#Get on Hadvar and Ralof's levels people

[m-u-n-c-h-y]

If you’re gonna simp for old, intolerable men, at least do it right.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #tes v #ulfric stormcloak #general tullius #Ralof #Hadvar #because those men are SIMPS #Look I was very tired of the community trying to give these old geezers fucking 6 packs #Ulfric is in his 50's and Tullius is probably in his 60's #Not to mention they probably have wildly different body types #but that's bethesda's fault #REGARDLESS #If you're ulfric isn't a bear #and your Tullius doesn't look like a greek sculpture but old #then are you TRULY living??? #Are you REALLY simps??? #Get on Hadvar and Ralof's levels people #doodles #sketches #my art #fan art #got the munchy's? #Feel free to debate me but you'll most likely lose this

[milfmorrowind]

Mega TES OC Ask Meme

hi!~ I have decided to make a long ass post with a collection of developing/general information questions for elder scrolls OCs. This is formatted as an ask meme, but feel free to use it however you want! I have not played daggerfall or arena so there will be no questions pertaining to either of them. However, if anyone would like to add questions for protagonists of those games, by all means do!

General Information

Name

Associated game/era

Age at beginning of game/relevant time period

Race

Sex/gender (bonus points if there's a cool answer)

Sexual orientation/preferences

Class (or a general description of their skillset)

Background

Is this character from their race's home province/territory? If not, what is their relationship with the region? Do they feel a connection to it?

Where did they grow up? A city? A village? Isolated, in the wilderness? What was it like to leave?

What was their childhood like? Who raised them? Do they have siblings?

If they are an adventurer, why did they choose that life? Did they choose it at all?

Do they worship any gods? Who? How do they feel about the gods in general?

What are their interpersonal relationships like? Are they close with many people?

What's their relationship with their family like? Do they have one?

What guilds do they join? Are they committed to those guilds, or are they mostly in them for the benefits?

Are they a vampire/lycanthrope? Did they choose to become one? Would they reverse it, given the chance?

For Nerevarines

Why were they sent to Morrowind? Were they truly guilty?

Do they trust Caius? How much?

Do they align themselves with any great houses? If yes, why?

Do they know/feel that the Empire is using them as a pawn? What do they do about it?

What's their relationship with the Ashlanders? Does it vary by tribe?

Do they believe their self to be Nerevar reincarnated? Do you?

Who do they think killed Nerevar?

Do they feel sympathy for Dagoth Ur?

How do they feel about the Tribunal in general? Do they trust them?

How much do they interact with the Anticipations and the House of Troubles? Do they do any of their quests?

If they travel to Mournhold, do they side with Almalexia and the temple or Helseth? Why?

How do they feel about Almalexia? Do they see her as sympathetic?

If they joined the East Empire Company, who did they side with? Do they regret ever getting involved?

Which aspect of Hircine did they fight?

Where do they go at the end of the game? Do they leave Tamriel?

For Heroes of Kvatch

Why are they in prison at the start of the game? How long had they been there?

Do they go straight to Jauffre? Do they feel any responsibility to do so?

What's their relationship with Martin? Are they coworkers, acquaintances, friends, partners?

How much do they interact with the Blades?

How much time do they typically spend closing an Oblivion Gate? Do they like to explore Oblivion, or do they get the hell out?

Which daedric quests do they do? Which artifact do they give Martin?

How do they handle Martin's death? Who do they lean on for support, if anyone?

Are they the Divine Crusader? Why did they do it?

Do they keep/use the Artifacts of the Crusader? Which ones?

Mania or Dementia? Why?

Do they mantle Sheogorath? What exactly does that mean, in their case?

Do they stay in the Shivering Isles? Is it by choice?

For Last Dragonborns (awkward phrasing)

Were they trying to cross the border? Why?

Do they follow Hadvar or Ralof? Why

Do they pick a side in the Civil War?

How do they feel about Tullius and Ulfric on a personal level?

Do they kill Paarthurnax? Why?

How do they feel about Delphine and the Greybeards?

On a scale of 1-10, how much do they hate the Thalmor? The Empire?

What do they do at the war meeting? How does it go? Do they maintain neutrality?

How do they feel about their position as Dragonborn? Do they embrace the role? Does it terrify them? Do they take advantage of it?

Who do they marry? How did they meet?

Do they kill Cicero? Do they regret their decision?

Do they return the Skeleton Key? What are the consequences?

Saadia or Kematu?

Which daedric quests do they do? Which artifacts do they use? What's their favorite?

Dawnguard or Volkihar Clan? If they choose the Volkihar, do they ever reverse their vampirism?

What's their relationship with Serana? How close are they?

Thoughts on Valerica? Thoughts on Isran?

How do they feel about Miraak? Is he a villain to them, or a tragic figure?

#ask meme #tes ocs #morrowind #oblivion #skyrim #writing

[meowthiroth]

hiiii plz answer all the questions (or whichever ones you want) for kaen

(hooboy, that’s a lot! I’m gonna omit a few if I think a previous question answers it already or if it’s stuff I haven’t done with him yet. this is still gonna be a long one though so strap in lmao)

Name: Kaen

Associated game/era: Skyrim

Age at beginning of game/relevant time period: Late twenties, a little bit younger than Amaril.

Race: Wood Elf

Sex/gender (bonus points if there's a cool answer): Nonbinary, a bit more masc-leaning, but he’s pretty much fine with any pronouns. Most people tend to use he/they.

Sexual orientation/preferences: Bisexual, tends to casually flirt with people

Class (or a general description of their skillset): Stealth-archer with a fondness for both illusion and restoration magic.

Where did they grow up? A city? A village? Isolated, in the wilderness? What was it like to leave?

He and Amaril both grew up in Leyawiin. They’d often go exploring in the wilderness outside the city together, although those outings became less and less frequent as Amaril’s parents tried to steer him towards fighting for the Thalmor. Although Kaen liked his home, he knew he’d have to leave someday, but he felt confident enough in his skills that the idea didn’t bother him too much. By the time he decided to help Amaril make a run for it, he had quite a good lay of the land, and with his guidance, the two were able to make it all the way to the Imperial City without being found.

What was their childhood like? Who raised them? Do they have siblings?

Kaen’s mother died when he was quite young, and his father, although loving, often found himself too busy with his work in the city to spend much time with his son. Kaen realized he was trying his best and never held any resentment towards his father, but he had to learn to take care of himself from a pretty young age. He’d often spend his days out exploring on his own or with Amaril, and he taught himself to hunt with a bow so he could help put food on the table.

If they are an adventurer, why did they choose that life? Did they choose it at all?

He always liked the idea of becoming an adventurer, but in the end, the choice was sort of necessary to help protect his friend. Going back home after that would’ve been too risky. And besides, he was having fun, so why not keep going with it?

Do they worship any gods? Who? How do they feel about the gods in general?

Kaen wasn’t really raised religious, but he’s gained a particular interest in Kynareth over the course of his travels.

What are their interpersonal relationships like? Are they close with many people?

Kaen’s definitely the more sociable of the two, and people tend to warm up to him pretty quickly. He has friends all over the place, and will often stop in and pay them a visit if he happens to return somewhere. His closest friendship is with Amaril though. The two are rarely ever seen apart.

Were they trying to cross the border? Why?

After laying low in the Imperial City for a while, blending in with the crowd, he and Amaril were unfortunately discovered and needed to go on the move again. They both decided getting out of Cyrodiil would be the safest for them, and since they were already heading that way, decided Skyrim would be the easiest option.

Do they follow Hadvar or Ralof? Why?

They weren’t really ‘following’ either, at least not intentionally, but ended up running into Hadvar after they ducked into a building for cover and stuck with him until reaching Riverwood so they wouldn’t look suspicious.

Do they pick a side in the Civil War?

No, since both Kaen and Amaril feel that siding with either would be risky for them.

How do they feel about Tullius and Ulfric on a personal level?

Kaen doesn’t really feel much of a connection to either of them for the most part. They recalled feeling a bit bad for Ulfric after reading his dossier in the Thalmor embassy, but it was only because

Do they kill Paarthurnax? Why?

Absolutely not. Kaen may not be the Dragonborn himself, but he still thinks of Paarthurnax as family.

How do they feel about Delphine and the Greybeards?

He found the Greybeards’ silence a little awkward at first, but he’s alright with them. As for Delphine though, he’s still not over her asking them to kill Paarthurnax. Even though he isn’t the type to hold grudges, that still felt like such a slap in the face.

On a scale of 1-10, how much do they hate the Thalmor? The Empire?

They’re kind of on the fence about the Empire itself, especially in its current state, but they absolutely hate the Thalmor after what almost happened to Amaril.

What do they do at the war meeting? How does it go? Do they maintain neutrality?

They tried to stay as neutral as possible, but Elenwen being there was causing Amaril to get pretty agitated and they eventually had to tell her to leave.

How do they feel about their position as Dragonborn? Do they embrace the role? Does it terrify them? Do they take advantage of it?

Kaen isn’t actually the Dragonborn, Amaril is. But the two of them are practically inseparable, and even though Kaen can’t use the Thu’um himself, he’s happy to cheer Amaril on when he does.

#questions for ace #tes oc #kaen

[crysdrawsthings]

1 and 2 for the fandom asks

Asks to Spread Love - HERE, Accepting more! Thank you for an ask

1. A fanon characterisation that you love

Now, I love how TES fandom will find the most obscure background NPC, proceed to run an Interpol worthy investigation into any crumbs of lore, extrapolate the rest and bam, you have a fully realized novel-worthy persona.

This is really fascinating to me and I tip my hat in respect.

This however also makes it hard for me to really judge fanon characterisations from something that people legitimately take from canon, because I am, for all intends and purposes, is media illiterate.

However I think there are some interesting takes on Elisif, a lot of people go pretty in depth with Ulfric and I can respect that. ISQ wrote an entire thesis on Ralof and Hadvar and I tip my hat twice. Not to mention all the different Miraaks.

2. Tell us why you love one of your OCs or an obscure canon character (link to any fics/art you have featuring them!) 

I adore, and I repeat - adore, Captain Valmir. What a lad, really.

Just. To came up with a plan so blunt and convoluted at the same time. To commit to the cosplay on this level and to fail so gloriously. I love this mer. Stole him for my story with him, Cassia and a friendly daedra Wraith. Have no regrets.

As for my OCs, well, out of TES ones I would love to talk about Autaracu Alata, because, funnily enough...

From a certain point of view, her artistic talents after getting Purified by Meridia is as prefect and purged of imperfections as everything else. Ability to perfectly recreate anything she wants in paints, just ever so slightly off somehow and always rather lifeless. Which was created without any links to it, but I guess Meridia kind of made one perfectly fine ayleid into one of those picture AIs?

Also unrelated to TES, but since I was thinking about him a lot lately, my WH40k guardsman Sanya. Yes, this is author bias and plot armor, but I love to make a silly little guy with a big heart and toss him to go and unfuck a completely fucked over galaxy one vagabond at a time. He is a special silly little guy succeeding against all odds and common sense.

#tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #wh 40k #warhammer 40k #crysandthings #ask games

[tes-trash-blog]

So, uh, a while back you mentioned making a post about how Prisoner McNord might affect the player experience/perceptions of the "default" and I would be super interested in reading that

So!

I have a few thoughts already on what is considered “default” in Skyrim to be expanded upon in a future shitstorm rant (it’s on the list, between Almalexia Is Interesting Actually and Even More Crying About Snow Elves Part 17: My Tears Have Become Sentient And Are Also Crying).

And as always, keep in mind that Skyrim is coming up on 9 years old, elements of it have not aged well, and this is in no way, shape, or form meant to be a “If you like Skyrim then you’re Bad” rant. In case you haven’t noticed, I kind of love that game. It has flaws; all games do, and frankly it’s a miracle this game is as solid as it is. The writers are that, writers. They had deadlines to make, hardware limitations to consider, and above all else, worked for a company that wanted to make money.

To keep this relatively short I’ll focus on how your perception of Skyrim is influenced by the first few minutes of the game via Ralof, the Nordiest Nord to Nord since Ysgranord, and how the writers really, really really wanted you to hold on to that perception.

Overanalysis and spoilers (Metal Gear Solid, Borderlands, and Bioshock respectively yes this will all make sense in context) under the cut.

Part 1: How To Make A Perspective In Three Easy Steps

As the saying goes, first impressions are lasting impressions. This is evident in.. well, every bit of media you can find. The first chapters of a book, the first episode of a show, the first 15 minutes of a video game, all as a general rule:

1.) Introduces the setting, a part of the main plot, and with these two, sets the tone of the medium (high fantasy movie, light hearted TV show, mystery series, horror game, etc.). Exceptions exist, especially in horrors, mysteries, and certain visual novels, but even these exceptions rely on setting a tone so they can subvert your expectations later on.

2.) Give you an idea of what is going on. This is normally accomplished with exposition of some sort; Star Wars had its famous screen crawl expositing the dark times in the Galaxy, Borderlands literally begins with “So, you want to hear a story..”, Metal Gear Solid briefs Solid Snake (you, the player character) on a vital mission to save two hostages and end a terrorist threat, so on and so forth. And again, there are exceptions: Bioshock purposefully disorients you with a plane crash in the middle of the ocean so you’re inclined to trust the first person who talks to you.

This all serves to suspend disbelief, immerse you, and earn your trust. This is a new world, you have no idea what’s going on, so you’re gonna take cues from someone who does. Combine points 1 and 2, and that..

3.) Gives you an idea of what is “good” and what is “bad”. Damn near every story has a central conflict, you gotta pick a side, and there’s gonna be a bias as to which one is superior or morally just. Using Bioshock again, this mysterious man named Atlas guides you through the first level, and tells you how to fight and survive in the hostile environment of Rapture; meanwhile, Andrew Ryan taunts and belittles you, and also has a giant golden bust of himself. The shorthand is: Atlas is humble, helpful, and good, while Andrew Ryan is a megalomaniac who wants you dead. Leaning on Borderlands again, the first voice you hear is literally a guardian angel telling you not to be afraid, and that you are destined to do great things. Once more with Metal Gear: Your organization and your commanders are good, you are good because you’re saving innocent people, and FOXHOUND is bad because they’re terrorists who have the means to launch a nuclear warhead.

Keeping all this in mind, let’s do a quick runthrough of the first, let’s call it 15 minutes of Skyrim. No commentary on my end, just a play by play of the beginning of the game.

Part 2: First Impressions In Action

You wake up on a cart. Your vision is hazy, and you are clearly disoriented. You see a man bound and gagged, another man in rags, and several men dressed like soldiers. Everyone on the cart is tied up, and the people driving the cart are wearing a neat, vastly different uniform.

Then comes the famous line: “You! You’re finally awake! You were caught trying to cross the border, got caught in that Imperial ambush same as us, and that thief over there!” The thief bitterly remarks how these damn Stormcloaks had to cook up trouble in a nice and lazy Empire. The Nord who first spoke with you nobly says that we’re all brothers and sisters in these binds.

The presumed Imperial tells you all to shut up. Undeterred, the thief and the Stormcloak provide more exposition: The gagged man is the leader of the resistance, is supposedly the true High King, and since he’s on the cart, it’s clear that everyone on board is bound for the executioner’s block. The thief is terrified; the Nord accepts his fate, but takes a moment to opine on better days when he flirted with girls and “when the Imperial walls made him feel safe.” There is also a remark about General Tulius and the Thalmor agents; the Nord, in a rare bit of anger, damns the Elves and insinuates they had a hand in this capture.

It’s execution time. General Tulius gives a speech about how Ulfric started a civil war and killed the former High King; Ulfric, being gagged, cannot say a word in defense. A Stormcloak is executed to mixed reactions (“You Imperial bastards!” “Justice!”, etc.). The thief runs away; he is shot by Imperial archers, demonstrating the futility of escape. It’s your turn. The Nord in Imperial armor states you’re not on the list; the Imperial captain doesn’t care and orders you to the block anyway.

You see the headsman’s axe rise up when, as if the gods intervene, a dragon appears and interrupts your execution. In the chaos, you run with the Stormcloaks. The game does not give you the option to run away alone, or with the Imperials; until you meet Hadvar again in the fire and death, you take orders from Ulfric.

Part 3: The Crux

A lot happens in the first few minutes of Skyrim. You’re disoriented from being unconscious, and that’s compounded by your two near death experiences (point 2), the first person you meet is a calm, almost reassuring mouthpiece of exposition while the other side, at best, doesn’t care if you die (points 2 and 3), one major aspect of the plot is revealed (point 1, and the tone is that this is a classic Rebellion story).

And people love rebellion stories. Americans especially; we spend billions on the day when a bunch of white guys said “fuck you” to a bunch of other white guys. With the additional layer of when Skyrim was developed, by who, and in what landscape it was written.. Yeah. There may be two ways to go for the Civil War questline, but for most players (myself included!) their first gut instinct is going to be “side with the guys who didn’t just try to kill me.”

It’s the same song and dance. In Bioshock, your instinct is to trust the Irish guy who wants to help you get out of Rapture alive, but he needs your help first. In Borderlands, your instinct is to trust the woman who is literally called a guardian angel, and she shows her compassion by asking you to help the people of Fyrestone and the poor robot who got hurt in a gunfight. In Metal Gear, your instinct is to shut down the threat because terrorists are evil and these ones are not just terrorists, they’re deserters. Hell, even in other Elder Scrolls games the plot is laid out by helping hands: you’re a prisoner being contacted by your murdered friend, and given the goal to stop Jagar Tharn (Arena), you’re a Blades agent tasked with putting a vengeful spirit to rest that leads you to a weapon that can secure the Empire’s power (Daggerfall), Azura literally tells you not to be afraid, and that you destined to stop an old threat (Morrowind), and a soon-to-be-assassinated Emperor voiced by Actual Grandpa Patrick Stewart recognizes you in a prophetic dream (Oblivion).

Where Skyrim departs from these games, and even the other Elder Scrolls titles, is how much it enforces the first thing you see as solidly good and evil, and how little it tries to subvert that perception. Remember point 2, when the game makes it clear that this person is trustworthy? Therein lies the bread and butter of psychological horror, mysteries, and heart wrenching plot twists: that trust gets tested, and often broken.

The rebel leader Atlas? He’s somehow more evil than Andrew Ryan, and has subtly controlled you the entire time with a command phrase (“Would you kindly..?”). You are unable to stop yourself when you bludgeon Andrew Ryan to death at Ryan’s command. “A man chooses,” he tells you. “A slave obeys.” His final words are him telling you that you are a puppet, only able to obey.

The end of Borderlands reveals that “Angel” was watching you the entire time.. from a Hyperion satellite. You were tricked into opening a Vault holding back a dangerous monster, and you don’t even know why. Borderlands 2 goes further into just what (or rather who) Angel is: a teenage girl and a powerful Siren, used by her own demented, evil, father, Handsome Jack, to manipulate the Vault Hunters and gain more power for himself. Her final mission given to you is simple: she wants you to set her free and end her father’s mad march to power by killing her.

Metal Gear Solid ultimately plays it straight in that you stop the terrorists and disable the nuclear threat, but you don’t emerge from the rubble as an action hero; you’re forced to kill your own brother, the terrorist cell is revealed to be composed almost entirely of people exploited by your organization, and you secretly carry  a virus designed to kill the people you were trying to save. War, as it turns out, is not as clear-cut as “we good, they bad”. The people you’ve killed without thinking are your genetic brothers. Sniper Wolf, the assassin who shot your commander’s niece, survived a genocide and has never known a life outside of war. Psycho Mantis’ telepathic gifts were exploited by both the KGB and FBI until he lost his mind. Ocelot is Ocelot.

Oh, but those are other games. What about The Elder Scrolls? Well..

In Daggerfall, your search for hidden correspondence leads you to finding the Mantella, a sort of soul gem that can power the superweapon everyone wants: The Numidium. There are six entities total who want the Mantella, some for their personal gain, one to make a home for his people, and one so he may finally die; the Underking’s soul is in that gem, you see, and he’s been trapped in this misery since the days of Tiber Septim.

In Morrowind, Dagoth Ur recognizes you not as a schlub with a dummy thick journal, but as his oldest and dearest friend. The Empire who guided you for so long? They’ve manipulated you into taking down the Tribunal, destroying the one weapon that could stand against their might, and depending on your interpretation of “then the Nerevarine sailed to Akavir”, have possibly killed you.

And what of everyone’s favorite game in the series to mock? Surprise! Oblivion isn’t even about you, hero! It’s about the actual chosen one, Martin Septim! Sure you can join the Thieves’ Guild and cavort about as Grey Fox, or uncover the traitor of the Dark Brotherhood, or run off and become the Mad God.. but none of those events actually acknowledge you. To be the Grey Fox is to literally be forgotten, by the time the Dark Brotherhood questline is complete there is effectively no more Dark Brotherhood, and to become Sheogorath is to lose yourself entirely. The Hero of Kvatch is one who is ultimately forgotten. Your actions were important, have no doubt, but such is the fate of the unsung hero: they’re not sung about.

Even Arena plays a little bit with your expectations in that the Staff of Chaos alone isn’t enough to stop Jagar Tharn; you need friendship (just kidding it’s a magic gem in the Imperial Palace). Skyrim.. kinda glosses over that. They land a few punches, but for them to stay with you, you have to keep an open mind.

Part 4: Why does that matter?

Because if your expectations are never subverted, your trust never tried in any meaningful way, then your perception of a very specific, spoon-fed worldview is never challenged. The trust you build with a group that is, in essence, a fascist paramilitary cult is never shaken in any way that’s meaningful. You get some lines intended to evoke sadness when you sack Whiterun, but by then it’s too late. Not that it matters; at the end of the Stormcloak questline, there’s not much question about who was in the right. You never lose friends or allies; the Jarls in the holds change, but is there much difference between Idgrod Ravencrone and Sorli the Builder? You might feel a little guilty when you see the Dunmer forced to live in the slums, but then the haughty High Elf says that she didn’t laze around and instead made a name for herself, or the Dark Elf farmer who complains about his snowflake kinsmen harping on about “injustices”. The Argonians seem decent until you meet the skooma addict/thief, and the Khajiit.. let’s just say that even if we disregard the two Khajiit assassins sent to kill you, there exist a lot of extremely harmful stereotypes that none of your friends dispel. They commit no horrific war crimes in your presence, the worst you hear is a Nord (normally a bandit) yell “Skyrim is for the Nords!”, or the clumsy Welcome to Winterhold script where a Dunmer woman is harassed by two Nords; one’s a veteran, by the way. Got run through the chest by an Imperial craven, or so the story goes.

Your only chance to rattle the Nord-driven story is to go against your gut feeling and side with the Imperials (the plotline is pretty weak, not gonna lie), or complete the optional quest No One Escapes Cindha Mine where you see what a Stormcloak sympathizer does to the Forsworn. Even if you complete that quest, the Forsworn still attack you. “They’re savages,” say the Nords, and the game isn’t too inclined to say otherwise.

When it comes to portraying the Nords in any light that’s not negative, Skyrim doesn’t deliver like it did in other games. You saw what life is like in Morrowind under Tribunal rule; it’s not great. The Houses are almost universally awful and they have slaves. You see the destruction in Cyrodiil and hear the rumors on how much the Empire is flailing with the Oblivion Crisis. Hell, even Arena tells you that life in Tamriel kind of sucks, but it’ll suck a little less when Tharn is dead.

That doesn’t happen in Skyrim. You are encouraged to join the sympathetic Stormcloaks, you find out your destiny as Dragonborn, and you set all these things right. Of course you do. You’re a hero, baby. Others have gone on about how storybook the Dragonborn questline is so I won’t go too much in, but that’s it exactly: Storybook. You’re Neutral Good. You’re going to kill the bad dragon that wants to do its job and eat the world. 

And that refusal to really examine the nuances and horrors of war, to consider what it means to be a hero that is never morally challenged or forced into a Total Perspective Vortex, to never challenge an extremely biased perspective or even explore its “logical” conclusion?

It leads to extremely dangerous ways of thinking if unchecked.

#lore overanalysis #about my favorite subjects: media studies and skyrim #this is another long one #good god it's long

[kayanne369]

17th of Last Seed

Given the events of the past few hours, I have decided to keep a journal for the foreseeable future. Partly, I do this for myself, so that I may keep track of the days and the events that are seemingly unfolding all around me. However, if I am, to be honest with myself, this is primarily to offer something in the way of a first-hand account of what happened in Helgen. I am one of two survivors for all I know. Two people. Two out of hundreds. Most of them soldiers. Well-equipped imperial soldiers. Mowed down like blades of grass. Their armour practically melted to their skin. These men were trained. Not for dragon attacks. No. Who could possibly have that level of foresight? But they were trained. And they died. Every single one of them died. Damn it. I took out a few myself. They were soldiers and they died. What hope do a bunch of farmers and tradesmen have?

I’m rambling. I’m sorry. This is supposed to be an account, not a canvas for me to express my feelings. No. I have other methods for that. I’m writing this from a small house in a place named Riverwood. It’s a small village a few miles north of Helgan. At least I think it is. In truth, my memories of the day are hazy and, in this respect, this may not be the detailed account of a dragon attack that I’d hoped it was. My brain seems to be opting to remove the unpleasant memories from my head so I will be quick and as thorough as I can.

I got caught in an ambush near the border of Skyrim. I doubt I was in this land more than a few hours and I was in chains. I’d be angrier if I wasn’t so tickled by my own bad luck. I was put in the back of a trailer. I must have been knocked unconscious in the skirmish because the next thing I remember was waking up, my head pounding and limbs sore. There were three men around me, our hands all equally bound. One, Ralof, was talking to me. His voice was harsh but sympathetic. He uttered words of encouragement but I was barely listening to them. I was more focused on the man at his side. His eyes were wide with terror and he looked just as confused as to what was going on as I was. It took me a few moments to notice the third man, as I was, in fact, laying my head on his shoulder. I later found out that his name was Ulfric. Apparently, he was the one the soldiers were after. I’m not all that clear on the details but he must have done something to warrant hostility so strong they’d execute anyone standing near him. In honesty, I don’t even know if he’s alive. He was the last time I saw him, but anything could have happened between then and now. Oh, well. I don’t really care to be honest. I’m only mentioning it because I feel he may be somewhat important in whatever nonsense this cursed land has gotten itself mixed up in.

Gods. I don’t know. I just don’t know. Everything is so hazy. My head hurts. My limbs ache. I can’t get the smell of burning flesh out of my nostrils. I don’t even know how long the attack was. I remember laying my head on the block, too terrified even to cry, and a shadow fell over me. Someone screamed the word, “dragon” and suddenly everything was thrown into chaos. I remember being thrown to the ground. Somehow I got back up. No idea how. But I did. I looked up and saw it. A gigantic black, winged creature. I think I must have stood and stared for a good few minutes. It was reptilian. I can be certain of that. It’s claws and facial structure was telling. It opened its mouth and a stream of fire came screaming from its throat. The soldiers in front of it practically turned to ash. I truly believe that had Ralof not pulled me out of my trance, I’d have ended up the same. But he did. He grabbed my hand, and he pulled so hard he almost dislocated my arm. He pulled me into a small stone structure where two other Nords were talking and I took a break for what much have been the first time in a minute. One Nord headed up the winding stairs but before he could take but a few steps, the wall to his right caved and in came a jet of white-hot flames. We hid below the stairs until the flames stopped and Ralof in an action I can only put down to absolute madness, pulled me up the remainder of the staircase and practically pushed me through the opening, through the roof of a neighbouring house and before I really knew what was happening, I was back on the streets.

I watched the dragon circle for a few seconds before a shout broke my stupor. A soldier was calling to me and instinctively I ran to him. I didn’t recognise it at the time, but thinking back, I believe he made some feeble attempt to shield me from the headman’s axe. Said something about returning my remains to Morrowind. Bloody good that would do. But non-the less, he did save me. Guided me through the streets and the carnage and the blood and the smoke and the heat, until I met with Ralof once more. The two shared a few cross words and then ran off in separate directions. I wonder if Ralof perhaps knew him. I think I overheard him call him Hadvar, but I wasn’t really listening. We escaped into what I can only assume was a keep stopped for a few seconds. My mind was racing. Honestly, at the time, I wasn’t entirely sure whether I was alive or if this was some twisted afterlife that had cursed onto me. The whole event seems so ethereal looking back. I supposed I could go into detail our escape, but the long and short of it is that we did. By some miracle of miracles, we escaped, and as the sun hung high in the sky, we stood in the shadow of a burning city and watched the creature responsible fly away into the distance.

I honestly can’t remember anything after that. The next thing I do remember is sitting in front of a fire, a warm shawl over my shoulders. Ralof and a Nord couple were sitting around a table chatting with each other. They stopped when they saw that I was looking at them and the women, who I later found was named Gerder gave me sincere smile. Looking around, I saw a young child sleeping soundly in a bunk in the far off corner of the room. She offered me a bowl of stew but I was in no mood to eat and ended up leaving the majority of it. Not something I generally like to do on principle, but I was too tired to care. Too wound up to rest. Too scared to eat. I still am in all honesty. Ralof and his family at this moment sleep soundly beside me. Their breathing the only sound breaking the silence. Yet, I can hear nothing but screaming. I close my eyes and I see the rebel with his head on the block.

“My ancestors are smiling on me.” Those were his last words. His last defiant words. Then nothing. Just a fountain of crimson springing forth as his head was rendered from his shoulders. I see screaming bodies engulfed in flames falling into burning puddles of metal and charred skin. I see the boy. His little face frozen in terror at what before him���Gods. Gods, please let these memories fade. I can’t cope with them. I simply can’t.

#skyrim #fiction #journal #dragonborn #oc #helgen #the journal fic

[that-boy-needs-therapy]

Fortuitous that you have no soul, Khajiit Chapter 3: Dragon’s Breath and Tunnels

Fire engulfed the roof of the inn, heating the beastmen to an unbearable degree as they made their way to the other end of the building. The only way down that could be seen was a hole in the floor, blessedly free of fire that could possibly set Rajin-jo's fur alight, and the two wasted no time climbing down in an attempt to escape the encroaching flames. Even once downstairs the two could hear parts of the roof caving in with loud cracks, and ash fell down from the hole they passed through. Time was of the essence, and they couldn't stand still for too long if they wished to make it through this blazing inferno alive.

Sprinting for the door, both men heard people screaming, one voice being recognized as the imperial soldier who was calling out prisoner names earlier. Nererius grew nervous at the idea of running into a soldier at the time, but put aside his concerns long enough for he and the Khajiit to make it outside. Overhead the great dragon flew, screeching into the sky and raining fire upon the soldiers and civilians below. The sight of which the argonian would not soon forget.

“Haming, you need to get out of there!” the soldier called out to the child, tone desperate and fearful for the young boy. The child in question, young Haming, was desperately trying to help his father stand, tears in his young eyes and fear in his voice. Over the sound of chaos they could hardly hear the soldier and with Haming farther away they could not quite make out what he said. But, all too fast, the dragon made its descent. The child made one last desperate plea to his downed father, who only smiled sadly in return, before he finally turned and ran. “That's it, you're doing great.” The soldier said half-heartedly, eyes still glued to the boy's father.

Then the dragon landed, and burnt the downed father to a crisp.

“Torolf, No!” Cried the Imperial Soldier, Haming crying out a desperate 'Father!' in return. An elderly man in iron armor kept hold of the child as they all hid behind a wall, while the dragon again took off to the skies.

“Hadvar what do we do now?” The old man asked, eyes trained above them. The soldier, Hadvar, replied solemly.

“Get Haming out of here, find your way to the gate and climb over if you must, just run!”

Rajin-jo stared at the unrecognizable corpse of a man once called Torolf, heart in his throat. His mind flashed with memories of death and fire, and his own desperate voice calling out for.. for... “Rajin...” Mother, his mother.. He could not remember her face, but her voice, she.. “RAJIN!” The khajiit snapped out of his trance, turning to Nererius with wide eyes. He shook in his boots, quite spooked. The argonian took notice, and calmed himself. “Hey,” He said “We're going to get out of here, okay? Hadvar here told us he knows a way around the dragon, through the keep.”

“I... Yes, yes Khajiit understands.. Let us go then, the sooner we are away from this beast, the better.” With that agreed, the three made their way to the keep. They passed behind desolate buildings, the dragon swooping down to perch upon the wall they hid against and burning yet another man before their very eyes. Rajin-jo was becoming less level-headed, but kept as much focus as he could on the task at hand. He was sure he'd be fine once they were out of danger's path.

Quickly they ran, Hadvar taking lead and weaving them through rubble and bow-wielding soldiers. Past burnt bodies and strewn corpses. The voices were growing quieter now, with fewer survivors as either dragon or debris took their lives, or the scant few managed their escapes. Finally, with little time to spare, they found themselves outside the keep. Ralof, of course, had somehow gotten there first, and Hadvar was less than pleased to see him. Neither beastman payed their bickering any mind however, and Rajin-jo shouted above them.

“Is this really the time for arguments?! A dragon has attacked for the first time in what appears to be long enough they were considered mere myth, and you two fools choose to fight?! Let us escape together instead of committing to petty squabbles! This one is tired of the shenanigans!” And my, did that shut them up, hearing the Khajiit rage. Of course, he had a point. Their lives were in danger, and what good did it do either of them to continue letting their qualms get in the way of their survival at a time like this? Maybe it was best to just work together for the time being..

“Truce, Ralof?” Hadvar asked, holding a hand outstretched.

Ralof hesitated, but he, too, conceded. “Truce, Hadvar.”

Above them the dragon roared, jolting the quartet back into action. Hadvar ushered them into the barracks side of the Keep, stating that there would be weapons inside, and they all ran in as though death itself was biting at their heels. Given the circumstances, it quite nearly was.

“Where to go now, Khajiit wonders?” Rajin voiced, sparking to life a small orb of light in his palm. “We are within the keep, but to which way is the exit, Hadvar? This one wishes not to stay here until the dragon leaves.”

Hadvar shakes his head, pointing towards the gated entrance to the room. “We go through there, the keep comes out through a cave system, and that will take us out further down the hill towards Riverwood. It was intended to evacuate civilians in case of attack, but unfortunately we weren't prepared for a dragon.”

“When is anyone prepared for a dragon.” came Ralof's somber reply, as they heard more rumbling roars from outside.

“Khajiit says we keep moving, that thing could burst through a wall any moment.”

Nererius nods in agreement. “He's right, it burst right through the watchtower earlier, it could do the same here.”

“Damn,” Hadvar cursed, “Alright, lets keep moving then.”

The party of four made their way through, occasionally having to fight imperial and stormcloak alike, all taking one look at the group and declaring either Ralof or Hadvar traitors to their respective causes. It was an especially morose moment for the two men when they came down to the 'interrogation' room. The interrogator did not even bother to speak to them upon noticing Ralof, and the four faced off against the old sadistic man and his assistant.

While Nererius fought with a dagger, and the humans with swords and shields, Rajin-jo used magic. Simple spark spells, for simple foes, but his precision was a tad alarming.

The assistant came barreling at him with a hammer, to which Rajin-jo responded in kind with a swift kick to his midsection, barely scrambling away in time to avoid the hammer coming down upon him. He then stunned the larger man with a powerful shock to the head, and Nererius came to his aid with a stab to the man's back, clinging onto him with his powerful claws so the thrashing assistant could not knock him off. After a moment, he stopped struggling, the blood loss too much to bear, and he perished fast. Ralof and Hadvar finished off the elder Torturer at the same moment, and the four took a minute to breathe.

Ralof seemed distraught, holding his head in his hands. Hadvar, too, seemed less than happy, but he took steadying breaths and held his cool. The two beastmen did not say anything, but both knew that it had to be distressing to have to kill people they probably knew, maybe even fought alongside. For Hadvar this situation could end up especially deadly, if anything about their time in the keep got out. For Ralof it was much the same, but the likelihood of this information making it back to his superiors was much smaller by comparison, though not impossible.

One-by-one, they all finally calmed down from the fight, and began to search for supplies as they had done in other rooms. Hadvar and Ralof ignored each other for the most part, which was rather typical, but did not show any outward hostilities for the time being. Hadvar wandered closer to the cages in the room, and noticed a dead body inside. “Hey, Khajiit, come here a moment.”

“This one is called Rajin-jo, or Rajin for short. You may use his name, do not call me 'Khajiit' or 'cat'.” Spoke the Khajiit, still coming closer to see what the man wanted.

“Sorry, I won't do it again. But look here, do you think you could get it open? We might be able to use whatever the poor sod had on him.” Rajin-jo sniffed at the request, eyes narrowing in contempt.

“So, you think that since I am Khajiiti, that means that Rajin-jo can pick locks? Typical.”

Of course, Hadvar had the decency to look sheepish, but that didn't change the fact that he'd stereotyped Rajin. Nererius, witnessing what was happening, came over to try and defuse the situation. “I can pick locks.” He said, earning him a mixture of looks from the other three men in the room. “What? I was put on that cart for a reason, you know. But that's besides the point.”

With a flourish Nererius pulled out a knife that he acquired from the kitchen, and a lockpick, likely pilfered from the evidence chest in the corner of the room. “Do watch, I love to show off. At least, when I know I won't be arrested.” The argonian snarked, smirking with pride. The skill was useful for anyone in a pinch, of course, so neither of the other three men could really complain. They all gathered around to watch him work, and with little effort at all the lock was open and Nererius was inside, looting the body.

“Dagger, Mage clothes, a spell book-” Rajin-jo snatched it up with great glee, leaving Nererius to roll his eyes and rub his hand where the Khajiit's claws had caught his scales. “-Some coin, and a potion of magicka. Not much, but the coin might come in handy later. Most of this I suspect would be better suited for Rajin-jo, since he seems to be more magically adept than the rest of us.”

“Oh this one would be very pleased to take the magical items off your hands, indeed. Rajin-jo is in need of a new set of robes.”

The search continued for another full minute before they were made alert to the dragon again, the black beast's roars echoing far above. Hadvar pulled out his bow, face set in a grim line. “let's get out of here.” Said he, leading them through the hall of cells, and out the back. They all followed closely behind, keeping low and quiet. Rajin-jo listened to their surroundings, while Nererius kept a trained eye on everything.

To the group's luck, they made it through the remainder of the slowly deteriorating keep with little resistance, all the way up to the drawbridge that finished the transition from Keep, to cave. Rajin-jo watched the walls as they passed through, seeing the stonework shift from clean and dry, to wet and mossy, and finally to broken or unfinished cave wall. Sconces and torches were few and far between, with light coming from cracks above made ever greater by the ground itself shaking violently with every roar from the dragon in the sky.

They passed through a den of frostbite spiders, and by oblivion it was the least pleasant event for Rajin-jo since they made their escape into the keep. “Oh this is revolting!” He cried out, sending a burst of lightning hurtling towards the largest spider, his ears flat against his head and tail wrapped tightly around one leg in anxiety. Skyrim truly was nothing like Cyrodiil, being ever-cold and mountainous, and having giant spiders roaming about willy-nilly to boot!

In his moment of panic at the sight of foes he'd never faced before, behind him creeped another spider which he failed to notice. Rajin-jo had his attention focused forward, blasting any spiders he saw. Before he knew it, he was being pinned down, and-

“Rajin-jo!” Nererius yelled, ramming into the spider full-force and slicing it down its midsection before it had the chance to right itself. The spider let out a chittering cry as it perished, legs curling in on itself. Rajin-jo panted for a moment to catch his lost breath as he slowly stood. He turned to thank Nererius for saving him, only to catch his sour look. “You need to be more careful, fool. I figured you more careful than that.”

And oh, that just cemented it. Attractive or not, Rajin-jo was determined to make this scaled annoyance's life like oblivion itself came to life.

For the moment though, he held his tongue, and simply walked after Hadvar and Ralof, who were waiting for them at the other end of the den. They'd be out of here and towards Riverwood soon, then he'd have his fun.

#Skyrim #fanfiction #fanfic #message me privately if you want a link to the ao3 page #over 2000 words this chapter