#a daedra named desire

[maqqy96]

A Daedra Named Desire Author Update

Things have been tough lately on the creative front for just about everyone I know. Between AI theft of work, N*F*T bullshit, and just about anything else that's happened in the past 5 years has all but drained any desire to work on just about anything for me.

Unfortunately, there's another layer to it that I don't think I ever put into words, so I'd like to do that here. Feel free to skip right on past all this, as it all has to do with surviving an abusive relationship.

Way back in the year of 2003, I started a webcomic. It was a horrible premises, had little to no cohesive plot, the art varied wildly, and the update schedule was even worse, but I was still so proud of it! Slowly, I started treating it as a real project rather than a lark. It got a little better, though it still had plot holes big enough to drive a bus through. I updated semi-regularly, and started building a readership. In 2006, I met a guy, and as time rolled onward into 2009, I married him. All seemed well. He knew I drew the comic, and he made enough at his job that he encouraged me to stay at home and work solely on my comics. I was thrilled and believed I was living the dream! So my comic became my full time work, and though it was still wonky and only had a small following, my readers were kind, encouraging, and above all, patient with my sometimes scatter-brain. I told myself there were no more excuses: I needed to pick an update schedule and keep to it. So I made it my goal to update M-W-F. And I did just that.

-Please note that I'm no saint and that I'm not trying to vilify him; we both did things that brought our relationship to an end. I missed a lot of cues because I was hyper-focused on my comic. This is just my viewpoint.-

Fast forward again. After a few years, our relationship was beginning to sour. He resented the fact that I sat on my ass all day and did 'nothing'. He wanted me to handle all the errands, cleaning, cooking, etc. I already was doing it, so I was a little confused, but I put more effort into it. Began meal-planning, cooking more, made sure the home was spotless, etc. I missed a few updates because of it, but again, my readership was patient. I started devoting the mornings and afternoons to doing the housework and errands, and spent evenings doing comic work. From the moment the sun came up to long after it went down, I was working. It was tough, but I loved the work and I loved him. I still made time for him, but most of the time he came home, ate dinner, and played poker games on the XBox until it was time to go to bed. The computer was set up not far from the TV, so we were together during this time and I saw no problems.

He did.

All of a sudden, he began claiming that I didn't want to spend time cuddling with him. When I pointed out he just played poker games or strategy games like Civ IV, which didn't interest me, he threw a fit. So we compromised and tried to have a movie night each Friday. Sitting on the couch cuddling and being together. But he only wanted to watch movies that interested him. If I put on a movie that I liked and he didn't, he'd eventually wander off or pull out his phone. Needless to say, movie night fizzled out and we went back to our routine.

Eventually, as our relationship began to strain, he brought up my comic. I'd been working on it over 10 years at that point; why wasn't I making money with it? I pointed out that I had sold at conventions up until the recession, and then that avenue dried up for me. Trying to switch to online sales didn't really work, since I had a store and nothing sold. He pointed out other webcomics that were making money at the time and how they updated daily. He accused me of being lazy. I resented it, and pointed out that each page took me 8 to 10 hours to complete. He became convinced that it was because I wasn't trying enough, and eventually comes up with the *brilliant* idea of us doing a joint comic. That's what we needed! I was hesitant, and decided to see how dedicated to this idea he was. So I told him, fine, you write me 5 pages of script, and I'd draw it. He starts telling me his ideas, I tell him to write it down.

Sure enough, he never wrote a single word, but would frequently accuse me of not loving him because why wouldn't I want to take his ideas and use them? They were GENIUS. I never replied when he got like that. However, as my comic continued to gain little attention and floundered along, the doubts he had raised took root in my mind. I began to try and push myself to work on it more, if only to get a backlog of comics so I didn't miss any updates. Missed updates would cost me in the end!

In the end, our relationship burned to the ground and motivation with it. I found out he had been cheating on me, moved back in with my parents, and began going through the process of a divorce. However, the updates to my comic just...stopped. I found all my ideas for it had died, and my motivation was completely gone. So much of that comic had gotten wrapped up in my now failed relationship that I couldn't, even with therapy, unwrap it. I felt like a failure, and my ability to do artwork fizzled and died. ~And now the Fan-Fic relevant info~

It's been almost 10 years since then, and I have barely recovered my ability to draw. Needing a creative outlet, I turned to writing, and found my old passion for it was still there. When 2020 quarantine hit, I challenged myself. Instead of sitting on my butt playing video games all day, I was going to play a little, then write something based on the gameplay. I came up with my current story: A Daedra Named Desire, and I enjoyed it. The first several chapters were witty and great fun. The whole thing was a blast to work on. Did I have a plot? Kinda, but I told myself it'd work out. I also told myself not to let this one fizzle and die; I wanted the joy of finishing a project! Cue three years of working on nothing but. While there are other projects I'd love to focus on, I told myself to finish this one. It'd be good for me in the long run. However, as I'd sometimes re-read the story, I noticed the drag in the middle. Chapters feel bloated because they are just THERE. I forced myself to keep an update schedule and hated myself when I missed one. Sometimes, you have to recognize bad habits and do something about them. As such, I told myself to stop draining myself trying to make a self-imposed goal. Don't post chapters unless you felt it was worthwhile. Right now, I'm stuck on the plot, so I'm trying to find inspiration rather than forcing content out of myself.

So to all those readers who look forward to my work: THANK YOU. You are not the problem; you're the reason I keep going! Comments and likes on my work are truly a balm to my mind on bad days, and I read every single one and love them. Even the more critical ones are appreciated (mean ones are just laughed at and ignored), since I sometimes make glaring mistakes, especially with Lore. At this point, I'm bound and determined to finish this story. Too often I've lost interest and let a story fizzle, only to regret it so much. But I need to stop hurting myself to create sub-par content. So I'm taking a break, stepping back, and giving myself the space needed to tackle this project again when I'm ready. And again, thank you kindly for sticking with me. If you have suggestions, comments, suggestions, or encouragements, please feel free to reach out! You never know when words will inspire someone!

#a daedra named desire #fan fiction #writing #depression #emotional abuse #trigger warning #abuse

[sunnyhvnny]

My OCs

As of February 1st, 2023

Lilias Tyrell || Helaena’s Lover & Lady-In-Waiting

More about Lilias

Lilias Tyrell is the second daughter and fourth child of Lyonel Tyrell during The Dance of Dragons.

She loves her family and chasing her siblings around Highgarden. Her elder siblings refer to her as their 'Little Flower', because she is the youngest or because of her love of flowers, she doesn't know. After Princess Helaena married Aegon II, Lilias is sent to King’s Landing to be one of Helaena’s Ladies-In-Waiting.

Lilias is not the Princess's first Lady-In-Waiting, but she is the one that Helaena is the closest to. Over the years the girls grow close and soon become lovers. They are rarely found without the other and Lilias's devotion for her princess is so strong that she refuses to marry and chooses to stay with Helaena as The Dance of Dragons begins.

Cyrena The Caring || Third Wife of Maegor Targaryen

More about Cyrena

Cyrena the Caring, or simply Cyrena as she is known by her friends, is a dancer, healer, and a woman who sells pleasure to those who have enough coin in Pentos.

She is the bastard daughter of a sailor and a Red Priestess who left her in Bravoos. With only her first name and beauty, she made her way to Pentos as a child. Orphaned and alone, she learned how to heal and give pleasure to others. Her sweet nature and inability to turn away those in need earned her the name Cyrena The Caring.

In her tenth year in Pentos, she met a large silver-haired man by the name of Maegor. Not knowing of the laws in Westeros or of his desire to be King, she wed him, becoming his third wife as his second watched on with a smile. She had no desire to become a Queen, she only desired to be taken far away from Pentos and the greedy hands that always found her.

Malini Sand || Helaena’s Lady-In-Waiting & Aegon’s Lover

More about Malini

The bastard daughter of Qoren Martell’s wife, Malini Sand is adored by almost everyone in Dorne but after a disagreement with the Prince of Dorne and King Viserys, it is agreed that Malini will be sent to King’s Landing as not only a ward but as a Lady-In-Waiting for Princess Helaena.

She is the first of Princess Helaena’s Ladies and the only one to catch and hold the eye of Prince Aegon. She is an avid reader, seeking out knowledge anywhere she can find it. She also enjoys the pleasures and luxuries that life has to offer. Often dressing in the fine jewels that her mother sends from home and escaping into the city to dance freely. Malini enjoys the cat and mouse game with the Prince but it comes to an end after she catches him staring at her in awe as she shows the Princess and her other Ladies a dance native to Dorne. It is that night that she takes the Prince to her bed and makes him her lover.

In the histories, she is known as one of the few noblewomen that King Aegon the Second of his name had taken as a lover. She bore him two children; a son named Nymor, who her half-sister named as her heir after bearing no children of her own, and a daughter named Nymeria, who took to the seas with her mother and sailed East with no fixed location after The Dance of Dragons came to an end.

Daedra Bracken || Helaena’s Lady-In-Waiting & Aemond’s Wife

More about Daedra

Daedra Bracken is the youngest child of Humphrey Bracken and his second wife, Aryanna. She has two older brothers, Amos and a bastard brother Raylon by her father. She also has four older sisters, making her the youngest child of both her mother and father.

Daedra spent her childhood chasing her older brothers through the mud and rivers. Her older brother knew of her fear of being left behind, so while she should have been learning how to be a lady from a septa, he was teaching her how to wield a sword. When she could no longer hide from the old septa, she found herself negotiating what she should learn and that is how Daedra had learned of the histories of Westeros and the East. She swore one day that she would see all of those places that seemed so far away but just after her nameday when she turned ten and two, a letter from King’s Landing came, requesting for Daedra to come and be one of Princess Helaena’s ladies-in-waiting.

Daedra struck up a fast friendship with Lilias Tyrell, one of Helaena’s closest ladies but even she didn’t understand Daedra’s impulse to cause trouble. Most of her mischievous doings could be overlooked but during the tourney held for the Prince and Princess Jaehaerys and Jaehaera’s nameday, Daedra disguised herself as a knight to participate. After she won, she thought she made it through unnoticed but Prince Aemond recognized her mannerisms and figured out that it was not Amos Bracken inside the suit of armor, but his little sister.

Her courtship with Prince Aemond was quick and they were wed fast. She and Aemond lived happily with two children born within a year of each other before The Dance of Dragons began. They had a daughter named; Vaenya who had hair as red as her mother and lilac eyes like her father and a son named Brynden who was the spitting image of his father. During the Dance, Daedra fell pregnant with her last child but it didn’t stop her from fighting alongside her husband during the war.

It was as Aemond was falling through the skies with dark sister plunged through his eye that Daedra went into her labors and gave birth to a son named Aemon with mismatched eyes, one blue and one lilac. After her husband’s death, Daedra moved her small family to the lake by the God’s Eye and watched the waters until her husband’s bones were finally brought forth. After witnessing the bones that made up her husband and the sword plunged through the skull, she was never the same.

She became known as The Ghost of The God’s Eye for she wept and cried for her lost husband during the darkest parts of the nights.

#my ocs: lilias tyrell #my ocs: cyrena the caring #my ocs: Malini sand #☀️Sunny’s ocs #aegon ii targaryen #maegor targaryen #helaena targaryen #my ocs: Daedra Bracken #Aemond Targaryen

[cheeseandstrawberrytartlover]

Truly a pleasing Reward

18+

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Sheogorath was silently sitting on Akatosh's lap which he really did not like. He combed through Sheogorath hair with his hand.

"I think you did well down there."

"I wasted most of my damn energy."

"An admirable way of wasting all of your energy. You held Baar Dau for six hours. That was Incredible, my darling."

The Daedric Prince crossed his arms, "And where is my reward for my heroic deed?! Losing my physical form for weeks?!"

"Well, to Nirn it was months."

"That is even worse! My poor worshippers! I am so glad Haskill took over for a while!"

Akatosh slowly put his hand on Sheogorath's thigh.

"Maybe... I have an idea for a reward for your heroic deed," As he whispered those words, his hand slid up Sheogorath's robe.

The Daedric Prince gasped quietly, "Right now?"

The Dragon God grabbed his lover and pulled him off his lap. The Madgod already desperately kissed him in anticipation as the Dragon God led him to one of the pillars.

Sheogorath gasped at Akatosh, being pushed against the pillar by his hips. The excitement was unbearable.

The Madgod's eyes were pinned on Akatosh as he removed the brooch connecting his robes at his shoulder. The piece of fabric fell to the floor. It was a surprise to Sheogorath. He was already fully erect without him having to... "help out" unlike last time. The Aedra had been waiting to have sex with him again and the Daedra sighed in delight.

The Dragon God got closer to him and held onto his hips while kissing their neck.

"Please remove your robe," Akatosh begged his lover and they agreed. The Daedric Prince pulled his robe over his head to remove it and Akatosh gently brushed up against his leg.

Akatosh's eyes were filled with deep desire and lust. Next he carefully grabbed Sheogorath's leg and pushed him up against the pillar which made him gasp ever so slightly. The warmth of Akatosh's body gave him goosebumps.

"I cannot wait to find out how I can lay you today."

Akatosh held Sheogorath's leg up to his hips and licked two of his finger. He was willing to prepare his lover, but his lover already chose an easier way today. Akatosh led his fingers along the Madgod's leg to find the entrance only to find a female entrance between his manhood and his other entrance. All to Akatosh's surprise, but a welcome surprise. He looked up at his lover for confirmation after he realized that he was already wet.

"Yes, you may start now if you would like."

The Dragon God grabbed both of Sheogorath's legs in excitement and and propped him up to his hip height against the pillar. Sheogorath wrapped his arms around his neck in preparation for a rough session. Suddenly he felt something change on Akatosh's back only to see him spread his wings in dominance.

The Daedric Prince chuckled and immediately got silenced by Akatosh's first thrust. He cried out at the sudden sense of pleasure inside of him and his legs cramped up.

"I thought that you were ready," Akatosh joked as he started to kiss his neck once again.

Sheogorath murmured, "Even I can be wrong sometimes."

Akatosh didn't respond, he only thrusted again. Sheogorath bit back a moan as the Dragon God set a rhythm that he liked. The Daedric Prince's nails were digging into Akatosh's back. Even the Dragon God's wings were moving with the rhythm.

They were so close while Akatosh was buried deep in Sheogorath. Sheogorath's noises were pure pleasure for Akatosh's ears. Their bodies were getting hot and sweaty. So much so that Akatosh sometimes lost grip. The Daedric Prince moaned his Akatosh's name loudly as he arrived and only then Akatosh arrived inside of him with one long thrust that lasted an eternity.

Sheogorath felt warmth pool in his lower abdomen. His entire body was trembling. His legs were jerking in the Dragon God of Time's hands. Akatosh leaned his head against Sheogorath's shoulder in exhaustion. Both of their bodies were pulsing as they were still connected. This sinful action had been observed. The Madgod looked to the side in the direction of the open throne room's door.

The Dragon God looked at the god who dared to disturb him. Stendarr. Akatosh made sure to cover Sheogorath in a manner that only made him look possessive.

Sheogorath smiled at Stendarr while biting his lip.

"I cannot believe what you have done, Akatosh."

With unwillingness, Akatosh exited Sheogorath and the Daedric Prince mewled with protest. A bit of milky fluid dripped to the floor and the Madgod slowly moved behind his lover, barely being able to walk.

"Why would you do this?"

"It is not of your concern with who I copulate. You have always been critical of my relationship with Sheogorath. Next time, I will make you watch even more if you do not mind your own business, Stendarr. We are all Et'Ada! Would you be more approving if I layed a mortal?!"

Stendarr's gaze darkened and he left.

Sheogorath traced Akatosh's chest and whispered, "Next round in your bedroom?"

Akatosh angrily picked up both of their robes and led Sheogorath to his bedroom.

Akatosh's bedroom only had one window which made it only dimly lit. It's size would fit two dragons and the bed in the middle, shrouded in silks and satin, could fit Akatosh's dragon form perfectly. Only little light passed through the colorful silks and satins.

Sheogorath wandered to the bed and pushed the fabrics out of his way to lie down.

"I wish my bed was this large. Perhaps I should use this as a reference for my new bedroom."

"Your new bedroom?"

"I am doing a few renovations. I do not like how separated it is."

"Hm."

Akatosh lay down next to Sheogorath and started to kiss his torso.

"Is it okay if I am on top now?"

The Dragon God's face turned a bright red.

"Huh?"

"I will be gentle."

It only took a few minutes for Akatosh to agree to Sheogorath's idea. Usually the Dragon God of Time was on top. It was rare for him to be on the bottom. Akatosh got on his knees for Sheogorath and the Daedric Prince liked this way too much.

"Spread your legs a little bit more," Sheogorath adviced the red-faced Dragon God.

Akatosh hesitated but spread his legs a little bit more. Sheogorath started to caress his buttcheeks which made Akatosh even embarassed. Sheogorath licked his fingers and started to gently finger the embarassed mess in front of him.

As Sheogorath's fingers entered him, Akatosh groaned. Preparation was easy, Akatosh had thought, but slowly he realized how essential it was to the one receiving. Both gods had no idea where Akatosh's g-spot was but they would find out soon. The Dragon God pushed his face into the blanket already.

"Is that enough for you, Akatosh?"

His affirmation was muffled by the blanket, but it was one.

Sheogorath pulled his fingers out of Akatosh and got closer to him.

"If this position becomes uncomfortable, please tell me... darling."

The Daedric Prince grinned diabolically and traced Akatosh's spine before carefully pushing his manhood into Akatosh's slit. Akatosh gasped below Sheogorath.

Sheogorath moaned, "Oh, you are so warm. I have to try not to arrive immediately."

He bent over his lover's back and grabbed Akatosh's manhood. The Daedra started to rub and thrust at the same time. Naturally, Sheogorath made most of the noises, but he was glad to hear Akatosh's groans and moans as well.

With the free hand he had left over, he moved it towards Akatosh's and intertwined it with his. Akatosh squeezed it gently.

"Sheogorath- harder!"

Sheogorath let go of Akatosh's hand and straightened up. He fully stopped the rubbing as he grabbed Akatosh's muscular thighs.

Akatosh turned his head to try and see what Sheogorath was doing, but it was too late. The Daedric Prince thrusted with his entire strength. Akatosh cried out and gripped the sheets.

The Madgod's thrusts were powerful and unforgiving. It felt so good that Akatosh arched his back.

"Oh, Sheogorath!!!"

Just as Akatosh thought he was going limp, he arrived and ruined the sheets. Sheogorath thrusted a few more times before feeling the pure ecstasy himself and filling Akatosh's entrance for the first time... or at least the first time for quite a while.

Breathless, both collapsed and Sheogorath carefully exited Akatosh. Now that both of them were lying next to each other again, the Daedric Prince softly traced Akatosh's inner thigh.

Both were panting.

"See? This wasn't too bad."

"This was... brilliant. You may lay me again any time you want."

"With pleasure."

Sheogorath gently gave his lover a kiss on the shoulder.

#smut #akatosh/sheogorath #akatosh x sheogorath #akasheo #fanfiction #nsft #I will die now #goodbye

[lockewrites]

Twilight Thorns

@blossom-adventures​ sent: “Hidden Tavern, Twilight, Red Berries” & “Entering a Daedric Realm” for @nirnwrote​

F!Dragonborn & Sanguine || Semi-NSFW || 1514 words AO3

Rhea attends one of Sanguine's lavish parties. Spicy content mentioned, but nothing in graphic detail.

The sweet, musky scent of roses greeted her as she found her footing. It wasn’t the first portal Rhea had stepped through, but it was certainly the least taxing physically; normally, she was left with nausea and dizziness, but this one merely filled her body with a strange buzz, an excited tingling in her limbs.

An ogrim stood in front of her, its arms barely crossed over its chest as it glared down at her. Behind it was an imposing metal gate, taller than the daedra and lined with just as tall shrubbery, making it difficult to tell just what it was blocking.

“Need a name,” it grunted, though the “voice” was more like gravel beneath a boot.

“Rheanon Blaire,” she replied. “What’s yours?”

The ogrim gave her a confused look before answering, “Allit.”

It unfolded its arms, revealing a scroll in its hand; the beast began scanning what she assumed to be the guest list, rolling it an impossible number of times given its apparent size.

As it continued searching, Rhea pulled a parchment from her pocket and held it out to the daedra. “I was given this invite.”

“Should’a said so sooner,” it huffed. With an unsettlingly large hand, it pushed open the gate and allowed her to pass.

Rhea stepped through and gaped at the scene before her. A castle, far larger and more lavish than any jarl or even emperor could boast stretched far into the twilight sky; the grounds were decorated with a dizzying array of colored lanterns and candles, and music that wasn’t heard until passing through the gate spilled from somewhere beyond the castle walls. The lawn itself was laced with rose bushes, statues and fountains, many of which expressed a variety of different coital positions, and the different-colored liquids, which wafted a strong and bitter smell, were no doubt the strongest alcohols to be found in Oblivion.

“Milady.”

A deep voice startled Rhea. She looked down to find a horned, crimson-skinned being standing in front of her; he barely reached her mid-thigh and was adorned in his weight in jewelry. She suddenly felt very underdressed.

With a nod of his head and a jingle of his embellishments, he spoke again. “If you would kindly follow me,” he said, “I will guide you to our dear Lord Sanguine’s party.”

Rhea followed him along the twisting path, which seemed strategically placed to pass by the most vulgar of the lawn decor, until they reached the ornate castle doors. Two more daedric beings stood guard; they were far quieter in terms of appearance (and quite literally, as they spoke no words at their approach); their skin and armor were stone-like, as though Sanguine carved them out of granite and granted them mobility.

This close, she could feel the music pulsing in her chest, her heartbeat seeming to match the pace; her stomach tightened and the corners of her lips twitched upward.

The pair of guards opened the doors, revealing ostentation on a scale the vainest of mortals could never dream. Somehow both bright and ambient; flames glinting off the numerous gold surfaces scattered around the grand hall, showing every curve of the piles of bodies writhing in time with the band’s deep, vibrating music.

Inebriation hung in the very air itself, smell and effect, and in simply standing there, Rhea felt that excited tingle shift within her muscles to relaxation and a desire for gaiety.

A servant approached her, holding a tray of gold goblets, each filled to the brim with a shimmering liquid that shifted colors in the light. She took one and sniffed it: cinnamon, vanilla, and various herbs she couldn’t place. With a shrug, she took an exploratory sip; the drink burned all the way down her throat and into her stomach, but pleasantly so, like the heat from a sauna but under her skin.

As she continued on her drink, Rhea looked toward the heart of the hall; a throne as tall as a building, lined with golden thorns and jewels of the bloodiest red, and sitting with as pleased a grin as any was the host himself: Sanguine. An androgynous figure stood beside him, animatedly speaking to him, their arms flailing as they shared their story. Sensing her gaze, Sanguine’s crimson eyes met hers, and his smile widened as he gave her a wink.

Rhea returned the smile and raised her goblet to him before downing the rest of it. After grabbing another, she wandered around the grandiose room, stepping over people enjoying carnal pleasures and skirting between those twisting around the band’s melodies.

“I had wondered when you’d be making an appearance, Rheanon,” a silky voice spoke behind her.

She turned, finding Sanguine standing close enough for her to have to crane her neck to properly meet his gaze. The embellished robes he wore were left open, exposing his chest and the scarlet etchings along his skin; matching black fabric hung low on his hips, graced with gold chains and beads that shimmered perfectly with his movements. He took her hand and brought it to his dark lips.

“I didn’t want to show up prior to the mass orgy,” she replied. The skin beneath his kiss prickled. “This is a bit more lavish than your last party,” Rhea added.

Sanguine chuckled. “Oh, my dear, that was a mere gathering catered to your needs,” he explained. “With you off galavanting and saving the world, a party such as this would be far too overwhelming. But you certainly needed something, and I’m always one to oblige.”

“Oh?” Rhea took a long drink before continuing. “Well, I’m flattered someone would go to the trouble for a stranger like myself.”

“Ah, but you’re no stranger,” he corrected. “Not to me, and not to my siblings. We’ve all had our eyes on you for quite some time.” Sanguine reached out and ran his clawed finger along her jaw, stopping beneath her chin. “It’s not every era the divines grace Nirn with a piece of themselves within a mortal’s skin.”

Her smile fell, and Sanguine’s hand dropped in response.

“Is that why I’m here?” she asked, her tone indignant.

He quirked his eyebrow.

“That’s why all the others have sent for me,” Rhea said. “‘I’ve chosen you as my champion,’ ‘Do this menial task for me,’ ‘You’re power incarnate, and I want it for myself.’”

Sanguine clicked his tongue. “You misunderstand my intentions.” His hand hovered over her chalice a moment before the liquid topped itself off. “I seek your company simply because you are intriguing. And I know you’re capable of indulging in the pleasures of your world, and I’m curious if you can continue to do so in mine.”

After taking a sip of his own, he continued, “So, perhaps, that is part of it–your very nature being a point of interest. But, I’m not about to request you return to Nirn to do my bidding, as I’ve no doubt my siblings have done on many occasions.”

Rhea furrowed her brow. “So, you… what? Just want me to enjoy myself?”

He grinned, showing off his sharp fangs. “Precisely.” He tilted his head, some of his dark locks falling around his horns. “Was that not obvious from our first meeting?”

With a shrug, she replied, “I figured you were trying to butter me up. Get on my good side before asking me to run off and cause hell.”

Sanguine chuckled as he dipped his finger into his drink, pulling out a strange, red berry.

“My Rheanon,” he purred, leaning in close, his breath smelling heavily of his drink. He brought the berry to her lips, which she involuntarily parted and accepted. “I only seek to be on your worst side.”

A deep flush settled in her cheeks and her lower abdomen fluttered. She swallowed hard, too deep in his trance to even taste the fruit, and said, “Well then, you’re, uh, a nice change of pace.” In an attempt to swallow her stuttered words, Rhea took another drink, moving too quickly and spilling a bit from the corner of her mouth.

When she pulled the glass away, Sanguine gathered the excess from her mouth with his thumb and dragged his tongue along the length. It only served to darken her blush.

“I don’t think you’ve freed yourself from the shackles and worries of your world just yet,” he remarked. “I know your divine soul is not so easily taken by daedric influence, but even so, alcohol and the like can still offer some respite.”

He shifted to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She glanced at the point of contact.

“Why don’t I show you how a Daedric Prince properly indulges?” His nails grazed along her skin as he guided her to the front of the hall. “I do so enjoy having a deserving guest of honor. It’s like its own form of voyeurism.”

Rhea let out a nervous chuckle and motioned to the fornicating bodies. “This isn’t voyeuristic enough for you?”

“Oh, darling Rheanon,” he said, shaking his head. “This is simply white noise.”

#skyrim #sanguine #tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim fanfiction #tes fanfiction #rheanon #sanguine is so much fun to write I have been missing out on this for YEARS #I'll need to write more to make up for it! #alxxiis actually wrote something #fic: sky above chaos within

[the-blackholeus]

OMG I DIDNY EVEN REALISE YHAT YOU RELPLIED TO MY COMMENT THANM YOU!! But I literally have this thought on my mind everyday and if ofc it’s not too much trouble read Away! ((This is obvs just added info and you don’t need to read or even follow it,it’s just my thoughts,your writing is so satisfying I couldn’t be the slightest upset!)

So the thought is that, the male dovahkiin is like a typical delinquent boy? He’s harsh,easily annoyed and hates being looked down upon and will test his strength and wouldn’t even think before throwing a punch at somebody,and is the sort to rather die than show a shred of emotion despite anger,like full on run away and never show his face again🥲 And then a daedric prince comes for whatever reason(probs the dovahkiins lil pazaz) and they are soulmates,like instant boom omg you smell like heaven I need you?👹👍(this is harder to write down than I thought😅) idk where I’m going with this but I have this thought of just an overly possessive daedric prince(literally whatever one) and them trying to hug the dovahkiin in bed coz of like some inner instincts to have him in bed and them having to force and lay on the dovahkiin(loving the contact ;)) and the dovahkiins protesting,thrashing around insulting them.

I literally have no idea I jsut love the dynamic of a stubborn person and a usually menacing and terrifying person being an absolute puppy with the other 🤨 please,once again,ignore this if it’s too confusing it honestly hurts my brain aswell!😭 but it feels nice to get my thoughts down either way(this is more of a ramble tbh)

Thank you and I luv u <3333

I am so incredibly sorry that this took forever. I kind of forgot about this story because I wanted to add more Daedra and it kind of slipped out of existence for a while. I only found it again because I opened another document to work on some recent requests...I'm such an idiot.

I hope you can forgive me and still enjoy the story.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Hermaeus Mora

Hermaeus Mora, one, if not the most powerful Daedra in existence, had honestly forgotten that he had a soulmate at all.

To him, the collection of knowledge and hoarding the secrets of the world was far more important than to find the mate that destiny had intended for him. He had never questioned who they were, what their name was, which species they belonged to, and generally never wasted a thought on what he would do when he would be confronted with them. Instead, he had focused entirely on his champion Miraak, which had consumed more and more of his time as soon as this foolish Nord had begun to overstep his boundaries.

But of course, defying fate is never that easy. Not even for the very creature that could change it to his favor, and as such one day the youngest Dragonborn, a fierce male Nord, appeared in his realm, Apocrypha.

He had slashed himself through his servants, torn them into pieces with minimal effort, found his books in record time, and won the battle with his former favorite servant with frightening ease, claiming the title as the strongest Dovahkiin in existence, leaving the broken and bleeding body to its master, who disposed of it as if it was nothing but a useless pile of flesh with no worth, gifting this powerful mortal with the weapon and the clothes that once belonged to the now dead man.

But of course, Hermaeus Mora wasn’t one to let the opportunity to claim a new and better champion slide. Intrigued by the raw power and rage the other showed and acted upon, he wanted to have this individual in his collections of most unique servants. Desiring to study this exceptional creature, the Daedra made an offer that the male Nord could not decline, promising to give him all the knowledge he could ever want and move freely through the world as long as he would never act against his interest and complete some simple tasks once in a while. And apparently, the current only living Dragonborn was just as much of an opportunist as himself, for he quickly agreed.

But…despite having him in his ranks, powerful and almost all-knowing deity wasn’t satisfied. Of course, it was delightful to watch him, his way of battling so very interesting that the mass of eyes and tentacles even interrupted his studying and watched, no matter how basic and unimportant the fight seemed to be, but…it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to satisfy this strange longing in him. It wasn’t enough to silence the voice in his mind that had begun to speak to him shortly after he had taken the other under his wing. It wasn’t enough for…him.

He wanted the Nord to be close. To have him around when he read and wrote, to teach him about Skyrim’s history and where he had influenced it, maybe even to discuss new spells that the divine being was working on and using his feedback to improve them further. He wanted not just to be his master, but also his companion. His friend even. And that led him to behave in a very unusual way.

He was definitely kinder to the Dovahkiin than he was to the rest of his underlings, which he considered as worthless slaves. His words were not as degrading, the riddles that he liked to throw upon the poor souls that dared to enter his domain to thrive them insane and trap them forever and ever had reduced to a minimum, and he even offered to help him on his quest to obtain all shouts, granting him a map with all the locations that he needed to go to, and giving him hidden clues how to find those who were hidden from plain sight. Of course his friendliness was met with suspicion at first. Hermaeus Mora was known to be a tricky creature, who slowly manipulated people into thinking his way, taking over their minds and forcing them to serve him by making crave more and more knowledge, thriving them absolutely mad and keeping them as trophies afterward. As such the male did not take to his actions too kindly at first, fearing that it was all just an attempt to make him end up like Miraak. But as time passed, their partnership grew tighter, and the Nord slowly began to trust him a little.

At least enough to accept an offer to assist him in treating the wounds that he carried from battle with an Ancient Dragon, which had taken him by surprise and managed to injure him heavily.

And it was then, when the Daedra wrapped his bleeding lower arm, they discovered the truth.

It turns out that the that the Dovahkiin carried around a strange mark he had since birth. A mysterious, eye-shaped symbol that was carved into his flesh, not paling nor fading no matter how many years passed or how many times the skin was cut. It had…shocked the deity so much that he had let go of his champion altogether, leaving him to wonder why he had suddenly decided to let him tend the rest of his wounds himself, and of course also letting a snarky remark pass his lips as well.

But that all had suddenly stopped when he saw that Hermaeus Mora looked at him like he was something absolutely alien, something bizarre, something which’s reality he couldn’t grasp… Never before had he seen the Daedric Prince seem so…lost. It was a sight that had honestly made him nervous…

But that uneasy feeling passed as soon as the immortal began to explain what he had just discovered, revealing the reason they, no matter how much distrust the powerful warrior had towards him, were always drawn to one another.

He had revealed that they…were soulmates. Lovers by destiny.

It all somehow escalated from them on. The Dovahkiin couldn’t exactly remember what happened, but all he knew that unknown instincts that rested within him suddenly awoke, and yearnings that he didn’t even know he had been finally calmed as he and the all-knowing creature became one, giving not only their souls to one another, but also their bodies.

The pleasure that they were experiencing was beyond anything both of them had ever felt. Finally, Hermaeus Mora understood why so many of his brethren lowered themselves to such animalistic desires, for the ecstasy he felt was better than any acquiring of knowledge, or the joy he felt when he killed a traitor. It was a whole new feeling that he yearned to explore further, to know more about, and ever since, their physical bonding happened regularly.

Just like last night.

By the next morning, the Dovahkiin was sore. His entire body hurt from receiving the love and affection from the Daedra, causing him to groan lowly as he awoke. Carefully, he blinked his eyes open, and moved his hands to rub the sleep out of them before stretching himself and rubbing his face. He sat up, letting his fingers run through his hair and scratching the back of his neck, glancing to his right. He stared down upon the massive form that laid next to him, curled up into a ball, still slumbering deeply despite lacking the need for it, studying his figure that was oh so familiar to him.

This being was no other than Hermaeus Mora himself, who had changed into a humanoid form to ease the process of bonding. He had given himself the form of an over eight feet tall lean man. His hipbones showed, and ribs poked out from his deathly pale yet flawless skin, which had a tint of grey to it, fitting well into the realm of Apocrypha. Despite that, strong muscles rested underneath his soft flesh, giving him a toned stomach as well as strong arms, connected to large, thin-fingered hands ending with long, razor-sharp black claws. His jaw was sharp, his face laced with lines that spoke of middle-age (not that it mattered, he was immortal after all, but it fit him well), and hanging from his skull was astonishing beautiful, incredibly long void-black hair, which covered almost the entire bed. If he stood, it reached floor, and if he walked, it’d drag behind him for around three feet. Not rarely, he was cleaning the floor with it unless the Dragonborn would braid it. A ritual that had deepened their bond even more over time.

The Dovahkiin felt a small smile form on his lips, and after looking around to see if he was truly unobserved, he dared to raise his hand, and let his fingers run through those soft locks, feeling their texture on his rough fingertips. He watched as these beautiful features twitched and changed, and a low groan came from the Daedra’s throat as he curled up more, not awakening from the skin-to-skin contact but rather diving deeper into the world of dreams. The mortal snorted at the display and shook his head in disbelieve before beginning to rob out of bed, planning to go to the recently created bathroom to bathe, hoping the warm water would ease his aching muscles.

But before he could do so, he suddenly felt two massive arms warp around him, and pull him back onto the bed, forcing him to fall back and onto the soft sheets.

The Dragonborn grunted in surprise as he fell back onto the soft sheets. He was pulled against the ice-cold deity’s chest, and a large head nuzzled into the back of his neck, long hair tickling him wherever it reached. “HEY!”, the powerful mortal complained, glaring furiously as his lover’s tongue ran over skin, and soothed the swollen flesh that had suffered dearly during their intercourse.

“Hmm…My lovely champion.”, Hermaeus Mora rumbled deeply, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Where do you think you are going?”

“Bathing.”, the mortal spoke matter-of-factly, and attempted to free himself from the iron-grip the other had on him, not minding the long claw, which could unintentionally hurt him should he move in any wrong way.

He heard the Daedra huff gently, and he leaned upwards, red eyes meeting two dark-green, goat-like orbs glazed over with sleep, clearly still exhausted from yesterday. “And what makes you think that I will let you go?”, he asked, crocking his head to the side, the pointy ears twitching slightly just like a dog who had heard an unfamiliar sound. “This bed is comfortable, you are wonderful to hold, and I refuse to simply let you slip through my grasp. You are mine, Champion, mine alone.”

The strong-willed male growled furiously at those words, attempting to break himself free once more. “F-fuck you!”, he hissed, and showed his sharpened teeth, his fierce temper coming through from being denied something so basic. “Let me go, you tentacle face! I need a bath, and like hell I’m going to let you prevent me from doing that!!”

Unimpressed by the insults his champion threw at him, the Daedra simply pulled him closer, and curled up around him, interwinding their legs and trapping him underneath his huge, ice-cold body. The legendary being groaned as the impressive weight pressed down upon him, writhing furiously in hopes that he could push him off of him. But once again, to no avail. He was trapped, restrained, and absolutely helpless, something he hated more than anything other in the whole wide world.

The shout that tore from his throat resembled the roar of a dragon, and he pulled all strength together, attempting to finally free himself one last time.

At first, it seemed that he would finally be successful, frightened by the thundering sound so close to his sensitive ears, the immortal pulled back with a hiss, and covered them with his hands. Using the moment of surprise, the Dragonborn jumped from the bed, and ran towards the bathroom, hoping that he had stunned the other male long enough to reach it. But unfortunately for him, he had forgotten how quickly Hermaeus Mora was in composing himself, and before he could make any real progress, he was grabbed and pulled back, tucked into strong arms. A long, lean body curled around him, and a head rested on top of his own.

He was trapped again, the grip far stronger and more demanding than before.

With a frustrated sigh, the powerful mortal gave up. He slumped back against the cold form behind him, feeling the cool skin against his own heated one, and made himself comfortable in the forced embrace. "Fine...", he grumbled, and crossed his arms, a humiliated expression on his face. "You won, asshole! I give up."

"A wise choice.", his mate grumbled quietly, already slipping back into the world of dreams.

"But after you're done cuddling me to death, I'm going to take a shower!", the Dovahkiin hissed, turning as much as he could to face the Daedra. "And don't you dare to hold me back then!"

"Fine. I guess that is only fair after I gruesomely forced you to spend time with your loved one.", the long-haired being huffed sarcastically, a thin smile on his lips. "Now, go back to sleep. We still have hours before you must awaken for your journey, and I intend to use every second faith has given us."

His consort growled, whispering something under his breath that the immortal did not bother to catch. But soon after, he felt the other relax against him, the strong chest rising and falling with even in- and exhales. His eyes were closed and face relaxed, finally exposing the beauty ehich always hides behind that scowl of his.

The Daedra felt victory bloom in his chest, and he leaned over to press a soft kiss to his champion's forehead, feeling the messy hair tickle his skin, before setting down once more, a smile on his thin lips as he drifted off to sleep as well.

#hermaeus mora #The Elder Scrolls #hermaeus mora x reader #requested

[anotherclassicpretence]

Short snippet for @tes-summer-fest day 2- Prompt: Magic. Involves an OC, but indirectly.

~

"Another of those blasted mages," the Nord sneered, looking for the table farthest away from Brelyna in The Frozen Hearth, Winterhold's last remaining inn. He meant her to hear the insult, and the following ones aimed at her Dunmer identity; but she had long since given up reacting.

Today, though, the words awoke pity in her heart. The prejudiced jarl, who treated the only institution keeping Winterhold alive with as much disgust as possible, was right. The locals jeering at the College mages as they hurriedly passed the streets were right. It was the College- her college- that was responsible for the Great Collapse.

There was no intention to do harm, nor was anyone directly involved still alive- although that depended on your definition of 'alive'. The Augur of Dunlain was beyond punishment now.

Brelyna couldn't remember the name or the face of the mysterious trainer whom she had learnt so much from- a teacher who refused to enter the College, but always spoke of it with warm gratitude. Warm gratitude hiding a sharp bitterness for anything that threatened it, including the Augur.

"It was an accident, but he knew the risks. He didn't care about his fellow mages, and his 'experiment' ruined thousands of lives." The words echoed in her mind, still only half-believed. How could this be true? And why would the Arch-mage allow such a criminal to continue his residence in the Midden? Ah, not the Arch-mage, but Mirabelle, at least?

The trainer had said it was more trouble than worth getting rid of him- that he had already been contained enough to rule out becoming a threat. The college barely had enough students to continue functioning, and losing them here would be senseless. The secret of this crime had been buried for everyone's good- not even the oldest wizards knew it. Brelyna herself had all but forced the truth out of them, confidently declaring that she could digest it easily.

Still, how could this truth pass through her without awakening some strange guilt? Was she obliged to tell her fellow students, to tell the people of Winterhold, that yes, someone from the College brought on this plague; that yes, magic was an unpredictable, proud skill that delighted in outsmarting its mages to punish their arrogance?

"You are one of the last of our house." Her family had made it quite clear that she was to emerge from this place- this dreary, dangerous, backwater college that she inexplicably preferred over every other in Tamriel- as a Master Wizard, able to stand beside Neloth, the eternal measuring standard for House Telvanni.

He would have agreed with the Augur. Magic is discovery and delving, deeper and wider, until nothing remains to be unearthed, and godly power rests in your hands. If a city is flooded, a family killed, wars begun because of it, why- that was the world's stupidity. The world owed these superior intellects the space to conquer magic.

She left the inn, gazing at the silhouette of the College from the porch. Magic was a drowned city, a puppet Emperor, a whole race vanished. It was necromancers defiling tombs, houses burning down, Daedra roaring into peaceful provinces.

The mysterious trainer had told her one last thing- "You chose well. The College of Winterhold is eager to teach, eager to embrace your skills. The Augur is but a warning- only an exception. This is a place you can call home."

Brelyna thought of Master Tolfdir, always ready to explain, always desirous of their safety, and Mirabelle Ervine, efficient, devoted, and inspirationally resourceful, finding ways for all of them to understand magic completely. She remembered all the times Onmund and J'zargo, competitive and short-tempered as they were, had gathered in her room to study and help her with experiments.

This wasn't a Telvanni wizard's house. This was her home, because it taught her that Magic was golden light healing wounds, it was the fresh breath in your lungs as you swam under water, it was the welcome warmth of a campfire in the freezing night.

The Augur's deeds could not be undone, but the College of Winterhold must stand, with all its eccentric mages and impulsive students. It had learnt its lesson, and Brelyna had learnt hers. She made her way back to her room, and dreamt of conjuring a familiar.

#tesfest22 #the elder scrolls #tes #skyrim #college of winterhold #writing #writer

[boethiahsboytoy]

Btw I DO still have a Hermaeus Mora Champion self insert. He just doesn't have a name yet. Rn I'm calling him Vulon 2 and he's a snow elf wizard who, in his time, was a renowned wizard that invented many offensive and defensive spells that were used greatly during the war with the Atmorans. But in his desire to learn more he ventured into Apocrypha and lost track of time. When he came back with new ideas and new magic, his entire race was Gone. All that remained were the Betrayed, and much of the history of the snow elves had been lost to time.

He has a bitter resentment to modern Nords but Especially the likes of the Companions--and he's a little sore towards Mora for not Telling Him what was happening on Nirn at the time, feeling like He Could Have Helped. But he also knows that mortal things just don't Matter to Daedra. They don't fully comprehend them. So he's not angry or resentful. More hurt. But he dedicates a good chunk of his time pulling resources and facts and history from Apocrypha regarding his people and try and bring wider knowledge about them to anyone who's interested. He winds up at the College of Winterhold bc he figures they, at least, will appreciate his knowledge of magic. They're all a Little sketched out by his Devotion and how. Off. He is, having been in Oblivion for several thousand years. But he's nice and polite n helpful so like it's Fine. Urag loves him for having so many rare and ancient texts on the snow elves that he helps translate and copy. Idk how he'll fit into the main questline but he IS the Last Dragonborn. Probably like....Miraak gets jealous when he learns of him and when they fight and Vulon 2 wins he absorbs Several Dragon Souls (AND Miraak's) an d he's like "Lord Mora what the FUCK was that shit."

#i'm miraak and you're watching disney channel

[orsinium]

lets be real it was only a matter of time b4 i made a self-insert dremora oc

General Info

Name:  Arkrazz

Nickname: “Ark,” but used very rarely

Gender: none, it/its pronouns

Race: Dremora (Dagonic)

Hometown: Desert of Rust and Wounds, The Deadlands

Age: Ageless

Languages Spoken: Dagonic, Cyrodiilic, some Sanguine and Ancient Aldmeri

Appearance

Height: 5’8’’ (172cm), somewhat diminutive for the average Dremora

Weight: 250lbs (113kg), it’s chunky, and pretty muscular under its soft exterior 

Hair: shaved/short cropped; dark brown-black, average body hair

Skin: ashy gray-red, crimson face tattoos typical of Dagonic Dremora

Distinguishing marks: broken left cranial horn, septum piercing, gauges

Eyes: glowing Dremora yellow-red

Clothing: Arkrazz prefers light armor and clothing with sharp, defensive barbs over the standard heavy mail worn by Dagonic warriors

Personality

Temperament: Patient, quiet and studious, all qualities rare in the Deadlands. Arkrazz would rather study the ontology of Oblivion than clash with other clan Dremora over territory and honor.

Moral/ethical beliefs: While a black sheep compared to other Dremora in many ways, Arkrazz still exhibits their typical blue-orange sense of morality; it finds it hard to relate to others, especially mortals, as they rarely see its point of view.

Religious beliefs: Arkrazz is a dedicated follower of Mehrunes Dagon, and spends its days within its combination laboratory and atelier deep within the Deadlands. It has a minor obsession with figuring out Oblivion’s origins, and with providing Dagon a definitive answer to how it will end, or how such a fate could be avoided.

Hobbies: When not researching the fabric of reality, Ark can be found cataloging the flora and fauna of the Deadlands, as well as their alchemical uses. Most don’t understand why, but it loves what it calls the natural beauty of Dagon’s realm.

Habits: A bad habit Arkrazz has gotten into is conjuring new minor tools whenever it loses one, wasting energy and contributing more than its fair share to the collective recycling bin of Oblivion’s etheric energies.

Quirks/eccentricities: Arkrazz has a habit of thinking aloud, and then following up on those thoughts without warning. It’s not uncommon to have it portal away in the middle of a conversation because it remembered something unrelated.

Likes: 

fire, fire magic

alchemy and its mysteries

calm, religious reflection

exploring the Deadlands

Dislikes: 

violence, fighting

loud noises

confident ignorance

eggs— will eat anything but eggs

Fears: Inexistence; Arkrazz habitually researches the origins of reality, and how to escape its limits, including death. Dremora may not die under normal circumstances, but it’s not foolish enough to think the ultimate end of all things won’t come eventually.

Strengths: Arkrazz may not enjoy combat, but its powerful Dagonic fire magic and deadly poisons are a force to be reckoned with. Outside of combat, Arkrazz is not one to give up on an idea or theory, and will pursue it to the ends of Oblivion.

Weaknesses: Arkrazz does not handle conflict with other Dremora or Daedra well; while most mortals can be dispatched (or at least ignored), beings on its own level present risk of pursuit or worse.

Short term goals: None of Arkrazz’s goals are particularly “short term”; with theoretically endless time, it gets what it wants eventually, more or less.

Long term goals: Arkrazz’s ultimate goal is to transcend physical existence, and survive the ending of the kalpa. Lord Dagon could possibly hide it away until the start of the following epoch, but convincing a god to make that kind of exception for just anyone is difficult.

Hopes and desires: To be left alone, or at least to have its ideas and research catered to. Ark wouldn’t mind visitors so much if they contributed something to the academic conversation, or maybe stopped trying to slay it in the name of the divines.

Occupation: Lighthouse keeper; Arkrazz is the sole keeper and tender of the only lighthouse in the Deadlands. Standing tall upon the rocky shores of one of the Deadlands’ countless lava seas, its magically-imbued searchlight watches for breaches in space where invaders attempt to infiltrate the realm. The lower levels of the spire contain Arkrazz’s personal library and workshop.

Skills:

Astronomy

Alchemy

Mysticism & Thaumaturgy

Pyromancy

Secrets: 

Gear

Always has:

Daedric crescent pendant

pig-iron mortar, pestle & retort

dagger/pruning knife

Sometimes has:

iron staff with gold inlays

Daedric recording tablet

#my ocs

[skyrim-switch-cheats-codenj]

Skyrim cheats and console commands to Godmode your way across Tamriel | GamesRadar+

💾 ►►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥 Skyrim is the fifth game in Bethesda's critically acclaimed Elder Scrolls series, but you don't need to play the first four games to enjoy it. It's available for just about every platform, from PC to Nintendo Switch, which makes it a great place to jump into the series. Since the game throws you right into the heart of the action, you'll need all the skills you can muster if you ever want to shout dragons out of the sky or avoid getting stomped on by a giant. If you want to give yourself a little edge, we've assembled all the best cheat codes, exploits, and tips you'll need to survive your time in Skyrim. Skyrim has a ton of cheat codes that you can use if you're playing on PC. These codes are entered by opening the console window and then typing the code that you want to activate. Most of these codes work together, so you can activate more than one at a time. To activate a Skyrim cheat code:. Backup your save game data before using cheat codes. While you can turn most of these codes off, and undo the changes you make, there is always a chance that using cheat codes will corrupt your game and cause undesired effects. Modify any skill you want. Replace [skill] with the name of the skill and with the amount to modify it by. Example: Typing "player. Changes the faction of any NPC. Note: Typing "addtofaction C84D" will make it so the character can join you as a follower, and typing "addtofaction " will make it so you can marry the character. Skyrim is available on a ton of different video game systems, but cheat codes only work on the PC version. The problem is that you can only open the console window in the PC version, so there is absolutely no way to type cheat codes into any other version of Skyrim. There are a number of cheats and exploits that work in the PlayStation, Xbox One, and Nintendo version of the Skyrim, but they aren't intended, and Bethesda may patch them at any time. Position yourself so that you will be able to turn toward the man's bedside table while talking to him. Agree to buy the house, and then immediately open the bedside table and put all of your gold into it. Take your gold back out of the dresser. Note: Save before attempting this glitch in case it doesn't work the first time. The dog will follow you until you finish the quest A Daedra's Best Friend, so don't finish the quest. Since the dog is technically a quest item, it will will fight alongside you but will not die when attacked. Note: You can still have another companion while the dog is following you. By Jeremy Laukkonen. Jeremy Laukkonen. Jeremy Laukkonen is tech writer and the creator of a popular blog and video game startup. He also ghostwrites articles for numerous major trade publications. Learn about our Editorial Process. Reviewed by Michael Barton Heine Jr. What Does the Cheat Do? Cheat Code Activates God Mode, which makes you invulnerable in addition to granting infinite stamina, magicka, and carrying weight. Note: Typing "setessential 0" will make it so that the NPC can die. Warning: This code also resets your level and all of your skills. Note: Click on the chest or door you want to open before entering this code. Replace with the level you desire. Replace [item] with the item code and with the quantity to add. Replace [shout] with the shout code. Note: You will still need to use a dragon soul to unlock the word in your skills menu. Important: Entering the code again will turn the interface back on, but you will need to enter it without being able to see the console. Entering it again turns the AI back on. Entering it again turns the combat AI back on. Important: NPCs can still catch you if you try to pickpocket them. Note: Look at the thing you want to kill before entering the code. Example: Typing "placeatme FC" will spawn an ancient fire dragon in your location. Note: Use a value between -4 and 4. Note: Using the disable code on your follower and then using the enable code will change their level to your current level. Note: Entering the code again while looking at your character will turn things back to normal. Get a free house in Whiterun. Find the man in Whiterun who is selling a house. Talk to the man while he is asleep in his bed. Return to the conversation, and the man will provide you with a key to the house. Get an invincible dog companion. Speak to Lod in Falkreath to get a quest to find his dog. Locate the dog outside the village. Fast travel even if you are over-encumbered. Fast travel is normally disabled if you are carrying too much weight. If you get on a horse, you will be able to fast travel no matter how much weight you are carrying. Faster movement when over-encumbered. Use the Whirlwind Sprint Shout to get yourself to a place where you can sell some of the stuff you're carrying faster than you would be able to by walking. Using the power swing while walking with with a small weapon equipped will also increase your movement speed. Prevent fall damage. Quickly toggle sneak mode on and off while descending a dangerous slope to reduce the chance that you will take fall damage. Get free arrows of any type. Find an NPC who is shooting arrows at a dummy and pick up the arrows they shoot. If you have the skills, you can also pickpocket their arrows and replace then with any other type. They will then shoot that type of arrow, which you will be able to pick up. Featured Video. Minecraft Cheats, Cheat Codes, and Walkthroughs. Destiny 2 Cheats, Codes, Unlocks, and Walkthroughs. Activates God Mode, which makes you invulnerable in addition to granting infinite stamina, magicka, and carrying weight. Sets the currently selected non-player character NPC to essential, which basically makes them invulnerable. Opens the character customization screen from the beginning of the game at any time. Unlocks anything you want without needing the right key. Instantly add any item, in any quanity, to your inventory. Add any shout to your character. Changes your wanted level. Hides all of the in-game menus and interface elements. Turns the combat AI off, which prevents anything from attacking you. Prevents NPCs from noticing when you steal, kill, or perform other actions that would normally get you in trouble. Changes the stage of the current quest you're working on in case you messed up or want to skip ahead. Instantly kills anything you look at. If you have second thoughts, you can use this command to bring anything back to life just by looking at it. Use this code to return to the regular game after using the previous code to grab whatever goodies you desire. Follow this code with the base ID of any NPC or monster in the game, and it will instantly appear next to you. Select two NPCs and use this code to change the status of their relationship. Cancels the changes made by the previous code. Changes the ownership of the targeted item so that you own it, which can remove the stolen status from anything you stole. Takes control of whatever you are looking at.

[tamrielwolf]

My personal thoughts regarding the Tribunal as characters:

“FOUL MURDER” Is the disturbing message hidden within the Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec, Sermon Thirty-Six after taking the first letter of the first word from each paragraph. Why would the Tribunal admit to their crimes? Perhaps they aim to further mock General Nerevar for his weakness and refusal to harness power? Perhaps it is an outward act of defiance to Azura who was consumed in spite after ALMSIVI utilized the Heart of Lorkhan’s and turned the Chimer away from Daedric worship? Or what if the confession is evidence that they carry remorse for the murder of their beloved friend Indoril Nerevar all those years ago at the Battle of Red Mountain?

No Dunmer will ever know what ALMSIVI’s true feelings about Nerevar was, his death is a topic shrouded in mystery and tangled within contradictions as well as an ancient hate between the Tribunal and Azura that ended in bitter prophecy. To speculate beyond the implications is a great way to find yourself immersed in debate.

However, there is one thing that is clear regarding the murder of Nerevar, and that is the motive. Power. Man or mer, mortal or Daedra, we’ve seen it tale after tale, how the inhabitants of Nirn and Oblivion seek it. Power to be benevolent, power to be wicked, power to restore, or power to corrupt. Almost every great conflict or rise and fall of an Empire that has occurred is credited to the uninterrupted flow of power. One can say the desire for power, much like the real world, is what makes the Elder Scrolls games the disheveled yet beautiful universe it is.

Many would agree that the Almalexia, Vivec, and Sotha Sil are not heroes. What is so heroic about murdering your husband, friend, and esteemed General with poison and implement in exchange for ascension? Saint Alessia, Tiber Septim, and Ysgramor to name a few are surely the more appropriate historical figures that deserve such a title, right? Well, that can be challenged. What’s remarkable about ALMSIVI’s story is that unlike other legendary characters in history, the power they killed for is a pendulum that swings back and forth from the good and bad. The same Lady Almalexia who left Sotha Sil’s corpse to dangle and rot was once the mother of mercy who wept at the sight of her people’s blood and nearly died defending them from Mehrunes Dagon’s slaughter. The same Lord Vivec who threatened to send Baar Dau hurling onto his city if his people’s love for him were to fade, was once a great lord who led battles and with his negotiations, spared Morrowind from Tiber Septim’s conquer and Imperial assimilation. The same Lord Sotha Sil who isolated himself when his people needed him the most, was once the epitome of wisdom and mystery, a sorcerer who from his Clockwork City, worked to secure a future where Nirn would see liberation from Daedric plots.

It appears that the Tribunal whom represent mercy, mastery, and mystery also coexist as the antithesis of what they stand for. One can theorize that the source of their power, Lorkhan’s Heart, is the reason for such turbulence. Voryn Dagoth’s transformation is proof that using the heart is a painstaking task with grave repercussions. Lorkhan was the trickster god after all. He wouldn’t miss the opportunity to have a final laugh seeing those who tamper with his essence in search for sweet power, turn absolutely foul from it.

Something to add that not many have considered, is how lengthy the Tribunal’s rule actually was. From 1E 700 where they were reborn as gods to 3E 427 where their temple splintered at the hands of the Nerevarine, was 3543 years in totality. Making their reign longer than any Cyrodiilic dynasty and arguably the most successful governments in TES history. 3543 years the Dunmer people were able to preserve their culture and remain under the wings of not one, but three living gods whose unique power, although achieved through questionable methods, allowed Morrowind to flourish. Yet this greatly upset Azura. Whether it be the intoxication of rage for the murder of her champion or jealousy for being confronted and replaced by mortals, she believed a prophecy that would suddenly terminate this ancient rule was the best and only hope for the Dunmer.

Yet Azura and the Nerevarine did not restore Morrowind, they crippled it. The devastating eruption of Red Mountain which eventually left Vvardenfell a disfigured uninhabitable wasteland smoldered in ash is what that glorious prophecy bestowed. “The gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf” are the words Dunmer players hear upon entering Skyrim. A simple and honest statement for those wondering what had happened to the Land of War and Poetry after they supposedly saved it from the greedy claws of false traitor gods.

When Dagoth Ur resurfaced within the chambers of Red Mountain and retook the Heart of Lorkhan, it is undeniable that being quarantined from their power, made the Tribunal enter a downward spiral that left them unfit to rule. The madness that claimed them and the far from peaceful way their lives ended is what players remember ALMSIVI as. Though the Tribunal Temple collapsed in a manner that left them depicted as frail envious gods famished for power, may they also be seen as incredibly complex characters who were simply opportunists who wield a cunningness that forged a golden age for the Dunmer. Villains or not, their rich history and influence reserves a space on every bookshelf in Tamriel.

“For some years we kept the oaths we swore to Azura with Nerevar, but during that time, in secret, Sotha Sil must have studied the tools and divined their mysteries. And at last he came to us with a vision of a new world of peace, with justice and honor for nobles, and health and prosperity for the commoners, with the Tribunal as immortal patrons and guides. And dedicating ourselves to this vision of a better world, we made a pilgrimage to Red Mountain and transformed ourselves with the power of Kagrenac's tools.”

-Vivec

#the elder scrolls #morrowind #almalexia #sotha sil #vivec #indoril nerevar #nerevarine #dagoth ur #voryn dagoth

[maqqy96]

Chapters: 70/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Sanguine Characters: Sanguine (Elder Scrolls), Original Nord Character(s) (Elder Scrolls), Vigilants of Stendarr, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Hircine (Elder Scrolls), Clavicus Vile, Barbus, Molag Bal Additional Tags: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol, Vomiting, Male Gaze, Leering, Undressing With Eyes, Slow Burn Summary:

The Daedric Prince Sanguine, whose sphere was hedonistic revelry, debauchery, and passionate indulgences of darker natures, was currently suffering from the worst hangover in his entire existence. Vague memories of a deal gone wrong are all that he can recall of the last few weeks. To make matters worse, he found himself stuck wandering around with a virtuous, vindictive vixen and a young Vigilant of Stendarr as his only clues to what he'd done on what was clearly his most epic bender to date.

Now, if only he could remember it.

#sanguine #tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #sam guevenne #hircine

[kagrenacs]

Explaining the Iceberg #4

I covered most things in this, but not everything. Every previous post I’ve made describing the tes iceberg I found on google image search can be found here x

Lorkhan’s purposeful failure: Lorkhan was the first spirit to go beyond the universe to see the tower, but didn’t achieve CHIM. He likely did this on purpose to show others how not to do it, and to demonstrate that it was difficult for et’ada to achieve this state because they simply don’t have the boundaries (such as death) that mortals do.

The World-Egg: The universe and the 12 previous Kalpas, everything within existence

The Khajiit Tower: this reddit thread https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/3oh7wf/the_khajiit_tower/ for everyone’s sake i’ll spare you the details of Jungian psychology, TL;DR the khajiit are a ‘tower’ made to hold up the universe and aspects of this

The Grabbers: Mentioned in the 36 lessons, a race of people in Lyg who are said to ‘have never built a city of their own’ there are theories that these are in fact Magne-Ge, due to their connection to Lyg by Mehrunes Dagon

AE: ‘is’ in ehlnofex, can be interpreted as a state of being

Shezzar became Akatosh: The only solid reference i could find was this thread, that immediately discusses how this is probably incorrect http://www.gamesas.com/could-lorkhan-have-jyggalag-t74581-25.html

The Monkey-Truth: Markuth’s teachings, also a website of tes fanfiction writers and roleplayers 

Red Moment: The potential Dragon Break at Red Mountain

The Provisional House: Mentioned in the 36 Lessons, called ‘a space that is not a space’ that Vivec observes the events of Nirn from. It may possibly protect Vivec from dangers associated with this.

Alandro Sul: The Shield-Companion to Nerevar. Sometimes called ‘the immortal-son of Azura’. After being blinded by Wulfharth, he went to live with the Ashlanders of Vvardenfell and is credited with spreading the idea that the Tribunal killed Nerevar

CHIM: To put simply, the process and state where a person realizes their place within the universe and is able to manipulate the laws of the universe as they see fit. Often associated with the concept of ‘Love’

Skaal Secrets: Discussed in the Dragonborn DLC, it’s unknown what their secrets are, but the Skaal report that they’ve kept them a secret from Hermaeus Mora for generations

The World’s Teeth: Mentioned in the 36 lessons of Vivec, sermon 17. Vivec takes Nerevar to the edge of the world, where they see ‘the bottom row of the world’s teeth’ as Vivec states. This may possibly reference a glitch in Redguard. (as a side note: The Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild, a game that’s confirmed to have taken inspiration from the Elder Scrolls, has an area on the map, near the edge of the world with a row of spikes similar to what’s described here. This might be just coincidence, but I sure enjoy it)

Dagoth Ur’s Endgame: Speculation on what Dagoth Ur’s final plans actually are. He speaks of his desire to remove the Empire from Morrowind, and unite the Dunmer under the 6th House, but beyond that there’s little to go off of.  Ultimately this is just speculation and theories, mostly on what he plans to do with the Anumidium, and how that could possibly have adverse affects on reality.

Pelinal Cyborg from the Future: Another bit of obscure MK lore that’s not implemented in-game. This derives from the description of Pelinal having a ‘left hand made of a killing light’  ‘PELIN-EL [which is] "The Star-Made Knight" [and he] was arrayed in armor [from the future time].’ and his survival of being decapitated. While the text directly states he is from the future, there’s no ingame canon text stating he is a cyborg.

Reymon Ebonarm is Reman: The thought that Ebonarm, a God of War is the same person as Reman, emperor of Cyrodiil. There’s several theories dedicated to this, with different variants on the specifics.

The Enantiomorph: Directly tied to the concept of mantling and the Fourth Walking Way. Put simply, there are three participants in this. Two combatants who are very much alike and trying to become the ‘Ruling King’ and an observer who determines who wins, this observer usually becomes maimed as a result of this. 

The Third Moon: Two different things, a metaphorical or literal secret moon important to the Khajiit that only appears when Masser and Secunda are aligned, preceding the birth of a Mane. The second option is the Necromancer’s Moon, the godly form of Mannimarco.

The Walkabout: A concept in Yokudan religion. The process of spirits surviving one Kalpa to the next, facilitated by Tall Papa

White-Gold Doomsday device: I remember reading this theory a few years back, unfortunately I cannot find the exact page for the life of me. The Tl;DR on this is the White-Gold Tower is a weapon of mass destruction, either literally or in metaphysical terms (being connected to Akatosh and it’s status as a Tower). The closest thing I can find to it is this thread which describes the motives of Umbra in the novels, and how it could potentially take over Tamriel using the White-Gold Tower http://www.gamesas.com/doomsday-scenario-t69430.html

Jiub was the Nerevarine: Self explanatory, headcanon that Jiub was the Nerevarine, similar to a headcanon on tumblr that stated Teldryn Sero was the Nerevarine

House Dwemer: Mentioned as a House within The War of the First Council (which is written by an Imperial for Western Scholars) and The Lost Prophecy (written by a Dunmer) This could be interpreted in a couple different ways. A) The first book was certainly written for western readers, while there is no evidence for this being the case for the latter, it can’t be ruled out. ‘House’ is used as a simplification B) The Dwemer were considered a house, but perhaps not in the way we would initially think (being on the Great House Council)  They were grouped into a singular entity, rather than distinct clans within a cultural group (either during the First Council or posthumously) 

When Dead Gods Dream: https://www.imperial-library.info/content/when-dead-gods-dream referencing this thread. Discusses the mechanisms of Dagoth Ur’s godhood, the thread explains it better than I can here, TL;DR Dagoth Ur is not alive, but he is within the realms of gods and therefor is able to ‘project’ himself onto Tamriel and the minds of his followers.

Khajiit ended the Metheric Era: Nothing found for this

Parabolic Kalpa: A parabola is a symmetrical U-shaped curve. This theory essentially tries to explain why Skyrim is so low magic, compared to it’s history or even ESO. The thought is that as time goes on, the world becomes less connected to Divinity. Towers are destroyed and the gods are gone, but eventually things will begin to kick off again, and there will be a rise in magic, technology and the connection to these beings. Essentially tries to explain why C0da and Loveletter from the 5th era are more high magic compared to the actual games. 

Sithis: Secret Lesson from Vivec: Connects the both Sithis with the 36 lessons by terminology (The Sharmat, false dreamer ect.) and proposes Vivec may have written the book

Bendu Olo: Colovian King, may have been related to Olaj Olo, nordic demigod of mead. Also used as a placeholder name for the player character in Oblivion and the name of the dev’s test character in Skyrim

Trinimac still lives: An ESO lorebook states the Ashpit, realm of Malacath, extends into Aetherius. Some orcs also believe Malacath is nothing more than a demon presenting himself as the remnants of Trinimac. A r/teslore theory states that Malacath wears two faces. While I assume this is the Iceberg author’s sole reference, I propose this could (should) refer to another theory. (Another theory is similar to this on teslore, proposed around the same time, but this one connects the dots)  https://boethiah.tumblr.com/post/621058598373588993/tsun-is-the-shield-brother-of-shor-and-trinimac 

The Aedra are Dead: Seemingly a common topic on teslore. A basic concept in tes, the Aedra gave most of their powers to Mundus to stabilize it.  Their bodies remain as planets, and they can only have limited interactions with Nirn. 

Divayth Fyr was the Hero of Battlespire: An old theory that looks at artifacts in Divayth Fyr’s possession and ties them back to the tes spinoff Battlespire. There are holes in this theory (Divayth Fyr was a seasoned mage at the time the hero was an apprentice)

Three Talin’s: The default name given to the Eternal Champion is Talin, a character creation scenario proposes that their father was also named Talin, and finally Uriel Septim VII’s general was named Talin Warhaft.

Pelagius I was killed by the Underking: The Arcturian Heresy states that the Underking appeared as an advisor to Pelagius I, who was assassinated by the Dark Brotherhood. This theory is a possibility considering the amminosity between Tiber Septim and both components of the Underking. 

Tsaesci Goa’uld: Goa’uld are a species from Stargate that are parasites towards humans. This theory proposes that the Tsaesci are similar, explaining the inconsistencies of their appearance within the lore.

Lunar currency: The thought that the Aedra and Daedra use mortal souls like currency

Historic Star Inconsistencies: Possibly referring to the variations of the number of days within the year in Arena, not sure about this one

Mnemoli/Star Orphans:Mnemoli is either a specific Magne-Ge (spirits that fled the creation of Mundus after Magnus), or a group of them that only appears during a Dragon Break (often nicknamed the ‘Blue Star’) MK states that they’re the writers and distributors of the physical Elder Scrolls (however this contradicts ingame books, so take it with a grain of salt). Star Orphans may or may not refer to Magne-Ge as a whole. Vehk’s book of hours state's them as a ‘group or tribe’ regardless, Mnemoli falls under this secondary classification (along with Merid-Nuda and Xero-Lyg, I have my own thoughts on this which would be better explained in another post) 

Bosmer Hircine worship: Seemingly referring to a thread on 4pleb, I will not be summarizing this theory here because I’m smart and not going onto 4pleb of all places. But from canon content, Bosmer do not worship Hircine, and consider him a force that goes against Y’ffre and wants to return everything to it’s original state of chaos before the earthbones (Y’ffre being among them) stabilized things 

Septimus Signus Zero Sum: The theory that the aforementioned zero-summed at the end of Discerning the Transmundane in Skyrim. Essentially Septimus is in a fragile state, delving into the secrets of the universe and is being pushed by Hermaeus Mora, who may see him as a lab rat, into discovering things he isn’t meant to handle as a mortal, and consequently Zero-Sums. There’s holes in this, namely Zero-Summing supposedly removes all trace of existence. 

The Soft Doctrines of Magnus Invisible: A very obscure text by Douglas Goodall, discusses the binding of various gods

Abnegaurbic creed: An overly fancy word basically meaning religious beliefs, seen in Nu-Hattia Exerpt 

Dunmereth: A Nordic term for the area of Morrowind, during their occupation of it

Fifteen-and-One Golden Tones: A Dwemer term, possibly referring to the spheres of the Daedra, counting Sheo/Jyggalag as a singular entity. Also, the Dwemer swear by these 

Ideal Masters are God of Worms remnants: As Mannimarco is often said to be the first Lich, the existence of the ideal masters seems to contradict this (similar story with Azidal) this tries to rectify this by proposing that the Soul Carin is the Necromancer’s Moon, and the ideal masters are remnants of Mannimarco. This theory doesn’t hold up when examined, but is cool nonetheless. 

Sermon 37: Found in ESO, an extra sermon to the 36 lessons, ties in concepts present in c0da like amaranth. (interestingly on this list Sermon Zero is never mentioned, despite it being older and more interesting imo, but to discuss that would require lots of work)

Flying Whales: Mentioned in Aldudagga. A now extinct species. The bone bridge of Sovngarde could potentially be a reference to this.

Joy-Snow: It’s cocaine 

Mankar=Tharn: A theory that Mankar Cameron is Jagar Tharn, doesn’t hold much weight and relies mostly on the connection of Mehrunes Dagon

Sharmat: A term used to describe Dagoth Ur, an opposite to the Hortator, a force uniting people for evil. Implied to mean or be associated with ‘the False Dreamer’ a person whose view of the universe is similar to someone whose achieved CHIM, but sees themself as the center of it all, rather than a droplet in the ocean of the universe.

Pankratosword: A forbidden Yokudan sword technique that could ‘cut atoms’ similar to our modern day Nuclear Fission. A bit of etymology here, ‘Pankrato’ seems to refer to the word ‘Pankrator’ meaning all-powerful or almighty. 

Landfall: A concept from MK, a future event where Nirn is destroyed by the Numidium, and the people remaining relocate to the moons. 

Cylarne: The oldest ruin in the Shivering Isles, rumored to be the original capital. Home to the Cold Flame of Agnon

#long post #tes iceberg #that picture of vivec is how i'm feeling after 12 hours of studying for my final and writing this

[kettlequills]

Tesbl writing prompt no 23 if you're down for it

write a story about a lie. u didn't specify laat so i went with soskro (my beloved). ok. a little esoteric a prompt. but! this is soskro (from waking dreams, he's a miraak cultist) grandmother, and how soskro ends up being raised as part of the miraak cult. or, if you like, one cultist's journey from morrowind to solstheim, and what drew them there. tw: implied filiacide, lies.

The baby is only a week old when Amaryllis' dreams go from bad to worse.

According to her daughter, anyway, and the foreman who monitors the work they do for the Clock God. Because divinity still requires system maintenance. The dreams distract her, make her weary head nod at her desk, components and plans scattering like the legs of scurrying cuttle. Her daughter is worried for her – she has never approved of the dreams. The price of her mother’s foolishness, she thinks, and nothing more.

The dreams are stronger than Amaryllis’ indulgence of her daughter. He whispers to her, the masked man, and offers her snake-tongued prophecies, scraps of text. She has seen him ever since that one, ill-advised pact with the Tide Keeper, centuries ago - stopped, then, by the graceful hand of the Clock God's disciple, before the corruption could squirm further. Before the ink-scar Hermaeus Mora left on Amaryllis’ heart could show as more than a ruddy tear-stain that would never wipe away, not even if she scrubbed her cheek raw. For her foolishness, her daring, Amaryllis uncovered secrets of mating metal to flesh, with which she rebuilt her missing arm - and the masked man's song in her dreams.

For years, she has hid them, those strange, growling words, the vicious posturing, the melting light among the flapping pages. He speaks no civil language that she understands, wrestles with monstrous beasts that leaves her heart pounding in breathless terror when she wakes, and the rhythm of his breathing is hollow-heavy, hungry-holy, sucks all the strength of her soul from her chattering teeth until she wavers, a slip of a torn paper amongst the weight of a legend. The masked man; half-daedra, half-dragon, half-mortal, all cruel, all divine.

Only Amaryllis’ pillow rammed over her screaming mouth knows these dreams’ true content. Her daughter, dearly devoted to Lord Seht, her fresh life among the Tribunal, has no time for suspiciously Dagoth mutterings about dead dreams and sleeping gods.

Her line has always thrown true Dagothi Dreamers, and the Clock God had taken the refuse of Dagoth after the dissolution of their House only reluctantly, when the Mother and the Warrior spurned them. Melted now, into the rich cosmopolitan pot of modern Morrowind, but there was a difference in the names, in the records that stopped, abruptly, like a secret to hide. It’s been years, but Dagoth blood remembers the Sixth House. At least they weren't Ashlander. Amaryllis has been an acolyte of the Three all her life, raised in the faith, embraced in it. But Dagothi dreams were dangerous dreams, delusions of depthless and dark drumming to the tune of their deathly desires, a dirge of the drunken mind.

So Amaryllis hides them. Learns to lie, Ayem-sweet, about the quickened pulse of her heart in sync with the wingbeats of the three damned dragons who serve, as she has been called to serve. Serve him, the masked man, the Guide, he who sifts between his time-kissed fingers the reflections of starsigns upon the oil- and water-tide of Fate. The tempter, the light, the lantern in her dreams, with his gold-mask, and his holy disobedience.

Madness, her daughter would whisper, but the Guide's glory is labyrinthine and many-fold, and in his whisper there is the heavy weight of rewritten destiny.

There are strange tidings in the air, and the power of the temple is waning - people whisper that the Clock God has gone, and so has Mother, and the Warrior Poet. That the Ghostfence is falling, and Baar Dau above Vivec City wobbles in the sky. That the Dreamer’s House is rising on Vvardenfell, and spreads its warlusting wings on the lips of blight-dust. But the temple that Amaryllis has served for all her long life is far from Vvardenfell, and the secret humming of ticking machines is still strong. Not here, there are rumours and fears of corprus disease. No, here, there is the temple to Seht the Wise, with shrines for his sibling gods, and the alms to consider.

Amaryllis bows her head, serves her debt to the Clock God who wrested her from Hermaeus Mora’s grasp, listens to her daughter, and watches her belly round ripe with the softness of her grandchild.

And the masked man grows tired of being ignored.

He begins to speak to her in Dunmeri, accented and fragile, like the syllables would snap sensitive and soft in his mouth. Dunmeri gleaned from her mind and those of others like her, dream-plundered by a wight in gold light among those black books, seduced once to drink of Mora’s chalice, and since hooked to his soft song. Drumming, unbearable, the deep rolling thunder through her sternum that never quite learns how to pronounce the guttural gentleness of a Dunmeri R without the roaring of dragonsong behind it. He speaks in riddles, for he speaks of concepts for which he has no reference, says nonsensical words and sentences that do not agree, and fumbles into social blunders like a dragon among glassware.

Amaryllis mocks his accent the first time she forgets not to speak back, and like a nightmare acknowledged grows richer he folds smooth and close, like churned butter in her hand. His accent gets better, the more he talks to her – his mind is as fertile as the newborn child of her daughter, soaking in language as if he has been cut from the cloth of Mephala-Many-Tongued, who knows all whispers secret and lovely. The pail upset, the milk spilt across the straw and the guar kicking - and Amaryllis, falling into dreamer-dazes while awake, halfway through a hymn, dreaming of a flickering mask and the honey scent of books.

And an island, that he shows her again and again, with his voice of an outlander. Flying through the sky like a bird - or a dragon - cresting the dark clouds and seeing a ruin there, tumbled and still. A single Seeker, a long-dead acolyte clinging to life from faith alone, there among the dead-men in their barrow tomb, key clutched in palm to unlock the shrine of the masked lord, awaiting her, like he waits for her.

She closes her eyes on the dream, the implicit price demanded – serve him, come to the temple across the sea, abandon Seht the Wise, and live her days and raise her voice to him; the masked man, persistent as a glacier, impatient as fire. He will teach, if offered a subject, endless knowledge spilling from his hands like blood, and Amaryllis has saved lives with his knowledge, has won accolade for it. Suspicion that has bloomed rich in the other acolytes when they notice anew that small mark of Mora on her, a tearstain of ink, fades under the strength of his usefulness.

Her daughter asks if she truly sees the secrets of Seht in her dreams. And Amaryllis lies.

Soon, he warns, presses dire portents in his rough voice of stone and flight, shows her again and again the island. He is worried, impatient, important. Amaryllis has delayed through the long pregnancy of her daughter, and delayed days after the infant’s birth – but soon, before the end of the year, she will have to go. This is the price for his company, for the infection of his dreams, for the foreknowledge he strains the heavy weight of her mind under. The sky black with ash and the foyadas red with blood and fire. Kagouti belching blight, kwama abandoning their mines, Dunmer bodies unburied splintering across the ashlands like weeds. Her grandchild’s first steps among the ruins of dead men walking, learning how to cough broken dragon-roars before ever learning how to read. A life’s service he was promised, and Amaryllis, ageing, owes debt.

Her daughter refuses.

Their place is at the temple, she says, serving the will of the dead gods. She will not risk life and limb with a small child in tow, on a madwoman’s whim.

Though Amaryllis has long known that her daughter does not consider her word worth more than the grains of bantam-shit shovelled off the temple steps, it hurts. It hurts, for Amaryllis knows that her daughter and certainly her baby with its infant lungs will die if they stay here, choked to death on the venom of Vivec’s burning.

She dallies, unable to bear it. The masked man grows insistent within her dreams. Attend me, he orders, and his song grows louder every day. Her body begins to break and bleed, and Amaryllis knows she will not see the day of Morrowind’s end if she disobeys his commands longer. And yet – she has a longing in her, to visit that isolated isle of snow and ruin she has seen in dreams since she was a young fool bold enough to poke a daedra prince’s lair, to repay the gift of a lifetime of his haunting. The foreman relieves her of work, and her daughter nurses her with tightlipped impatience, as if she knows her mother will soon die, and turns from her grief with the harsh sarcasm of a shield.

Amaryllis wonders where she failed, with her, whether the masked man’s price has been too much – always straddled with a foot in the dreaming, Amaryllis has been a poor mother, absent and dispossessed. The fractures placed in their hearts of glass will not survive the hammer, and Amaryllis knows – tonight, she must do the dreadful sin, that which no one will ever do. It breaks her to consider, so she falls into slumber, and pretends it is not her flesh hand that is red and ripe with blood.

The masked man guides her when she stumbles away from the temple, the baby’s bloody bassinet in arm. She has not taken supplies, has stolen nothing save that which cannot be ever given back, and as she goes lights blare in the darkness and cries of foul murder go up. But Amaryllis’ grandchild will not die, now, on the dying struggles of a people and a god, and the god that will tend them now has a fortress he awaits for them to hold. A place, where might they chisel safety and silence, solace for the stirred soul, where Dagothi dreams will lead them to him – the masked man, flickering in his scholarly cell.

The Red Year has claimed its first soul, but ahead of the tide of broken souls that will wash up and crush against the shores of the cold northlands, an elderly Dunmer woman with haunted eyes and a basket with a wailing, newborn baby is not yet familiar enough to find no charity in aching hearts. She gains passage for pittance, and supplies for free, and a milchbeast is found for the baby. Amaryllis slings the baby’s bassinet over its humped back and leads it on a dirty rope, following the eye of her dreams. By night, she soars, within and at once with the masked man, miles disappearing into shadows under her wings.

It is freedom, of a sort, from her hunger and her grief, the nightmares of her unforgiveable sin. She calls the baby by the name of its mother, and sings the song of the masked man to lull the baby to sleep. In that icy temple across the sea, she will raise the baby as if her water had broke there on Solstheim to serve the man Amaryllis knows will call one day; Sos-Kro, her grandchild with the grand destiny to further her work, redeem the life Amaryllis spent in idle worship of a false god. Amaryllis bears the kiss of the tidal Lore-Keeper to learn mating metal to flesh, but her child will know Oblivion to stone, will shatter the promise of dragonblooded kings to anchor this ruined, lonely island to the Beyond until the breeze itself sighs with the whisper of pages, and the God walks through the cell bars beating heart unstilled. Sos-Kro, mage of blood, mage of dreams, Dagothi daughter-son: Amaryllis’ true child, she tells the baby, and Amaryllis the only mother the baby will ever need. A chance to rewrite it all, live as the Guide whispers.

For now, though, Amaryllis stumbles alone, lugging the bassinet and the skinny milchbeast, and practices the lies in which she will rear this new motherhood.

"You were born for him," she tells the child, her child, "My child, my only child, it will be your destiny to free what has been trapped; the true Dragonborn."

Together, they will go, and find the masked man with his cold island and ruined temple upon it, and his whispers in their waking dreams.

#soskro #soskro's entire life is a lie lol #miraak #tes #inkwrites #house dagoth #sotha sil #amaryllis #this kinda has an odd energy. #rip amaryllis honestly cant think having meat rack in your head every night is like ... great for yoh.

[the-tharns-speak]

You had Haskill at your family's end of the year festivities? Did you know who he was at the time? (Is Haskill well known to the people of Tamriel btw? I mean, as much as knowledge of the daedric princes and their realms/people can be "well known")

Haskill is one of those few “not a greater daedra” entities that most quality education regarding daedra and daedric and summoning magic covers at least briefly. Getting a quality education in that regard, though, is not common.

Battlespire will tell you about Haskill, not exactly very flattering words, but nothing bad. It boils down to: “If you have to call upon any power from the Shivering Isles, try to reach Haskill first, it saves everyone a lot of work. (Mostly to the janitor who has to mop up the bloodstains.)”

There are a two or three very quiet and orderly and absolutely insane cults (or perhaps it is the same cult with different names?) in Cyrodiil which worship Haskill as... not exactly a deity, but as a patron, I suppose. Entirely illegal, but also if you like to have some spice in your life and are in need of a good butler or lady-in-waiting, I suggest you look in this direction.

He is extremely well known in other Oblivion planes, but on Nirn surprisingly very little know of him and even less know his exact position. I’ve had the chance to talk to him about it; apparently it takes a great effort on his part to keep it this way.

Makes sense, he’s already a very busy man, a bunch of power-struck idiots nipping at his heels is the last thing he would desire.

#c: abnur tharn #the mystery answered #haskill

[the-college-of-whispers]

Invocation of Azura

Sigillah Parate

[reformatted from the in-game book for my personal reading, all notations my own]

For three hundred years I have been a priestess of Azura, the Daedric Prince of Moonshadow, Mother of the Rose, and Queen of the Night Sky.

Every Hogithum, which we celebrate on the 21st of First Seed [March], we summon her for guidance, as well as to offer things of worth and beauty to Her Majesty. She is a cruel but wise mistress. We do not invoke her on any Hogithum troubled by thunderstorms, for those nights belong to the Mad One, Sheogorath, even if they do coincide with the occasion. Azura at such times understands our caution.

Azura's invocation is a very personal one. I have been priestess to three other Daedric Princes, but Azura values the quality of her worshippers, and the truth behind our adoration of her.

When I was a Dark Elven maid of sixteen, I joined my grandmother's coven, worshippers of Molag Bal, the Schemer Princess. Blackmail, extortion, and bribery are as much the weapons of the Witches of Molag Bal as is dark magic.

The Invocation of Molag Bal is held on the 20th of Evening Star [December, sometimes lines up with the winter solstice], except during stormy weather. This ceremony is seldom missed, but Molag Bal often appears to her cultists in mortal guise on other dates. When my grandmother died in an attempt to poison the heir of Firewatch, I re-examined my faith in the cult. [This is one of the few instances where Molag Bal is depicted as female.]

My brother was a warlock of the cult of Boethiah-and from what he told me, the Dark Warrior was closer to my spirit than the treacherous Molag Bal. Boethiah is a Warrior Princess who acts more overtly than any other Daedroth.

After years of skulking and scheming, it felt good to perform acts for a mistress which had direct, immediate consequences. Besides, I liked it that Boethiah was a Daedra of the Dark Elves. Our cult would summon her on the day we called the Gauntlet, the 2nd of Sun's Dusk [November]. Bloody competitions would be held in her honor, and the duels and battles would continue until nine cultists were killed at the hands of other cultists. Boethiah cared little for her cultists-she only cared for our blood. I do think I saw her smile when I accidentally slew my brother in a sparring session. My horror, I think, greatly pleased her.

I left the cult soon after that. Boethiah was too impersonal for me, too cold. I wanted a mistress of greater depth.

For the next eighteen years of my life, I worshipped no one. Instead I read and researched. It was in an old and profane tome that I came upon the name of Nocturnal-Nocturnal the Night Mistress, Nocturnal the Unfathomable.

As the book prescribed, I called to her on her holy day, the 3rd of Hearthfire [September]. At last I had found the personal mistress I had so long desired. I strove to understand her labyrinthine philosophy, the source of her mysterious pain. Everything about her was dark and shrouded, even the way she spoke and the acts she required of me.

It took years for me to understand the simple fact that I could never understand Nocturnal. Her mystery was as essential to her as savagery was to Boethiah or treachery was to Molag Bal. To understand Nocturnal is to negate her, to pull back the curtains cloaking her realm of darkness. As much as I loved her, I recognized the futility of unraveling her enigmas. I turned instead to her sister, Azura.

Azura is the only Daedra Princess I have ever worshipped who seems to care about her followers. Molag Bal wanted my mind, Boethiah wanted my arms, and Nocturnal perhaps my curiosity. Azura wants all of that, and our love above all. Not our abject slavering, but our honest and genuine caring in all its forms. It is important to her that our emotions be engaged in her worship. And our love must also be directed inward. If we love her and hate ourselves, she feels our pain. I will, for all time, have no other mistress.

#the elder scrolls #elder scrolls witchcraft #elder scrolls paganism #jasper post #in-game lore #azura #sigillah parate #invocation of azura #deities and worship #daedric princes

[expended-sleeper]

Fire and Faith

"Here you are." Othreloth handed him a steaming cup and took a seat. "Not as good as when Galdrus makes it, of course."

"I was wondering where your apprentice was," Gelebor replied, hiding his expression behind a sip of tea. "He was usually quite eager to engage with me, during my prior visits."

Othreloth smiled slightly. "I've sent him to Blacklight to receive further training. I'm sure you didn't fail to notice his...overenthusiasm, for tithing."

In truth, after the first time Gelebor had come to the Reclamations Temple he had been careful not to return with more than a few coins on his person. Inevitably, all the gold he carried would end up as an offering to the New Tribunal. This was made all the more impressive since Galdrus incessantly mocked and cursed Auriel during his visits.

"But I sense you didn't come here to speak of Galdrus Hlervu," Othreloth said, and sipped his tea. "You seem changed, my son. Did something happen to you, during your adventure with this woman in the woods?"

Gelebor paused before responding. Before, their conversations had been purely academic. The differences between their faiths, for the most part, and the struggles of walking the correct path. Othreloth still thought him a particularly pale Altmer with a strong devotion to Auriel. But they had never spoken of personal matters.

"Have no fear, Gelebor," Othreloth said, perhaps sensing his reluctance. "Just because we worship Daedra in this land, that doesn't mean dremora will materialize if you dare show weakness. All are safe from judgment within the walls of this temple."

"Thank you, elder." Gelebor leaned back. "I've been turning this problem over in my head these past few days, trying to work through it. Wherever I've found myself doesn't feel much better than where I started. In truth, I've lost my faith. I...no longer feel love, for Auriel."

"Hmm. I see. What prompted this turn? You seemed a most loyal disciple when last we spoke."

"I weary of his ambivalence. For many years I've done nothing but praise his name, wanting neither recognition nor reward. But the rewards he has seen fit to bestow upon me only prolong this endless cruelty, and in the light of eternal life, his ignorance is all the more agonizing."

If Gelebor's confession of immortality shocked Othreloth, the old Dunmer did not show it on his face. He set down his tea cup and pursed his lips.

"Eternal life, you say," Othreloth mused. "Not the most uncommon gift, and perhaps the most shared among the Aedra and Daedra. The latter often use eternity as a self-serving weapon, to ensure they have a strong and loyal servant on the mortal plane for as long as possible. Do you believe Auriel is prolonging your life with the same intention?"

"I don't know," Gelebor replied. He put down his own cup and rubbed his forehead. "I would say such an act would be out of character, but for all the time I've spent serving Auriel I can't say I know him well. What I've seen of his mercy leaves much to be desired."

"I don't need to tell you that our faiths are quite different. Servants of the Daedra can ask the Princes their intentions, and oftentimes even receive a response. The Reclamations are no exception. Azura spoke to the Nerevarine to guide them on the path of prophecy, and Mephala and Boethiah also communicate with those they deem worthy. Many former followers of the Aedra find this transparency refreshing."

"I see." Gelebor drummed his fingers against his chair arm and studied a tapestry on the wall. Othreloth laughed at the look on his face.

"Don't worry, son. I'm not trying to convert you. Tell me. How much do you know of the Dunmer faith?"

"Mostly, only what you've told me." You, and Nadene. "Your people once worshiped a different Tribunal, I know."

"Yes." All the spirit seemed to go out of Othreloth. "We were misled. And as punishment for straying from the right path, the Daedra sent Morrowind back centuries, if not thousands of years. Red Mountain exploded with the fury of our forsaken gods. Even us Ashlanders, who had remained loyal despite the Tribunal's heresy, were not spared the fire and ash that rained from the sky."

"You truly believe the Daedra caused the Red Year?" Gelebor leaned forward. "That's horrible." He opened his mouth to continue, but then thought better of it.

Othreloth smiled wearily. "Go on. We both know what you were about to ask."

"Well...how can you worship gods that treat your lives with such disregard?"

"Finally, you have arrived at the crux of Dunmer faith." Othreloth raised his cup in salute. "It's a bargain, you see? We endure pain and hardship in service to merciless masters, in return for rewards that servants of other faiths can only dream of. But such an arrangement means that if the returns for fierce devotion are so great, the reckonings from disloyalty must be all the more severe."

"I don't quite understand."

"No, I don't expect you would. Despite what you say, your spirit is still twisted towards worship of Auriel. But think about what I've said. The disparities between Aedra and Daedra are not as strong as many believe. Have you ever known your god to abandon his followers?"

Gelebor's mind flashed to the burning Chantry, and Vyrthur, left to the eternal torment of Molag Bal.

"Yes," he replied.

"And has he abandoned you?"

The question struck him like a blow. Gelebor looked down at his hands, nearly as whole and unlined as they had been when he left the Chantry five years ago. The rest of his body was in a similar state of preservation. My immortality lingers, but for what purpose? Why must I persist?

"I don't know," Gelebor admitted. "Perhaps I've just been extraordinarily fortunate."

"Ha." Othreloth stood and accepted Gelebor's offered cup. "Consider this, Gelebor; Auriel has no method of communicating his wishes to you, beyond his gifts. If he has given you years of life, maybe he expects you to figure out yourself what to do with them."

"Maybe. But it's not enough." Gelebor followed the elder back out into the central chamber, where midday worshipers were already quietly entering the temple. "For centuries of love and loyalty, I deserve more to go on than 'do it yourself, you lazy elf'."

"There's your mistake. Love is purely a mortal affliction, my friend," Othreloth said, guiding him towards the door. "The gods have moved past such weaknesses. Pray that you never join them."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719674/

#skyrim #morrowind #the elder scrolls #knight paladin gelebor #gelebor #othreloth #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #writing blog