biggest non-god nemesis: Ulfric Stormcloak

#tes #skyrim #morrowind #oblivion #oc: sophrine #oc: sylvie #oc: sacha #my art

[ansu-gurleht]

it's kinda funny bc. derelayn is only the duke's daughter by adoption. she's actually llethym's granddaughter via orvas dren's wife amiliah dren and their illegitimate son galmis dren. so ku is basically babysitting llethym's dumb emotional grandkid

#oc: ku-vastei #oc: hlaalu llethym hlaarothan #oc: derelayn dren

[mareenavee]

WIP WHENEVER! (Wednesday?!)

Hi, today is a bit of a write off day because it's spooky season and NY weather is telling me it's mid-July somehow.

I did manage a little writing :> And I'll be happy to share about ~300 words from two WIPS! But first, tags!

Tagging the amazing and wonderful: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thequeenofthewinter, @thana-topsy, @gilgamish, @archangelsunited, @wildhexe, @elfinismsarts, @throughtrialbyfire, @saltymaplesyrup, @snippetsrus, @rainpebble3, @kookaburra1701, @polypolymorph, @inquisition-dragonborn, @orfeoarte, @tallmatcha, @rhiannon1199, @expended-sleeper, @dirty-bosmer, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @nuwanders, @ladytanithia, @viss-and-pinegar, and @late-nite-scholar! Below the cut for shenanigans! WIP 1 has CW for creepy spooky season stuff and WIP 2 has CW for Neloth (yes) and his canon-typical racism (circa Nerevarine times in Morrowind.)

1) Spooky Collab pending a title with @thequeenofthewinter and @thana-topsy! Uldwin is his OC, and this is the downfall timeline. (: Writing is mine.

The ramp that led up to the mushroom tower was itself rotting through, stringy, toxic orange webs of slime mold eating away at the fungus. Lydia balanced precariously on the wooden support beams, cursing the weight of the daedric armor Uldwin had gifted her. Its enchantment sang to her, too—a whisper of some Bosmeri prayer. Like his voice, scratchy from use of the Thu’um. She swallowed hard against another wave of grief. This, perhaps, had been the last of his efforts to spare her whatever fate he’d willingly walked into.

The door to the tower swung open of its own accord, iron hinges rusted and knob caked with mud and grime. Then… Whatever it was had become aware of her presence. This did not bode well at all. She stepped through into the darkness, unable even to cast Candlelight to guide her way forward.

Lydia’s senses were assaulted by the stench of death—mildew and rot, must, pine, the uncomfortable sweetness of fermentation—not at all unlike the smell of Nordic tombs, long undisturbed. She brushed cobwebs away as she crept through the shadows. Dawnbreaker glowed, though its light seemed stifled in this place. Dread settled over her shoulders like a mantle. One step after another. It was all she could do, despite the fear. Despite how very much she wanted to turn and run. She knew she couldn’t. Uldwin didn’t. And now it fell to her to end this nightmare…and to bring him home.As Lydia took another step, something crunched audibly under her boot. A bone. No. She held back a scream as something screeched above her, the noise traveling through her skull like a jolt of Shock magic.

2) Light the Way which is pre-World. Backstory for Neloth and Teldryn, the Nerevarine (: And how they both ended up in the Twin Lamps.

“If I have your attention,” Im-Kilaya said after a particularly grating and reptilian-sounding throat-clearing, “we’ll need you both to help an injured once-shackled individual. His name is Tul, a fellow Saxhleel. Our Eyes have noted his injuries are beyond the help of what potions we have available.” He paused and turned to Sero, handing him a letter. “This, and he will need to be defended until you reach Sterdecan.”

“Do you expect trouble?” Sero asked, scanning the letter. Neloth glanced over his shoulder. It was written in some kind of cipher—it had to have been. Otherwise, it was an egregious misuse of parchment, describing in detail a few fictitious landmarks of Azura’s Coast. He watched as Sero folded up the letter again and tucked it behind the dark chitin plate of his armor.

“Yes, unfortunately. The farmhouse is becoming more visible than we’d like. It’s why this falls to you, Nerevarine. Protect Tul. I don’t know what waits out there in the dark, but the news brings me great discomfort.”

“Orvas has wind of us, doesn’t he?” Teldryn said after a moment. 

Im-Kilaya said nothing, and opted instead to grimace, hands tucked once again into the sleeves of his robes. Teldryn nodded; whatever silent conversation had just occurred between them seemed satisfactory enough.

Neloth knew that name. Duke Vedam’s younger brother, and, at least at one point, the more powerful of the two. There had been rumors about nefarious dealings, and a more recent loss of his position within House Hlaalu. Something Fyr had rattled on about, as he was wont to do, but Neloth hadn’t bothered to listen. He cursed himself for his lack of foresight. Not that Neloth was afraid per se, but what should have been a fairly simple task now seemed infinitely more complex than what he’d at first believed.

#MareenaWrites #Light the Way #Neloth #im-kilaya #orvas dren #tul #twin lamps #Friend's OCs #sorta <3 #Lich!Neloth #Lydia #Spooky Writing #WIP Whenever #WIP Wednesday #tes #tesblr #skyrim #skyrim fic #morrowind #morrowind fic #nerevarine #nerevarine teldryn #nerevarine teldryn sero #teldryn #teldryn sero #Dreyaln Uvelath #(unpictured) #elder scrolls #writblr #writeblr

[oxalisvtesblog]

So which Telvanni wants Dram Bero dead?

"You have already found Dram Bero? And he died by your own hand? Perhaps word of his death has not yet spread to our Telvanni client…"

I dislike how Dram is the target of a grandmaster writ and the only context you get is the offhand mention above that the person who wanted him dead was Telvanni.

I have a problem with this because it feels a bit random. It would be understandable if Dram was so secretive because he was hiding from, say, Orvas Dren and his people. But a Telvanni? What ranking Telvanni would have enough of a problem with Dram to want him dead?

I'll just go through the options as I see them. It may be possible that a lower ranking, random member could have been the client but for this thought experiment I will assume that in order to have a councilor killed by the grandmaster of the Morag Tong you need to be a bit of a big name yourself.

Ruled out: Aryon, Baladas, Dratha, Divayth Fyr, Gothren (he would probably have been up for it, but he is already dead at this point as you get the writs after Dagoth Ur is defeated).

Neloth - He seems to have liked power games back then, so he is a rather likely candidate. He kidnapped Miner Arobar's daughter in order to influence how he voted on the council so he likewise might have wanted Bero removed since he voted unfavourably. It makes sense. But it's a bit unsatisfying since you never really get to know more about Neloth's motives for messing with Great House politics.

Therana - You can't rule out anything with her. She is simultaneously the target of a writ, and the person who wants her dead is a Hlaalu:

"Mistress Therana is already dead? Our Hlaalu client will be pleased."

I think this could be an extension of the Odirniran dispute, since it's in the same general area. It must be quite attractive, as the climate seems decent and there are quite a few egg mines in the area. Therana's presence and the fact that she is mining for eggs herself stops Hlaalu from expanding in the area.

So like, it could have been the case that Dram and Therana both wanted the other dead at the same time as a part of a conflict related to this.

Galas Drenim - This is a bit of an obscure character, but at the same time very important. She represents House Telvanni on the grand council in Ebonheart. It's also not too far fetched to assume that she was somehow related to the local Telvanni lord Mavon Drenim in Vivec, who at this point has been honorably executed. If Dram had anything at all to do with that (for whatever reason) Galas could feel a need to retaliate. Sadly I can't find any context at all as to why Mavon Drenim was killed. There is not a lot to go on, but at least they live in roughly the same area and this makes it a bit more likely that there was a personal conflict going on.

#morrowind #dram bero #morag tong #hlaalu #telvanni

[ervona]

the "boy band" of Gentleman Jim Stacey, Larrius Varro, Sjoring Hard-Heart and Orvas Dren should get back together and terrorize Vvardenfell again in 4e. three of them are elderly and the one left is coughing from my poison but it's gonna go great

[mourningmoth]

cant believe yall let orvas "slaveowner georg" dren win over non-memorable shaman dude

#sheer lack of appreciation #/j #the dreamer is awake

[jo-jaska]

Jo'jaska's Diary: 28th of Hearthfire

Jo'jaska had slept for the night at the Balmora Mages' Guild, and so thought to gain the support of House Hlaalu next, as they governed the city. The local members pointed him to Vivec, and with some bribery and blackmail Jo'jaska was able to be named Hlaalu Hortator with little trouble. This one has amassed a great deal of wealth from his adventures, and so even the more exorbitant bribes were little inconvenience to him.

The one point of unpleasantness is that he was forced to deal with Orvas Dren, a despicable slave-owner. The dunmer's eyes held a bitter coldness that made khajiit's fur stand on end, and even the short interaction that was required for this one to blackmail him into supporting Jo'jaska's aims of being Hortator left this one feeling like he had something horrible stuck in his fur.

Thankfully all of the Hlaalu councilors lived nearby to Vivec, so Jo'jaska was able to get all of this done fairly quickly. It is not even sundown as Jo'jaska writes this. He thinks he will take the rest of the evening to relax and celebrate his progress. This one has collected quite a lot of moon sugar and fine drinks from the smugglers he has bested, and he thinks he will put some of it to good use.

Jo'jaska's Diary: 29th of Hearthfire

This one is now the Hortator of all three Houses with any presence on Vvardenfell. The Redoran were simple to win over; once Jo'jaska rescued the son of one councilor the others were convinced of Jo'jaska's good character. As with the Telvanni Archmagister, the problem was with the House's Archmaster, who is apparently even more xenophobic than is normal for Dunmer and would not allow an outlander to be named Hortator. Luckily it was solved in much the same way as the Archmagister, though as an honorable duel in the Vivec Arena rather than Jo'jaska launching a surprise-attack when the Redoran's guard was down.

As with the other two Houses this one was given a little enchanted token to serve as proof of office. He as also given a note from the Archcanon in Vivec's Temple, telling him that the temple would be willing to listen to his case if he is able to fulfill the rest of the prophecy and be named Nerevarine by the Ashlanders.

This one had frankly expected that becoming the Hortator of three Great Houses would have taken longer than four days, but he is not complaining.

#elder scrolls #khajiit #morrowind #tes 3 morrowind #tesblr #the elder scrolls #character journal #tes #oc journal #game journal #khajiit oc